Danger Days

Chapter Eighteen

After a while, Plastic Parade realized lunch had long passed, and the sun was beginning to go down. She didn't understand why Killjoys were leaving the beautiful courtyard. She supposed they liked sleep. Or perhaps they hated the cold. Whatever the reason, Plastic was alone now, and even though the cold stung her skin and left her with goosebumps, she enjoyed looking at the stars, and the moon. She was, however, a bit upset she had missed the sunset.

Suddenly, an unpleasent, sour smell reached her nose. It was somewhat familiar, but she couldn't place it. It seemed to be coming from the garage.

Plastic crept in, and was surprised to see that the smell was achohol, coming from a bottle that was loosely clutched in the hand of Intense Revenge, who was quite obviously drunk.

"Intense?" she whispered, causing him to look up. He blinked. "what?"

"You're drunk," She hissed, grabbing the achohol from him and putting the lid on it. He smiled, which looked very strange on his normally stern face.

"Only a little," he slurred. "I just took a sip for my hand cuz it hurt but it was good so I had more...." he frowned, sticking out his lower lip.

Plastic sighed. "I can't leave you here..."

"Sure you can!" Intense yelped, smiling widely. Plastic noted his eyes were very wet. "You can leave me, just like everyone else..."

"Who left you?" Plastic questioned softly, protective friend mode kicking in. She sat in a plastic lawn chair nect to him.

"Idunno," Intense slurred, his eyes drooping. He frowned in concentration. "I think.. I think I was the one who left."

"What do you mean?"

"I left my parents," he rolled his head on his shoulders, flopping it forward and backward like he was nodding very intensely (hehe), but very slowly. "But I had a good reason."

"Did they hurt you?" Plastic whispered. She set a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Mmm hmm," Intense said. He sniffed loudly, the water in his eyes beginning to spill over.

Suddenly he let out a harsh sob, burying his face in his hands. Something inside Plastic broke, and she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. "It'll be okay," she whispered. "I promise. Do you want to talk about it?"

"They never hugged me," Intense said, leaning into her chest. He was broader and taller than she was, but she tried to cover him the best she could.

"They beat me," he sobbed. "They told me I was worthless. A failure. A freak of nature. Because I was born without color in my eyes and hair.. I was different."

"I ran away. When I was four. I don't know how I did it. I just remember wanting out. Wanting away. I was in the desert. I was hungry, thirsty, tired. Then I started to withdrawl, from the drugs. I hallucinated, vomited. I had a fever. All sorts of shit like that. That's when Kobra Kid found me."

"He brought me to the other fabulous four. They decided to help me. I guess they got attatched... but I don't know how. I'm worthless."

With that last word, Intense let his head hang onto his chest and let the tears fall freely. His chest seized with silent sobs.

"It's going to get better," Plastic whispered, hopefully soothingly. "Your parents can't get to you. They might even be dead."

Suddenly Intense laughed, a high-pitched bark, and wrapped his arms around Plastic's shoulders. "I didn't even think about that! I bet they are dead! They were a couple of wrinkly-ass prunes anyway."

Plastic suspected he was exaggerating, but smiled anyway. "Come on. Let's get you to your room. What number is it?"

"Uh." Intense narrowed his eyes. "I think five."

"Okay," Plastic chuckled. She hoisted him up and had him lean on her shoulder. He giggled.

Together, they unsteadily walked to room number five, which had a black door with a strange design. The room was plain, colored in black, white, and red. It was subtle. Plastic liked that.

She settled him on his bed, on top of the sheets, and pried off his white converse, throwing them in the corner. By the time she had done that, he was asleep, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Plastic wrote a simple note, saying 'You're welcome. -Plastic', and set it on his dresser. With that, she left his room and went into her own, flopping down on her bedsheets.

What a day.