what kind of man {gabriel and alistair}

Today when I left the tea shop I think I was a bit frustrated. Mam kept shoving things in my face for some reason, she was really angry about something. Sometimes when I've gone and done something to annoy her without realizing it, she gets like that. I didn't know what I'd done and I was trying to think about it but I really couldn't think of a thing. I know I've been working a lot lately but she can hardly complain about that, I'm making money for our future. I wanted to ask her what had her in such a spell but I was already running late for work. When I left, she stuffed a scone into my hand without a word, and didn't respond to my muttered 'thank-you' at all. The scone had been delicious but I'd barely tasted it.I hate it when Mam is mad with me.

It was only during the middle of my shift that I realized what must have happened. It's ending the end of the school term. Report cards must have been sent out. I know that my grades can't be the thing to have made her so annoyed because I always get pretty good marks. It must have been the comments then. I was suspended for two days this term and I didn't tell Mam. It was for getting into a scuffle with Edwin Sharpe about a month back. He'd said something dumb to Nina and she'd socked him one in the nose, then he'd gone to hit her and I'd tackled him and, well, I suppose you can guess what happened after. I hadn't meant to break his nose, it'd been an accident. It'd landed me a suspension all the same.

If I'd been in one of those fancy training schools I probably would have been praised for it. The thought of that sort of makes me shudder. What kind of animal thrives on causing others pain? I'd felt so guilty after hurting Edwin like that that I'd written him an apology letter and used some of my hard earned money to buy him a bit of chocolate.

Miserably, I worked through the rest of my shift at the grocery store, trying not to think about it so that I wouldn't put off the customers. No wonder Mam was so mad with me. I should have told her about being suspended, only I knew that her reaction would be like this, which is why I didn't tell her. I'd have to be extra sorry for it. It was bound to be an exhausting conversation. Mam hates violence. I guess it's because of all those years of mom hurting her all the time. I should be ashamed, I was. I still am. My cheeks heat up all red and the girl I'm serving must think it's because of her and she giggles all sweet.

I offer a smile, breaking out of the cloud of misery I'm in. I shouldn't worry about something that I can't fix right at this moment, otherwise it's only going to make me sick. I resolve to worry about it later but put it aside for my shift. As a result, the rest of the day goes smoothly. I even make a few bucks in tips. It's good. I'll use the tip money I make today to by Mam something nice as an apology. Maybe a bit of salt for her cooking. We're running out and it isn't something that we like to spend much on because you can't put salt in tea. I mean, you could, it just wouldn't be so nice.

By the time I leave the grocery store, my apron is hanging neatly in my cubby and I've got a small pouch of salt in my pocket for Mam. I won't give it to her right away, I don't want her to think that I'm bribing her with it or something awful like that. First thing I have to do is apologize to her and resolve things. Mam and I don't fight much and when we do, I always like to make things good between us as soon as I can.

I guess I'm so intent on getting home to Mam that I don't notice the boy until he's crashing into a wall right in front of me. I skid to a halt, confusion and shock growing on my face as I take in how he's hunched over and all. His face is scrunched up, like he's in pain. Concern races through my body and I rush forwards, one hand going to his elbow to steady him, the other pressed firmly against his back to guide him. It's getting dark, the sun is setting and I should really be getting home or Mam might worry and she'll be even angrier, but I can't leave someone in pain either.

"Shh, hey," I say, voice gentle, coaxing, in order to calm him down, "You'll be alright." I guide him into the alley just in front of us and lean him against the wall. Worry knits my eyebrows together and I look down towards his foot, wondering if he's sprained it or something, "What happened?" I ask him.

I had a father.

He had a sword that was his father's and his father's before him and Mam said that she had loved him. I never understood that- till later at least. I knew that Mam had loved Mom. Very much, as she had told me. But I had had a father too and he'd had a sword. Mam said that he swung it once and it took apart a human being piece by piece. Stories like that used to scare me. I've never been much into the blood and gore that keeps this district running. Mam said that she had loved him very much but she'd never told me if he'd loved her back. I guess she didn't really know. She'd said that he loved me though, had always, even when he knew that Mam had loved Mom more.

I'm named Gabriel after his father and Mam said she'd been alright with that because I did look like an angel.

When I'd learned I had a father, I'd often ask about when I could see him and Mam never really answered until one day, when she sat me down on Mom's side of the bed and took my two hands in her's and she'd said, "Gabriel, you can't meet with him. he's dead."

Sometimes I think he's up above my head, watching me, keeping me safe. So knowing that I have him, I've never really been afraid. Not many kids have their own guardian angel. Like this kid.

He swears and leans against me as we walk. I hope he isn't suffering too much but worry seeps into me. If he's in a lot of pain then maybe I need to get help. He apologizes and I murmur words of encouragement and sounds meant to sooth him as my hands find the hem of his shirt. He keeps muttering things and sweat pours out from under his hairline. He must be in a lot of pain. Concern makes my eyes droop and my hands fumble. I've never been as good as this stuff as Mam has ever been but I know enough not to leave a stranger in pain. Gran sometimes says I'm foolish for it, that one day I'll get into trouble for it. No matter what, I can't leave a stranger in pain, not if I can help them.

"You see too much good in them Gabriel."
"In who, Mam?"
"People. You shouldn't trust them so much."

He's sobbing and I try to catch his eyes, my hands resting gently on his shoulders as I duck my head questioningly. I don't know what's wrong. I've never seen a person cry this much. The last time I saw someone cry this hard was the night Mam and I left Mom. Mam was sitting on the kitchen floor and her leg was twisted funny. Orange juice was sliding across the floor like gravity had shifted. Our house was built on mud and we were sinking, slowly. I came climbing out of the cupboard because Mom was finally gone and Mam held her arms out for me and when I climbed into them, she kissed the top of my head and told me not to do that, ever. "What?" I'd asked, "Do what?"

"Be like that. Cause pain like that, for the sake of it, don't."

So I guess I hate it when anyone cries, even strangers. I'm thinking about what I should do, maybe take him home to Gran and Gramps. I could give him a warm cup of tea and maybe Mam could spare a scone with jam for the poor bugger. "Hey," I say, voice gentle so as not to startle him, "Why don'-"

The knife shines in the dim light of the alley and I wonder how I didn't even notice it. "I'm sorry," he says. I wonder what I've done, what I'm taking payment for. I step backwards slightly, my hands leaving his shoulders. I don't run. I can appeal to his better nature, I think. I can ask him what's wrong, I can help him. I want to know what's wrong, if he's alright, I want to help him. I open my mouth, "Wai-"

It slides into my gut, fast, easy. I feel it as the blade pierces my skin, my flesh, the soft lining of my stomach, cold. It's cold. It's so cold. I open my mouth, my hand goes up to reach for the blade and I stumble backwards, back hitting the opposite wall with a dull thud. It doesn't even hurt at first. It feels like immunization day, when the Peacekeepers line us all up and stick flu shots into our arms. There's just a twinge.

"Holy shit, I just stabbed you!"

"Yeah," I say, confusion lacing my voice. I look down at the knife hilt buried in my skin and panic stems from between my teeth, growing and growing and growing and grow- "Yeah!" I say again, hands wrapping around the hilt. I tug on it and it hurts. I let go, hands climbing up to twist themselves in my hair. I stare at the boy, panic and fear growing larger by the second. Why. I want to ask why. I open my mouth, I'm going to ask. He's throwing up, I don't know why he's throwing up, I'm not dying, i'm just stabbed, I'm just stabbed, aren't I?

"Am I gonna die now?" I ask him, voice hitching as a sob of fear grows in my throat.

He doesn't answer me. I watch, looking down as his hand wraps around the hilt of the knife and he tugs.

It's like he's pulling on a thread.

I unravel as he pulls the blade out, blood follows the steel in a river and I stumble as the pain screams through my body. It happens all at once, like a delayed reaction and I whimper as I fall to my knees. I piss myself, warm liquid spreading under my work pants, staining them, making my shaking legs hot. I bite my lips and press my hands to the wound, knowing it won't do any good as blood slips out between my fingers, staining my hands a dull maroon. It covers my shirt fast and I cry out in fear and confusion. Why?

Pain twists through me and drives me senseless, white hot and raging as my body recoils against the wall in confusion. I try to make sense of it, but he's turned away, blood stained knife in his hand. "My blood, I say, voice thick with pain, "That's my blood." It's mine. Why does he have it? Tears leak out of my eyes and I fall to the side. I broke my arm once but it never hurt like this. That was just a broken arm, now I know why Natalie always called me a wuss. I shouldn't have cried over that, it didn't hurt, not in comparison to this.

I try to stand, whimpering slightly as I use the wall as support, "Please," I beg him, "Help me."