Hey everyone welcome. Bear & Cub has been a great story and it's proven well on AO3 (TuxEdwards). I hope you enjoyed this story, there is only one more chapter to go. If you do enjoy B&C, please read some of my other works: Counting, Counting Down (the sequel to Counting), Not Capable of Love, Fire (a Counting short story on AO3) and Jaded (on AO3). Please take a few minutes to drop me an email to let me know if Bear & Cub is for you: Foxfire3730@proton.me

 

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"The Universe is Made of Stories, Not of Atoms" -Muriel Rukeyser

 

Little Prince

 

Clyde Burns

"No, you need me! I recognized some of the men that were there last night; they were cops."

He's not wrong. Although I do find it surprising that he recognized some of those men like I did, so far, the only person I've told is Janet, so no one knows we're here in LA. Once I head into the station, everyone will know we're here. How am I going to find Ryder without the police's resources?

My eyes move around the room as I think over his words before asking, "How can you help?"

Seriousness takes over the look on the young boy's face. He's struggling with his next few words. His grip on his gown is tight, and if he bites his bottom lip anymore, it'll draw blood. His body is practically shaking when he softly answers me, "By doing something I told Bud I'd never do."

A few hours later

After some quick thinking and a great excuse, I was able to get Cub checked out of the hospital. Against my better judgment, I'm trusting the skill and experience of a nine-year-old. There is just something about this particular small boy. It's in his eyes.

His emerald-green, amazing eyes are exciting for the soul to gaze into. Sure, they're beautiful, but there's something else. They are filled with a piercing confidence that is unmistakable. Something I myself believe to be lacking in my actions most of the time. I act on instinct, and even though instinct can be mistaken for confidence, I have learned in my many years on the force that they are not the same.

"What?" Cub, sitting in my Jeep's passenger's seat, asks.

"What?" I answer his question with one of my own to deflect.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I was? Sorry, I didn't realize. So, where are we going? I'd kind of like to know, so I'm not walking you into a fight."

The little boy next to me giggles and says, looking out the side of my Jeep, "We're going to talk to an old friend."

"That's good; after the past few days we've had, I could use some friendly talk," I tell him with a smile. He smiles back, but there is something about this person that we're visiting that has him worried.

He has me pull into the parking lot of an old, run-down strip mall. The mall is one long building with six stores in it. Four of which are boarded up. There is a 7-11 quick shop on the corner and a tattoo parlor in the middle. Junkies, prostitution, drug dealers, and homeless litter the scene before me, and it has me tempted to just drive away, but before I can voice my concerns, Cub is outside the Jeep and is fishing out his crutches.

"Whoa, whoa, Cub, hold on a second." I rein him in and get out, hurrying around to the other side. I pick up my little man on a mission and return his crutches to the Jeep. "I'll just carry you, so if I have to get you out of here, I can just turn and run."

"Why would you need to run?"

"Are you kidding me? I counted at least thirty misdemeanors and about ten felonies when we pulled in alone."

He lays his head on my shoulder and gives my shoulders a little squeeze, saying, "Don't worry, Burns, we're perfectly safe here."

He turns around and points over towards a homeless man sitting on the corner. He's dressed in a very oversized coat, a stocking hat, a night shirt, and holy jeans, and is surrounded by trash from left-over soda bottles, candy, and sandwich wrappers. I have no idea what this man can possibly do to help us find Ryder.

"Change! Do you have any change for a broken man?" The unclean man cry's out to the passerby. "Anything would help me out, please!" He shouts out shaking a torn small dirty plastic cup that has seen better days.

He locks eyes on Cub and scows at him. I check on Cub to see his reaction, and he sighs and swallows. His little body trembles in my arms, giving me a bad feeling about this.

"God damn it, Prince, I can't believe you're here," the man says, a little harsher than I would expect as a greeting.

I'm about to tell him to go to hell when Cub puts his shaky hand on my arm. He takes a deep breath and says, "Trent, I need to see the King."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Hey pal, take it easy," I interject to his dismay. To be fair, I have no idea what's going on.

"Fuck you, cop! Prince, you can't talk about him out in the open like this. You got to get out of here, little Prince," he says, trying to look anywhere but at us.

"Do you think this was easy for me? Bud would be furious with me for returning, but I need help! He owed Bud a debt, which means he now owes me," Cub says as his voice begins to break down into tears at the thought of Bud. He fights it, and just seeing him struggle with his emotions and barely keep them together breaks my heart. I rub his back to remind him that I'm here to support him. He wipes his nose and softly says, with a shaky voice, "I have to talk to him, Trent."

Trent's whole attitude changes, and believe it or not, he shows a lot of compassion and says, "Look, Prince, I was sorry to hear about Bud. He was one of the good ones." Trent looks me over and then at Cub, struggling with the situation we've put him in. The silence between us is deafening until Trent finally stands and says, "Fine, no guns! I know you're packing, so go leave them in the Jeep. If we find a gun on you when we get there, the deal, whatever it is, will be off. Stay close to me and leave your Jeep here. It'll be safe."

"Leave it here! No way." I protest, looking around, surprised someone hasn't already stolen the tires off of it.

"It's safe here, Burns. Not everything is what it appears," Cub says, then whistles for Bear. The big black lab jumps out of the Jeep and hurries to our side. I put my pistols in the Jeep and hurried back to catch up to Trent.

"It's good you kept the dog," Trent says, petting the dog's head as he walks along with him. I turn back and look at my Jeep one last time before it disappears behind the strip mall as we wind our way down the alley.

We walk for what seems like hours, and I eventually have to swing Cub on my other hip. Standing on a street crossing waiting for traffic, I inquire, "Are we close? I just don't understand why I couldn't drive."

Without missing a beat, Trent answers me with a disapproval tone, "Because cop, we can't have a parking lot at the secret entrance."

Secret entrance? What is going on? Before us is one of the many architectural marvels in LA. It's a traffic clover. It's on and off ramps all tangle in and out of every interstate and highway. They weave in and out of themselves with huge loops and curves. Thousands of commuters drive like madmen, completely disregarding the safety of others while traveling to their destinations.

We cross the street and head down a service road towards a tent camp. This might be the biggest tent camp I've ever seen. I don't work on this side of town, and seeing a campground under the overpass is an odd sight. From this vantage point, it appears that the multiple-colored tent camp sits adjacent to one of the main supports upholding the massive interstate highway.

A few men come up and talk to Trent and even tell Cub hello as we work our way to the center of a chaotic commotion of shopping carts, little campfires, and eerie stares. I don't belong here, and it's evident from the welcome I'm getting.

The labyrinth of tents, tarps, and sleeping bags led us to the huge cement support, and after pulling back a dark blue tarp, a reinforced door that definitely wasn't supposed to be there was revealed. Trent knocks on the door, and an eye slit slides over so that a pair of eyes can examine us for potential threats. When they see Cub, the sound of several heavy locks being unlocked comes from the other side of the door.

The hinges scream as the big metal door swings open, a gray-haired woman hurries out, and Cub practically leaps from my arms to hers.

"Little Prince! Oh dear boy, how's the leg?" She gleefully asks in a gravelly voice.

"Martha!" Cub squeals and hugs her with evidence of past affection. "How'd you know about my leg?"

"Do you think we'd let our little prince out in the real world without having eyes on him?" Martha says this with a little tickle on his exposed tummy. Then he unexpectedly looks at me and says, "And thank you for taking Prince and keeping him safe. I'm sorry it's been so difficult for you both, but you brought him home, and that's all that matters."

Home? King? Prince? Have I unwittingly returned Cub to his family? His words from the conversation we had on the beach bang around in my head. "...I can help. I've got contacts all over the city..." At the time, I thought it was just a little boy boasting about imaginary contacts, trying to make himself sound more important, but now, as I look around the room at at least fifty people scurrying around with clipboards and papers, moving them from one table to another, I think I underestimated him. 

Along the back walls of this room are large cork boards with pictures, papers, and red and green string stretching between them as if it were a trail of evidence in my office. Gun racks hang next to the door in anticipation of trouble. I stand in amazement at how efficient and organized the people are in this room as they move about their business. My eye lands on Trent as I scan the room, and he's talking to a very tall, red-headed man over by the bulletin boards. The tall man smiles and generally looks happy to see Cub, then he waves us over.

I take Cub from Martha and head over to the man in charge. He smiles and holds out his arms for Cub, and I transfer my little one into his arms. Suddenly, Bear rushes past my legs and directly towards some barking coming from the back room. Two large black dogs come from under the tables, and the three dogs chase each other around, trying to get that perfect spot to smell the other's butt.

The tall, red-headed man cries out with authority, "Zeus! Titan! Geh Raus!" A big metal door swings open, and the three dogs bound outside to play.

If I didn't know any better, I would say the dogs were very familiar with one another, and besides that, they look identical.

"Prince, my boy, how's the leg? I'm so glad you're safe. After what happened to Bud, we feared the worst. I ordered the family to find you and watch you no matter what. I'm glad you're here; we're about to end this," he says with evident concern and gratitude that Cub was safe. "Detective, you're welcome here under my protection."

When he said that, the armed escort I picked up when I entered headed back to guard the door. "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry, I don't know your name." I politely request his name.

"King, Sebastian King," he answers, switching Cub to the other hip to free up a hand so we can shake hands. "You've done me a great debt by saving my little Prince and then keeping him safe. We repay our debts here, don't we?" he says, giving Cub a little shake before his face turns more serious. "Unfortunately, your return to the family is at a bad time. We're about to retaliate against the Armenians. They tore through one of our tent camps a while ago and killed many of our people, including Bud. I really don't have time to visit."

"But Sebastian, you have to help us! We're looking for a family member named Ryder. He's so important to me," Cub begs.

"After, okay, you and the detective can stay in Bud's old room, and when we get back, we'll find your friend," King responds.

"You owe me, King! You owe Bud! I'm calling in that debt; please, you have to help us."

King's face is hard to read as he stares into Cub's eyes. I was just about to take Cub from him and calm him down when King emotionally hugged him. It was one of those times where the people around them stopped what they were doing just to witness the tender moment.

"My sweet little Prince, I would help you if I owed you a debt or not. Right now, we're going after the men who killed Bud. We'll find your friend when we get back, I promise."

Sebastian and Cub share a connection that I was unaware of, and seeing it makes me a little ashamed, wishing ours was that strong. Forcing myself to look away, a photo on the evidence board catches my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I see King's curiously watching me while I study the evidence pinned to the bulletin boards.

"Where did you get all this evidence? This is amazing. It's way more than we have down town at the station. I could have closed my case months ago if I had all this."

King smiles and slaps me on the back with a big belly laugh with his answer, "We are the Burrow, baby! We're everywhere and see everything. We are the unseen, the undesirable, and the ignored. It didn't take long to track their dealings. No one thinks twice when they see one of us listening to a conversation or digging through their trash. You know what they say, `One man's trash is another man's treasure,' baby." He practically shouted that last bit as he waved his hand over the evidence collected.

Hmm, I chuckle to myself thinking about how true his words are. Where have I heard that before? "You're attacking the Armenians tonight here at this warehouse?" I ask, pointing to a set of photos.

"Yes, they are exchanging a lot of money for a package from a man they call the dog," King says, and he hands Cub to a lady that he tells to take him to Bud's room to rest.

A package... the dog... "King, may I join your attack tonight? I believe our paths are merging," I ask, setting down the photos of Smith getting into one of Toby's black Cadillacs. The photographer caught the light just right, and the `Shepherd Security' sticker on the back window is reflecting it just like a beacon.

"I'm not sure that is a good idea, Detective. You're just a cop, and we aren't following any laws when we strike. They'll never expect us, and they won't see us coming. We'll be in and out without leaving any evidence that we were there. If everything goes according to plan, the police will think it was a gang or mob hit."

"They took someone from me that I want back at any cost. I'm not `just a cop.' Before I became a cop, well, let's just say I had a different life. So, if going with you means taking off the badge, I'm good with that."

Cub

The door to Bud's room closes as my escort leaves. I move my hand around on the fluffy blue bed cover, and Bud's memory breaks down my emotions. I take his large red flannel shirt and wrap myself in it. Taking a deep sniff of the large shirt, I can still smell Bud on it. The whole room still smells like him.

I hobble over to the table and take the small yellow bottle of Vicodin the hospital gave me for my leg pain. I pour some water into a glass from the pitcher on the desk. Next to it are a bunch of old pictures in dusty frames. Mostly army photos, Bud with different dogs and their owners. There are even a few with Sebastian in them. I swallowed the pill while remembering when we used to come here a lot, and Bud would be so happy here. I always wondered why he would ever go back on the street, but he did go, and he'd take me with him.

"We're safer on the street. We're freer," he would say.

The freer part I understand, but I never understood the safer part. After living with Burns for the past couple months, I do have `that itch,' but I've never felt safer or more loved. I set the picture frame down, pulled a photo album from the shelf, and worked my way over to the bed. The oversized flannel gets in my way, but I manage to get on it.

As I flip through the book, I have memories of us training: Zeus, Titan, and Bear. A year before they found me, they discovered the three dogs in a cardboard box. I pick up a picture of Bud with the three puppies in his arms. He's smiling; he was always smiling. A teardrop falls on the picture next to Bud's face, and I quickly wipe it off. I slip that photo in my pocket and put the album back on the table.

The door opens, and in run Bear and Burns, close behind him. "Hey, kiddo, are you okay?" He asks me, then pulls a folding chair over next to the bed.

"Yes, I'm good. I was just looking at old photo albums," I tell him as Bear jumps on the bed and lays down next to me, so I can pet him.

"This all must be hard for you; may I ask a couple questions?" I shrug, and he takes my hands and holds my attention. "Why do they call you, Prince?"

I laugh a little and fight off having to blow my nose with a sniffle. "Sebastian and Bud raised me here until I was about seven. Because Sebastian's last name is King, people around here just called me the little Prince. Only Bud called me his little Cub."

"Why did you and Bud leave the Burrow?"

"Sebastian and Bud had a falling out. I mean, they used to fight a lot about how aggressive the Burrow needed to be against people who messed with us. Bud had seen enough war. Bud desired solitude. Sebastian, on the other hand, longs for war and is always looking for a fight. Bud didn't want me dragged into it, so one night we left. We would visit once in a while. Bud would say he had to check in on the dogs, but I always figured he wanted to check in on Sebastian. You know, to make sure he was alright."

"Everyone here, including King, seems real happy to see you, except Trent, why?"

"Trent and Bud used to be real close but when we left like we did he felt betrayed and never treated Bud right after that. Unfortunately, he blames me for Bud and King always fighting and us eventually leaving."

Burns sets the chair aside and climbs into bed with me, saying, "I bet you need a nap." He helps me take off my pants and underwear, so I can get comfortable.

"I'm going to sleep in Bud's flannel, okay?"

Burns smiles down at me and agrees, "Of course you can. It looks good on you." He wraps it around my semi-naked body, and I snuggle up to him.

He holds me tightly, and I cuddle into him. He plays with my red hair gently, and I feel my eyes grow heavy.

"Burns, are you going to leave me here?"

The room falls silent as if my question has sucked all the sound out, and I begin to cry. "There, there, everything will be fine. I believe that this is the best chance I have to get Ryder back. You won't be here long, and I'll be back before you wake up with Ryder."

I want Ryder back, but I have a bad feeling about this. I feel Burns is going to need me, but there is no way he'll take me. Besides, if he knew I was there, he'd be worried about me instead of paying attention, and he could be killed. I feel bad, but I fear losing Burns more than I do about never getting Ryder back. What a terrible thing to think. What's wrong with me?

Clyde Burns

Cub was really upset and cried on my chest for a good thirty minutes before he fell asleep. The poor guy is so afraid that we're not going to get Ryder back. I don't think there is anything I can do to convince him that I'm getting him back, so I just hold him and rub his back. Being back here isn't helping. This place is full of memories that Cub was trying to forget. Maybe this is what he needs. This room is like a shrine to Bud and his achievements, and I can't think of anywhere better to say good-bye to Bud.

After an hour or two, I must have fallen asleep also, because the next thing I know, someone is softly rapping on our door. I slowly and oh-so-carefully pull myself from the grip of a fearful child and head to the door.

"Detective, we're ready."

"Okay, I'll be right out," I whisper.

I gather my things and kiss Cub on the forehead, then slip out of the room without looking back. "Come on, Bear, you're with me," I whisper to him, and he hops off the bed and pitter-patters past me before I slowly shut the door.

A man leads me to a room full of guns and people loading clips. This is all military-grade weapons. I haven't seen guns like this for many years. "Where did you get all this?" I asked no one in particular.

"Most of us are ex-military and have connections," says King, walking up behind me. He hands me a shotgun-pistol thing and adds, "The rest of it we've collected from people's houses. This is LA."

I press the release, breaking the shotgun pistol, and look to make sure it has shells in it. When I confirm it, I snap it closed with a flick of my wrist. "Well then, let me look around," I tell him as I take the specialty holster from King and search through the gun assortment.

I take a shotgun shell belt, a sawed-off shotgun, and some clips for my pistols.

"Here, you'll need these," Trent says, handing me my underarm holsters and pistols.

"I sent someone to retrieve the Jeep; it's parked under the green tarp to the left of the entrance," Trent says and walks away, calling out for everyone to head to the buses.

Well, at least it's not sitting at that strip mall for twenty-four hours. Heading outside, I see about twenty armed homeless people climbing into two small church buses. There are ten people in each bus. I get on my bus and sit up front next to Sebastian. Bear hops up on the seat next to me, enjoying the excitement all around us. They removed the last two rows of seats to make room for supplies. They put the last box in now, and the back door closes with a loud clank!

"Church buses, good idea," I comment to King as I lean over the seat to talk to him. "The windows are allowed to be tinted, and cops are reluctant to pull them over for fear of in-depth conversations about God. I know I'll never look at these buses the same."

Sebastian laughs and responds, "Riding in a church bus makes me feel like this is some holy quest." We both laugh at that, and then he says, "Prince must really like you to let you call him Cub. He only allowed Bud to call him that. He used to gets so pissed at people for that back then. He even lets you bring Bear. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised Bear listens to you."

"Well, that's questionable sometimes. The dog has a mind of his own. Cub and I have gotten really close these past few months. I can't imagine letting him go or letting him down, which is why I have to find Ryder. He blames himself for Ryder being taken. I can't let him grow up with that burden. It defines your life, I know from experience," I answer him truthfully.

"When we get there, stay with me, and this will be over in no time. When we get back, we will turn our efforts to finding your boy."

I sit back in my seat, and Bear hops down, heading to the back of the bus to sniff the boxes. "Thanks, but if I'm right... my boy is the package," I say, hoping he's alright.