100 Bad Days

2

Joel managed to focus on his inappropriately-timed breakfast food for a while, having given up on force-feeding his Olympian friend. Several attempts of pushing syrup, Stevia packets, and milkshakes towards him were left ignored, and Joel almost resorted to cutting up his food into small pieces and playing 'Here comes the airplane."

It wasn't hard to imagine loss of appetite would be a side-effect of gunshot wounds, but Joel couldn't understand why his friend wouldn't force some sugar down when he knew it would help him.

Frankie had been loudly mmming and awwing to a cartoonish degree. While Joel had originally interpreted it as the child's attempt to join in getting Paelen to eat, he was now convinced that it was the boy's natural reaction to a pancake. It wasn't unfathomable that Frankie didn't have reliable meals, even Joel's experiences in foster care had shown him that food wasn't always a given, and Frankie's situation was clearly worse than Joel's had been, no matter how awful those foster parents were.

Paelen had grown gradually less responsive throughout the meal, to the point Joel was getting concerned at his lethargy, until he peered over to check on his friend and was met with almost frantic eyes. Joel startles. "What? What is it?"

Paelen's eyes danced over him before returning to the window, scanning past their own reflection and into the Fremont Street night wildly. "He is out there. The clone,"

Joel frowned as he attempted to follow Paelen's line of sight. "You said that earlier," He pointed out.

"I mean he is closer. I think... I think he knows that I am close as well. Yes, he is searching for me," Paelen mused, as if the concept shouldn't horrify him.

"We're leaving. Now."

Joel dropped a large wad of cash on the table, more than enough to cover their bill. He more than expected Paelen to protest the excessive spending of his stolen gambling money, but his eyes were still pacing the window as if entering REM sleep.

"I wasn't done yet!" Frankie protested. His plate was empty.

"Look at ourselves," Joel gently but firmly grabbed Paelen's bony arm, pulling him out of the booth and through the diner towards the exit. "We are in no condition to be meeting any more clones." He hushed his voice at the mention, even though any clientele remaining in the diner at that hour were in no position to judge their issues. "We're barely in any condition to be walking home."

Nonetheless, they did so. Their pace was slow as Joel didn't wish to aggravate Paelen's wounds, and they were all exhausted. The growing distance between them and Fremont Street seemed to do well for Paelen's headspace, and he appeared more aware of his surroundings once they'd neared the block of Frankie and John's 'apartment'.

None of them had spoken for the duration of their walk, and Joel had been so focused on their disembarkment that he only then realized he was still pulling Paelen down the sidewalk. He let go, slightly embarrassed, not that the other had seemed to mind.

It was probably nearing 4 AM, and as they got farther from the seemingly endless stretch of casinos, the number of people on the streets dwindled.

They passed a large camp of homeless people, and Joel pulled Frankie closer to him. Joel was nothing but sympathetic towards these individuals and their circumstances, but desperate people did reckless things, and they were carrying a lot of money.

"Hey, kid," A voice called from a nearby tent.

Joel tensed. He kept walking, knowing the man would likely give up. "Joel," He turned at Paelen's anxious tone.

His friend found himself face-to-face with a tall man holding out a hat. He didn't speak, but took slow steps towards the Olympian, backing him further towards the other side of the camp. Joel cursed.

"Listen, we don't want any trouble," He mediated.

The man didn't respond, only shaking the hat in his hand with emphasis. There was no question what he was asking for.

Joel saw no way out of the situation, and he took a step forward. "Joel, don't," Frankie warned.

"Frankie, he needs it more than we do," Joel didn't know whether he was trying to convince Frankie, himself, or placate the man standing far too close to Paelen.

Joel reached into the pocket of his mismatched borrowed suit jacket. He deposited the first bill he'd pulled out, realizing regretfully that it had been a fifty.

The man seemed to inspect him, then Paelen, and then his eyes scrutinized their young companion. Joel took what he hoped was a subtle step between the man and Frankie.
The man's gaze finally returned to his hat, and while Joel had expected satisfaction at his score, his expression was unreadable as he finally turned and walked slowly away.

Joel found himself once again grabbing Paelen's arm, this time along with Frankie's, as he pulled them out of the darkened street and towards the black building that was now in sight.

"Joel- Joel," Frankie complained. "You shouldn't have done that,"

Joel scowled. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Now they know we've got money. And-" Frankie glanced behind him. "They're gonna see where we live,"

Joel tensed. Frankie was right. He couldn't repay the boy's hospitality by letting his home be targeted by potentially malicious individuals.

"Alright, we'll go around this block again, and if no one is following us we'll assume we're safe." This was a tactic Joel had learned upon his move to New York, muggers being fairly common but usually unwilling to waste time when less savvy tourists were readily available. He hoped it functioned similarly on the west coast.

Joel frowned. He was still gripping his friends' arms. He was reminded of the way he remembered his father behaving in large crowds, pulling Joel in one hand and his little brother in the other, something he once found annoying but now recognized as his dad only wanting to keep his family safe. Joel shook his head to clear the memory and released his companions' arms.

Paelen swayed once before his knees buckled. Joel hadn't realized as he had no feeling in his metal arm, but he must have been gripping the Olympian tightly enough to hold him upright. He and Frankie both shot forward, maneuvering their injured friend to the ground as he fell limply.

"Is he alright?" Frankie asked, and his wide eyes made Joel wish he could confidently respond that of course, he just needs another Stevia packet. Maybe two. He'll be fine. Unfortunately, Joel was not an expert in Olympian medicine.

"Frankie, I need you to go upstairs and find Chrysaor. Tell him what happened, he can come carry us up,"

Joel was more than capable of lifting Paelen, he probably would be even without his enhanced arm. He knew, though, that Chrysaor's help would jostle his injury the least, along with being much faster.

Frankie nodded and quickly made his way to do just that.

Joel looked towards the sky. They really needed Emily.