Title: It's Not Who You Were Born To, Part Four: Not Running Away--Running To

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Lost Boys

Pairing:

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Status: WIP

Sequel/Series: The Non-Traditional Families Series

Archive: Yes, but tell me where.

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Summary: Dwayne escapes and goes back to the Lost Boys.

Rating: NC-17

It's Not Who You Were Born To, Part Four: Not Running Away--Running To
By Scribe

Dwayne wasn't sure how long he stayed there. He hated the idea of facing the world again. It was finally hunger that did it. He found the Lunchables that he'd dropped on the table by the door just before Jake grabbed him. The salt in the lunchmeat stung his split lip, and it hurt too much to chew the crackers. Dwayne thought he probably had one or two loose teeth. He was almost glad that the soda was tepid--it might have hurt if it was cold.

When he'd eaten what he could, he took off his ripped shirt and got another one, changed into a fresh pair of jeans, then sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly explored his face with his fingertips, trying to judge the amount of damage. His head was throbbing, and he thought that a damp cloth on the forehead might help.

He went to the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Fuck!" He'd forgotten those furtive clicks as Jake had snapped the padlock. Dwayne tapped on the door and called quietly, "Mom?" He waited, then knocked louder, raising his voice. "Mom!"

There were footsteps out in the hall, and he heard his mother whisper, "Dwayne, honey, please be quiet. He's asleep. You know how he gets if he's woken up."

"Yeah, right. He's so much better when he's well rested. I need you to let me out. I want to go to the bathroom and clean up."

"The door's padlocked, Dwayne. I can't. He'll be up in a few hours, and maybe he'll be in a better mood then."

Dwayne shuddered. "Mom... Mom, you know what he was going to do. You saw. Let me out."

"I... he was drunk, Dwayne. I've told you time and again that you have to stay out of his way when he's drunk."

Dwayne pounded angrily on the door. "That's no fucking excuse! He beats you! He beats me, he was going to rape me..." He could hear her making sounds of denial on the other side of the door, and he raised his voice. "Fuck you, Mom! You might have been able to tell yourself he was gonna spank me when he ripped my jeans off, but he had his OWN fucking pants open, and there's only one reason for that. Let me out, I can't be here when he wakes up."

"The padlock." Her voice was tiny.

"Shit." He scrabbled through his jacket pockets and found the key to the padlock. "Here." He slid it under the door. "Now, let me out. I have friends--I'll go stay with them for a couple of days. I'll get a number, and you can call me when it's safe to come back." There was silence. "Mom? C'mon."

"Dwayne, he'll be so mad if you run away again."

"Mom, PLEASE!"

"You... you get some rest, baby. You're tired. I'm going to the mall--I need to replace some stuff in the kitchen." Her voice became desperately bright. "I know! I'll get you a video game set! You've wanted one of those for months, haven't you?"

"Don't do this to me!"

"And games--you'll need games. I'll get you two--no, three. You like those with all the monsters and fighting, don't you?" The laugh was almost hysterical.

Dwayne was vaguely surprised to find that he wasn't crying. His eyes burned, and his throat was tight, but there were no tears. He whispered, "You fucking bitch. You're going to turn me over to him, aren't you? You're going to pretend nothing's happening, as long as it'll keep him off you."

He wanted to scream at the hurt tone in her voice. "You just don't understand. You've said before that you want to help me with him."

"I've tried, but you won't let me. You keep telling everyone you fell, or you ran into a door. I can't... Mom, I can't FIGHT him! You know that."

"Just don't fight with him, son. It'll make life so much easier for all of us. I tell you what! I'll get you a new pair of boots, too. How's that? Those with the buckles on the side you told me about."

Dwayne angrily kicked the door. "Whores usually get paid better than that if they have violent customers." He heard her gasp, and felt a fierce stab of satisfaction.

"When did you get so cruel, Dwayne?" she said sorrowfully.

Dwayne sagged against the door as he heard her footsteps retreat down the hall. A moment later the front door shut, and the car started. He rested his forehead against the door and whispered, "I've been learning from an expert, Mom." Eyes closed, he turned and leaned back against the door, letting his head fall back wearily. There was a gritting sound, and he looked down.

There was a bright glitter on the floor near his feet, something glinting in the sunlight that streamed through his bedroom window. *Broken glass... WINDOW!* His eyes jerked up. His curtains were blowing gently in the breeze that wafted through the gaping hole. There was almost no glass left--fucking Jake must've been sober enough to knock it out before he climbed in. Too damn bad--maybe he could've sliced his own wrists. Drunk as he was, he might not have been able to deal with it. Dwayne found himself smiling at the mental image of his stepfather, bled out, and lying on his bedroom floor in a crimson welter.

*Oh, God! Please, lord, let him have been drunk enough to be stupid.* Dwayne took two steps toward the window. He felt a stab of adrenaline when he saw the poles of the ladder still leaning against the windowsill.

He didn't hesitate--there was no telling when Jake might come to his senses. He was out the window and down the ladder in a heartbeat. He ran around the side of the house, and almost slammed into the woman who lived next door. She drew in a sharp breath, staring at the wild haired, wild-eyed young man. She recognized him as her new neighbors' son, but what was wrong with the boy? In the moment of their meeting she could tell that he was string tighter than a guitar string, and he looked... She squinted suspiciously at the dark bruise spreading over one cheek. "You're Dwayne, right? I'm Mrs. Clusky. I've been meaning to come over and introduce myself for some time, but there never seemed to be..." She trailed off. The boy was staring at her with a near panicked expression. "Dwayne, are you all right?"

"I have to go." His words were clipped, stilted. "I... I can't... Mom's not here, went to the mall." He giggled suddenly, a high-pitched sound that was at once childish, and terrified. "Lots of stuff to replace. Lots of replacement when Jake gets pissed."

He paused, seeming to notice her anxious, questioning expression, and gathered himself. "Sorry. Look, now isn't a good time, okay? I mean, there's never really a GOOD time, but now is worse than most. Wait a couple of days and come over then. I have to go."

He hurried past her to the motorcycle that was parked just beyond where they had almost collided. "But you look like you need..." she starts.

Dwayne had mounted the motorcycle. He patted his pockets, and the color drained from his face. He looked toward the front of the house and whispered, "Oh, shit." *I don't BELIEVE it! I left the keys in my room. God, I can't go back in there.*

His eyes fastened on the woman who was watching him with anxious, concerned eyes. He got off and went to her again. "Mrs. Clusky, you want to help me?"

"Yes! Anything I can do."

"Can I use your phone?"

"Of course. Come on." She led him into her house and got the phone, finger hovering over the keypad. "Do you need 911, or just the police?"

"No! Man, that's all I'd need. They'd either toss me in juvie or hand me back to him. I just want to call a taxi."

Mrs. Clusky frowned. "Dwayne, I can understand that you're apprehensive, but they have a very good domestic intervention program here, and..." The boy made a weak snorting sound, shaking his head. "No, look, I'm a teacher, and I've been taught to notice the symptoms of abuse, and you..."

"I'm not arguing the fact that I have it rough, lady, but I have absolutely NO confidence in the system." He held out his hand. "Please. I have friends now who will help me. I'll be eighteen in a couple of months, and then Jake the Snake can go screw himself. I'll be free." She hesitated. "Please. I just need to get to my friends."

She reluctantly handed the phone over. While he called a taxi, she got a clean dishcloth, moistened it, and wrapped several ice cubes in it. He looked startled when she offered it to him, but accepted it with mumbled thanks, and gingerly pressed it to his aching cheek. "Sit down. You can't wait outside if you're worried about him." Dwayne sat in a kitchen chair, and she brought him a glass of water and some aspirin, watching till he swallowed them. She said quietly, "You know, there's been a couple of times when I thought I heard something... not quite right over there. My husband keeps telling me that most couples occasionally have screaming matches." She shrugged. "I don't really believe that. Dwayne, I know you've said you don't want the police involved in this, but if I hear or see anything again, I AM calling them."

He nodded. "Okay. Yeah, you do that. I want you to. Maybe if someone will be a witness, they'll actually DO something to his sorry ass." Before she could speak he said, "They won't believe me, okay? I've tried."

"What about your mother?" Dwayne was silent, looking at the floor. "Dwayne?"

His voice was cold. "She saw what he did. She went shopping and left me locked in my room. Does that tell you how much help I can expect from her?"

She glanced out the front window and said, "Your cab is here. Do you have enough money?" She started to reach for her purse.

"I have money." He grimaced. "Mom gives me a generous allowance. That makes up for being a punching bag." He hesitated at the door and said, "Thanks. But... look, be careful, okay? He hasn't gone for anyone outside the family yet, but he has a temper. There's no telling... Just be careful, and don't let him know you helped me."

Sarah Clusky watched sadly as the young man hurried down the walk and slipped into the cab. As it pulled away, she looked over at the neat, well-kept home next door, noting the ladder, and the broken window. *What in God's name have they been doing to that boy?* Her eyes narrowed. *I know I said I wouldn't, but...*

**********-----------***********-----------***********-----------***********

He went to the boardwalk. They weren't there, but he hadn't really expected them to be. They'd said they really only came out at night. He'd sort of hoped that the video storeowner would be there, but it turned out that he worked nights, too. He knew that some of them were bound to show up later, so there was no option but to wait.

He was grateful that it was still summer break. There were other kids roaming the boardwalk, so he didn't stand out too terribly. He used his hair to hide the worst of his facial bruises after he noticed a couple of girls staring and whispering.

The hours dragged. He couldn't afford to buy food after paying for the taxi, and he tried to fill the gnawing emptiness. He spent what time he dared in the various eateries, nursing drinks in corner booths. When the workers began to give him suspicious looks, he'd move. Finally he went down under the boardwalk and found a quiet, shadowed place. It got dark.

************-----------**********----------***********----------************

Max entered with Paul and David. "So, how were things with young Dwayne last night?"

David and Paul exchanged looks. They didn't really want to discuss what had gone on between the three of them, but Max would insist on a report of some sort. "Yeah, we were right," David said, "He needs us."

"Do you think he'll fit in?"

Paul smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Anyway, even if he DIDN'T come to us," he scowled, "he needs to get out of the situation he's in right now. It's not good. It's worse than what mine was, from the sounds of it."

Max went behind the counter, taking off his jacket. "And the mother?"

Again the boys exchanged look. "I don't know about that," David said judiciously. "From what he says, the stepfather is a bastard to both of them--physically and emotionally. But as to whether or not she'd want to get out of it..." He shrugged. "It sounds like she's one of those who's learned to love her trap."

"Oh, surely not." Max didn't notice David's frown at the casual dismissal of his opinion. "We'll need to see if I can't arrange to meet her, see if she'd fit into our little family." He patted the shoulder of the clerk. "How was today? Anything out of the ordinary?"

The young man shrugged. "Fair. I think the local cops tried to run a sting by having an underage try to check out some porn, but I nipped it. Oh, and some guy was here looking for you."

Max's smile didn't falter, but he became still. "Really?" His tone expressed nothing but mild interest. "What did he want?"

"He didn't say. Just said he was looking for you, or Paul, or David. I said that you'd probably all be around sometime this evening."

"Young guy?" Paul said. "Long, dark hair? Earrings?"

"Yeah, that's him!" The clerk smirked. "Looked like a girl. A girl who'd been smacked around."

Paul had been leaning on the counter, and he straightened up abruptly, expression going stiff. "What?"

"Yeah, someone roughed him up. He had his hair hanging in his face, trying to hide it, but damn--that was a nasty bruise. He was blue from chin to cheekbone, and I think he was getting a shiner." There was a scraping sound, and the clerk looked down in astonishment to see the blond boy's nails raking over the counter.

Max sighed. "I suppose I can leave the store with Andrew tonight. You two need to go find him."

The two boys were already heading toward the door. David turned, walking backward a few paces, and said tersely, "You didn't need to tell us that." Outside the store David said, "I'll look in the shops. You check the beach and under the boardwalk."

~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~************~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~

Dwayne sat cross-legged on the cool sand, head cradled in his hands. *Are they here yet? I could go look again, but I don't think I could stand it if they weren't. Oh, God, what if they don't want me? I know how it felt last night, but that was last night. Sometimes people are different after they get what they want. What am I going to do if I can't stay with them? I can't go back.*

That was how Paul found him. He was deep in the shadows, but Paul was a creature of the shadows, and he saw him easily enough. He felt a surge of relief when he saw that the other boy was conscious, and he hurried toward him.

Dwayne heard the thud of footsteps, and drew his knees up, hugging them, unable to face whatever might be approaching. When he heard the familiar voice say, "Dwayne?" he buried his face against his knees, letting his hair fall around him in a curtain. He said quietly, "You came looking for me."

Paul stopped, standing over him. "Of course I did. The clerk at the store said you were looking for me." He hesitated. "He said you were hurt." Dwayne lifted his head slowly, looking up at Paul. As the clerk had said, the dark sheaf of hair half obscured his face. Paul reached down toward him, and his heart almost broke when the boy, his newfound lover, flinched. But then Dwayne's posture straightened, and he looked Paul in the eyes, sweeping the concealing hair back behind his ear.

Paul gave a soft cry and dropped, knees thudding in the soft sand as he reached for Dwayne. He caught the younger boy's shoulders and just stared at him, eyes tracing the ugly purplish bruise that marred the pale perfection. "Your stepfather?"

"He's crazy," Dwayne said softly. "I mean, I knew he was twisted before, but he's psycho. He was hiding in my room, waiting, and he just started beating me the second I came in. And he... he..." He didn't cry. Paul knew that Dwayne wanted to, and the blond boy's heart broke a little more when the Dwayne forced the tears back and continued flatly. "I guess I should have known it would come eventually. He's decided that he wants to fuck me. The only reason he didn't was that he realized I'd been with someone, and he's scared of catching something."

"Your mother?"

Dwayne's expression twisted. "You mean the bitch that spawned me? She'd hold me down if she thought it'd keep him from beating her some more. She knows, Paul, she KNOWS! And she's ready to just let him have me."

"Christ." Paul buried his hands in Dwayne's hair, pulling the boy till the other boy rested his uninjured cheek on his chest, and slipped his arms around his waist.

"Can I come with you and David, Dwayne? I won't make any trouble. I don't THINK he'll come after me--he's too worried about what the neighbors will think."

"Hell, Dwayne, of COURSE you're coming with me!" His grip tightened in the silky hair, and he muttered, "And I'm gonna make that asshole truly and righteously regretful."

Dwayne sighed, rubbing his nose against the leather of Paul's jacket. "Thanks, man, but you'd better just leave it alone. He's an alcoholic, but it hasn't started to wear him down yet. He's big, tough, and nasty mean. And crazy. Don't forget crazy." His hands slid up and down Paul's back. "I don't want you to get hurt, or get in trouble."

Paul pulled Dwayne's head back gently, then bent and pressed a light kiss to Dwayne's mouth, being careful, lest he hurt him. "Don't worry, little brother. I'm stronger than I look."

END