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Seventy-Two Hours Ch. 01

By: LoveBird1929



Author's Note:

A story I've had in my mind for a while now. Shouldn't be more than 3 chapters. Also, this is a little darker in emotions than what I normally write...I think, lol. No sex this chapter. That's to come in chapter 2 which is already 95% complete.

Hope you enjoy! As always, comments and feedback appreciated.

*

January 15, 2011

Growing up, Justice Jameson had never much cared one way or the other about his birthday. Unlike the hordes of children throughout the country who anticipated the arrival of their special day, sometimes for weeks in advance, Justice had always viewed his birthday as just another day on the calendar. The only real importance he'd ever found in the day was that it signified he'd survived yet another year of the hell that was his life as the unwanted son of a cracked out prostitute and her abusive pimp and, later, as an abused foster child failed by the system put in place to save him.

Thirty years after the day of his birth and Justice's feelings of ambivalence had never faded. The circumstances of his adult life, however, were infinitely different, improved even, over those of his childhood. His mother was long dead, his father jailed for life for killing her, many of Justice's former foster parents personally paid back tenfold for the cruelty he'd suffered at their hands and Justice himself developed from a youth Child Protective Services had labeled as emotionally withdrawn into a man the Detroit Police Department identified as their number one most wanted...yet Justice had never managed to let go of the jadedness instilled in him so long ago.

From nineteen eighty-one to two thousand ten, the fifteenth of January had never been a day of celebration for Justice.

And the fifteenth of January of the year twenty-eleven was shaping up to be no different than the twenty-nine which had preceded it.

Except, for the first time ever, Justice had allowed someone to give him a gift.

Justice knew Axl's "gift" was not a gift at all. Not even if he was two Buds from having an intimate face-to-face encounter with the crapper could he fool himself into thinking it was. Actually, the more Justice thought on it, in his acute state of sobriety, the more convinced he became anything else would've been preferable. Even a fist to the gut.

There were a couple other, less painful, choice ideas for presents his all too active mind was quick to throw out for consideration. The chance to run his fingers through Axl's burnt copper, shaggy, brown-black-and-blond highlighted locks while staring intently into his emerald rimmed, light green orbs and letting his own eyes tell the full story of the wealth of adoration he felt for the slight man. The opportunity to tease Axl's luscious, pink lips with nips and kisses of unrestrained passion.

Axl standing before him. Ready. Willing. Thin, pale, freckled body nude except for the royal blue satin bow tied around a certain organ south of his waist, nestled between the juncture of his thighs. A royal blue satin bow that would be quickly discarded with one swift tug of Justice's teeth. And an organ Justice would then thoroughly enjoy enticing with his mouth to a state of aching stiffness.

Shit, Justice thought harshly to himself. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned away from the window and the dying day he'd been blindly staring at. He moved towards the twin bed situated in the center of the Spartan room and plopped down hard on its edge. What the fuck was he thinking? He wasn't gay.

But if he was to be completely honest with himself, Justice had to admit he'd been aware for some time of the sexual craving he harbored for Axl. Over the last couple years of their long friendship, ever since that day, a myriad of stray thoughts betraying the truth of his desires had made themselves known to him. It was just that on this particular evening, stress had caused them all to hammer at the same time at the mental boundaries which normally held them safely in check, demanding freedom.

Whatever. Regardless of the current homosexual train of his thoughts, Justice was not a lover of men. Far from it.

And if anyone ever had their doubts, Justice had irrefutable proof to back up his state of heterosexuality: Lisa Walker...formerly Lisa Walker-Jameson up until approximately one year ago. Lisa was his ex-wife who managed a pretty fucking good impression of an Antarctic ice shard most of the time.

No man alive with even a hint of homosexual or bisexual tendencies would have dated Lisa, much less married the frigid bitch like he had. One glance at her and hidden tendencies no doubt blossomed into full blown actualities. Lisa had probably thus helped tons of men "in the closet" navigate their way to freedom around their mental embargoes of polo shirts, khaki pants and suit jackets.

Hell, even straight men made a point to cut a wide berth around her. Except Justice.

But Justice didn't really count. He was a special case: a nasty, obstinate bastard molded such from his adolescent experiences growing up on the east side of Detroit combined with his experiences founding and heading up Los Olvidados, one of Detroit's most feared and deadliest gangs. Justice made it a point to always obtain that which he viewed as unobtainable. No matter its desirableness, or, in the case of his beautiful, educated, glacial ex-wife, lack thereof.

His tenaciousness also underscored the urges he felt towards Axl. Time and again, Justice had fulfilled the role of Axl's protector. It was a role his psyche equated with that of a parent or a lover. The former was the role he'd served in Axl's early, formative years. The latter was a role he'd played, just once, on a grief fueled, explosive day two years ago. That day.

It was an incident Justice had immediately tried his best not to remember.

Since then, Justice had been treated quite often, as before, to all the trials and tribulations that came with protecting his friend. And on that first occasion after their intimacy he'd been forced into a confrontation with a disturbing realization: No matter how much Justice wanted to forget what had happened, it wasn't possible.

Because Justice's feelings towards Axl had undergone a radical, irrevocable change as a result of their actions together. And that was something Justice couldn't ignore. He couldn't overlook the fact that the very instant Axl's body had comforted his by welcoming his sex and his seed just happened to coincide with the very instant Justice had ceased to view Axl as his son, his little brother.

It was also the very instant Justice's mind had deduced Axl was no longer freely entitled to Justice's protective aid in that capacity.

That left only one other alternative in Justice's mind. Lover.

To which Justice's conscience protested.

In response to his confusion, Justice's mind had taken to the relentless, tenacious habit of stockpiling his suppressed, unsatisfied needs and the persistent expressing of them in the release of tantalizing, forbidden images throughout the years. Mostly at inopportune moments. Like now.

Made for an all-out crap situation. And for some very malapropos erections.

Justice absolutely, positively was not a lover of men.

He did, however, love one man.

By nature, Justice was protective and Axl was the only person who had a true need of him in such a capacity. Not that Los Olvidados wasn't full of members younger than Axl's tender twenty who had need of Justice in some way or another. But they were all cut from the same tough cloth as Justice and they looked to him for guidance, not the protection Axl relied so heavily on him to provide. Which meant Axl, thankfully, was the only person Justice had to deal with this tussling of the feelings over.

Even Lisa, his own wife, the very person he'd taken vows to keep safe from harm, had never needed him in such a manner. She'd made it clear often enough throughout their entire five years of marriage that she didn't need him to protect her and never would. And, of all the things he could fault Lisa for, her ability to defend herself had never been among them.

It was pretty much a given that every shrewish harpy was equipped from birth with the means to emasculate a man with the utterance of a single word.

Many months ago, there had been another person who'd truly needed his protection. Gage. His son with Lisa. But Justice had failed Gage. Much as he wanted, he hadn't been able to protect him.

But he couldn't think about Gage. Not right now. This wasn't the time or place. Nor was he ready.

Probably never would be.

Directing his thoughts in another direction, Justice contemplated the list of possible nonsexual birthday gifts he would be open to receiving from Axl in years to come. A simple thank you for the many times he'd extracted Axl's ass from this dilemma or that. Or, a warm, heartfelt, masculine hug in the safe form of slap on the back accompanied by a statement along the lines of, "J, have I ever told you how much I really appreciate all that you've done for me, man?"

A sudden change in the atmosphere jerked Justice clear out of his musings. The currents of charged energy which circulated invisibly through the air were almost imperceptible and, under normal circumstances, he never would have taken note of them. But given where he was, whose lair he was in, Justice did notice the difference because of his vigilance. A vigilance he knew from the moment of arrival it would behoove him to maintain at all times.

He was no longer in the room by himself. After hours of keeping him waiting, his host had apparently decided to come make the welcome wagon rounds.

Knowing if he showed any sort of negative reaction it would be perceived as a weakness to be fully exploited and used, Justice didn't move a muscle. Not even to relax those which had just tautened. By force of will, Justice remained exactly as he'd been, sitting on the side of the bed, feet planted firmly on the ground, ramrod straight back to the door and his host, gaze trained on the floor.

Several long, uncomfortably tense moments passed before his host deigned to speak. "So you're him. The great and mighty Justice Jameson. The Savior of Innocents."

"The moniker has a certain ring to it," Justice replied, his voice gravelly. His raspiness was a memento from his time spent in foster care and the numerous fists he'd taken in his throat from one of his nicer foster fathers before the man had met with an unfortunate, and fatal, accident instrumented by a preteen Justice. "Maybe you should heed its warning."

"Maybe I should heed its warning? Or is it that maybe you should place less stock in yourself?"

"Well, I can tell you right now that's definitely not going to happen. So let's stick with the first option, shall we."

Throughout the years, Justice had faced a myriad of foes on Axl's behalf. And those foes ran the gamut from the narcotic substance addictions, laughingly unfunny in their extensive variety and wide damage they caused, he'd helped Axl to overcome time after time, to the jealous, possessive lovers he'd sheltered Axl from.

But this new foe he now faced for Axl was wholly unlike any other foe he'd ever confronted before. This new foe was in a league of his own.

The guy wasn't even a guy. He was a demon. A real, live, honest-to-fucking-God, look what someone long ago conjured then lost control of demon.

He was also terrifyingly close to being in complete possession of something Axl couldn't live without. His soul.

And, no, it wasn't a demon has exclusive rights to Axl's soul, but only for X amount of years and to only be used in a pre-agreed upon manner type of situation. It was a by some scary, probably very painful method Axl nor Justice wanted to think about, much less fucking experience, demon is going to suck Axl's soul straight out of his body like he's slurping Coke through a crazy straw to claim absolute rights to and to do with as he so pleases for forever while leaving Axl dead in the process type of situation.

It was a situation Justice had no plans to see culminated. And that was his sole reason for agreeing to act as collateral when Axl had approached him.

Jesus, had it really only been just that morning Axl had appeared at his door, freakishly hulking man in tow, after weeks of ignoring all of Justice's attempts to contact him by phone and dodging Los Olvidados members Justice had sent after him? And had he really shown up babbling some crazy tale of a deal he'd made with a soul collecting demon called by, of all the ironic fucking things, Saint?

Saint's rumbling laughter filled the air, swelling until it occupied every corner of the room with its callous tones of mockery. "And you shouldn't push your luck, Justice. You should be happy as it is that the league of Axl's abusive beaus heed the implicit warning. Especially since they only do so because they don't know any better."

"I take that to mean you think you do."

"I know I do. I have important knowledge, infinite knowledge, that many others lack."

Yeah, damn it, that had really had happened just that very fucking morning.

After first laughing at Axl, thinking his friend's latest binge on insert drug of choice here was making him experience some serious, out-of-the-world hallucinations, Justice had quickly come to several conclusions which bade him to look deeper.

First, he'd realized the hulking man standing sentry by his front door was there to ensure Axl didn't flee, not as his newest boyfriend as Justice had originally assumed. Justice watched the furtive looks Axl shot in the man's direction every two to three seconds and he'd signaled King, his second, with a glance to inconspicuously train a gun on the man when he'd realized Axl was scared shitless of the guy, not enamored.

Axl's clear fear also served as Justice's first inkling that Axl truly believed every word of the unbelievable story he'd spun. Then Justice experienced the epiphany which was the deciding factor in forcing him into a reevaluation of the entire situation.

For the first time, in a very long time, Axl was sober.

Justice couldn't recall the last time his beloved friend had sought him out while not flying high on coke, crack or heroin.

Immediately, he'd dismissed King. Then made Axl recount his wild story. And had attentively listened to every word Axl spoke.

Though he had serious doubts about agreeing to what Axl asked of him, Justice knew he didn't have a choice. He loved Axl and, as Axl's protector, it was his duty to act as the guarantee Saint demanded. In return for Justice's agreement to his terms, agreement to be ushered back to Saint's compound by the hulking henchman for a stay of no less than seventy-two hours, possibly longer, as in never leaving, Saint would allow Axl to stay outside of his lair, unguarded, to carry out the task Saint had given him three days to complete. If Axl was successful in his mission, all of the demon's rights to his soul would revert back to Axl.

And both Axl and Justice would walk free.

Justice had readily consented. Even knowing his own soul would be forfeit if Axl failed in his task and failed to return to accept his fate.

Because without his consent, Saint wouldn't even have given Axl a fighting chance.

"Is that so," Justice replied, voice carefully modulated to reflect a boredom he didn't feel.

"I know the truth, Justice."

"Care to enlighten me. I always find a certain degree of amusement in entertaining the opinions others have drawn of me. They're usually erroneous, but, hey, that's what makes them so damn comical."

"The truth is, Justice, is that you're no savior. That may be how you fancy yourself, how The Forgotten, very quaint by the way, how Axl and how his sleazy boyfriends all see you, but it's not what you really are."

As Saint made his way fully into the room, Justice tracked his every move by the sound of his footfalls. Swift steps soon brought the very tips of a pair of black boots to just within Justice's line of sight and he could feel the silent challenge Saint issued. A dare for Justice to raise his eyes and to meet Saint's stare head on.

Never one to back down, Justice obliged.

Huge black boots. Tight black leather pants. Tighter black wife beater. Dark mocha brown skin. Merciless ochre eyes. Shaved bald head.

The demon was tall, approximately the same height as Justice himself, maybe a fraction taller at about six foot three or so. And the obscene tightness of his outfit highlighted his monstrously muscled physique so he probably possessed a similar strength. Not encouraging when Justice wanted nothing more than to rip the demon to shreds for threatening Axl.

Very discouraging when Justice acknowledged all he had to fall back on for extra strength was his fierce righteousness wherever Axl was concerned. Saint probably had the power of all of hell to back him.

Justice strongly suspected the visage of the thirty something man he looked at was not Saint's true countenance, but rather the countenance of another indebted soul who'd failed in his task and had subsequently had his dues called in. And he had to give it to the demon. It was an excellent choice.

Saint exuded dangerousness in his current form. Especially with the raised, scarred flesh which started at his right temple and stretched down his face and neck to disappear briefly under the thin band of his tank only to make a reappearance as it trailed down the full length of his right arm.

Strangely, the disfigurement wasn't off putting. On the contrary, it was magnetic with its intricate pattern of many swirls. And, if Justice didn't know better, he'd swear the swirls were moving, constantly shifting in place. Which was just crazy.

Or, maybe it wasn't, considering what Saint was.

A loop piercing decorated the right corner of his bottom lip, a curved barbell ran across the bridge of his nose, two straight barbells adorned his left eyebrow and each of his ears contained a multitude of piercings. The right which included the stretching of the lobe around a hollowed, silver, circular disk. Justice was fairly certain if he was looking at a face which had previously belonged to another, all of the "extras" had been added after the soul sucking had been completed.

Excellent choice, indeed. The dude was fucking scary.

And this was the future which possibly awaited Axl. No way in hell was Justice letting that happen.

"Finished with your gawking yet?" The words were laced with the same chilly amusement present in Saint's dark eyes. "Enjoying the view?"

"Fuck no."

Saint chuckled. "I won't take insult with your disgust as I didn't think you would nor do I care if you don't. But back to what I was saying," he said, deep, booming bass frostily cold. "We both know you're no savior, don't we. If that were truly the case, you wouldn't be sitting here right now."

Beating back the sickening guilt dredged up by Saint's words, Justice said, "I'm here because there's only one innocent I'm concerned with saving."

"Innocent. A very unorthodox word when applied to our dear Axl, don't you think? But what I really want to know, Justice, is if you know the true cost of you being here right now. Do you? You being here gives Axl the opportunity to collect and deliver to me the truly innocent souls of five virgins in order to save his own soul. His own damned soul lost by his own damn stupidity. But once I have those virginal souls have you any clue what I'm going to do with them?"

Justice knew, God did he know, but Axl's soul and life were at stake here. And no matter what happened, and to whom, Justice had to do what he could to save Axl. He couldn't fail him.


Seventy-Two Hours Ch. 01



Not like he had with Gage.

He absolutely refused to sit back and do nothing while history repeated itself by wrenching from his life the only other person of any true importance.

Flicking his gaze away from Saint's, he answered, "I can guess."

"So you think." Saint took a single step closer and Justice's eyes immediately flew back to the demon's with a silent warning for him to maintain his distance. "But I know you're not grasping the true magnitude of the iniquity you're allowing to happen so let me explain it to you in detail. I'm going to gleefully consume those virgins' souls, Justice. And by your complacency you're dooming them to spend an eternity in a personal hell, many of my own devising, where they'll be gruesomely tortured. Day in and day out they're going to pray over and over for the Lord, for me, for one of Hell's minions, for anyone, to kill them and to put them out of their misery, but no one will. Do you understand that, Justice? Do you understand the concept of eternity?"

"I get it."

"No, you don't get it," Saint spat. "You don't because you can't. Your puny, irrelevant mind won't let you." He shook his head in disgust. "Open your ears and truly hear what I'm saying to you. The punishments these boys and girls are going to suffer are far beyond your wildest imagination and will continue long after you've died peacefully in your bed an old man and long after your boy has either been beaten to death or died from an overdose—oh, come now, Justice, wipe that surprise from your puss. You're not stupid. You know deep in your heart Axl's destructive lifestyle is going to do him in long before Father Time gets an honest crack at him."

"Shut up." Justice's anger, his unwillingness to face the truth of Saint's statements, burst to the forefront. He growled, "Shut the fuck up."

"Ahhh, now you're starting to understand," Saint said, regarding Justice astutely. An unfeeling smile twisted the pierced corner of his lip upwards. "Now you get it. You and Axl are going to doom five virgins for an eternity so Axl's pitiful existence can be extended by, at best, a few years. What a fucking exchange. When this is all over, if Axl prevails, I know he will be able to live with his actions as he faithfully trots to the nearest crack house searching for that next high. But what about you, Justice? Will The Savior of Innocents, the leader of The Forgotten, be able to forgive himself for his part in all of this?"

Saint turned on his heel and strode to the door, calling over his shoulder, "Like I said, Justice, you're no savior. Quite the opposite, in fact, because Axl is far from pure. What he is, however, is a fool. And as his defender, I'm sure you can guess what that makes you."

The biggest fool of fools.

"One soul has already been delivered to me. One soul whose condemnation rests squarely at your feet. Only four more to go, Justice."

Tormented, Justice listened to the demon's departure which was as silent as his arrival had been. He only knew he was alone once more by the absence of the energy which had filled the air with Saint's presence.

The pleasure of dealing with this demon for seventy-two hours was the gift Axl had given to Justice for his birthday. But Justice had a strong suspicion the effects of his short stay would perpetually torture him for the remainder of his life.

Assuming, of course, he was allowed to leave with his life.

Happy-fucking-birthday to him.

*

January 21, 1999

Cold. He was so very cold.

Despite the fractured rays of sunlight streaming into the room, Axl was freezing. The weak light filtering through the few clean streaks of the filth covered window did nothing to dispel the frostiness which had seeped into his bones throughout the night while he slept on the hard, tiled floor of his furnitureless bedroom.

Shifting his form beneath the pile of foul smelling, threadbare blankets covering him, Axl turned fully away from the wall he huddled against and stared at the pale gray sky out the window located directly across from him. He wasn't one hundred percent certain, but he suspected the dreariness of the morning had more to do with the filmy glass than with the wintery morning itself. Only way to find out for sure would be for him to get up and walk over to the window and scrub a clean spot to peer out of.

But that wasn't going to happen.

Because, in addition to the cold he felt so strongly at the moment, Axl was physically weak. To the point he could hardly move. A result of living for days in an unheated house in the middle of a harsh, snowy Detroit winter. And with neither food nor water to sustain his already half-starved body.

Axl had felt a flicker of fear the day before when the acute pains filling his belly had gradually faded to nothingness. They'd been a part of him for so long that when they were at long last gone he hadn't been able to at first identify the difference he felt within himself. When he did finally figure it out, he'd known at once what it signified.

At eight years of age, Axl Thomas had been forced to face a knowledge no eight year old should ever be forced to deal with. He was going to die. Soon. And it was at that very moment he'd determined he wasn't going to do it while scared.

He had enough companions as it was with his numbed out hunger, his fierce desire to stay alive and his frozen body all keeping him company.

All these companions...yet he was still so all alone.

He'd been abandoned. Less than a week ago, Axl had awoken to discover his mother had departed. No note had been left. No explanation given beforehand.

The night before, she'd been there. The morning after, she hadn't.

On first discovering her absence, Axl hadn't been alarmed. It wasn't the first time she'd disappeared in the middle of the night and in the past she'd always come home within a day or two. Sometimes she came home with strange men accompanying her who she would then lock herself in her room with for hours on end, sometimes she came home with a few days worth of groceries with which Axl would fill his hollow tummy and sometimes she just came home with nothing at all but a happier, gigglier her.

But she'd always returned home.

It was on the dawn of the third day Axl had recognized this absence was different from the others. His mother wasn't coming back this time.

Hurt and scared, Axl had relinquished the tradition he always kept to on those occasions his mother left unexpectedly. Craving the comfort of her, he always slept on the mattress located on the floor of her bedroom until she returned. But knowing there was no more comfort to be found in his mother, Axl had stripped the blankets from the mattress revealing a multitude of stains, of unknown origins, in varying shades of brown and yellow. He'd carted them all over to his own room and made a pallet for himself on which he'd slept for the next two nights.

And it was where he was going to die, that very day, before it was dark outside, if he didn't make himself get up.

Legs shaking, Axl forced himself to his feet. Dizziness assaulted him and his muscles cramped. He swayed unsteadily and leaned against the wall for support. Once the illness passed, he determinedly trudged to the front door where he retrieved his sole pair of rundown shoes from the entry closet which was empty other than his thin spring jacket.

After tying his laces and covering the top part of his too small pajamas under his inadequate outerwear, he'd squared his shoulders, ready to follow through with the decision he'd made. Since his mother was no longer going to provide for him, it was now up to Axl to take care of himself.

He was going to live.

Or die trying.

Ten minutes later, Axl sped out of the neighborhood market and down the street, dirty snow crunching under his feet, mindless of where he was going. He cradled his treasure tight to his chest: a king size package of Reese Cups. Since he didn't hear the yelling or pursuit of the store owner behind him, he didn't think he'd been spotted, but he still ran as fast as the excitement behind the force of his pumping legs would allow. He didn't break momentum until he was several streets away and, when he did, he immediately ripped into the orange package.

He'd swallowed two cups whole, and was reaching for the third, when a raspy voice called, "Damn, boy, slow down and chew before you choke yourself."

Wide eyed, Axl's attention swung to the top steps of the apartment building he'd stopped in front of and the two men standing there. One was totally hidden in the shadows cast by the building's overhang, but, as far as Axl could tell, he wasn't the one who'd spoken. No, it was the other man who'd issued the warning. The one dressed in faded blue jeans and a dark brown leather jacket with a tan wool cap covering his head. Smoky tendrils, part byproduct of the cigarette clamped between his lips, part frigid air, drifted upwards in loose curls to obscure a clear view of his face.

"With the way he's wolfing them down, J, bet he lifted the candy from old man Hardy's store," shadow man said. "You're lucky Hardy didn't catch your ass, kid. He prosecutes everyone over the age of eighteen for stealing. Younger than eighteen, yeah, you're real lucky you didn't get caught."

Axl knew stealing was wrong, he really did, but he wasn't giving up the only food he'd had for days. Not without a fight. Ripping off the paper lining of the third cup, he let it flutter to the ground where it landed next to the other two, presenting a design of crumpled circles of brown on top of a backdrop of dirt colored snow, and hurriedly stuffed the sweet into his mouth. He skittered backwards a step, keeping a close eye on his audience, as his molars tore through chocolate in search of the peanut butter center. His teeth ached from the sweetness and his stomach grumbled for more.

"Why you out here stealing?" J asked around his cigarette. "It's not even ten yet and your bad ass is already up to no good. Shouldn't you be in school or something? And what's the deal with the chocolate? That's not breakfast. And, shit, you're young. What are you? Six? Seven?"

"I'll be nine in a few months," Axl answered defiantly. He made short work of disposing of the last remaining treat the same way he had with the first three.

"Nine in a few months," J scoffed. He passed his smoke to his friend then descended to the street. Stopping when he stood right in front of Axl, he contemplated him thoughtfully. "Eight is still a baby. And babies do not have any business out here stealing at nine something in the morning. Especially not chocolate and especially not from fucking pedophiles."

Axl didn't know if the shiver he desperately tried to suppress was in response to the biting cold. Or a response to seeing the vicious scar which started at the center of J's forehead, cut down sharply through his right eyebrow on its way safely around his right eye to the top of his cheek and its final destination behind the lower part of J's right ear.

"I ain't no fucking baby. And I don't care if Hardy is a pedophile," Axl proclaimed bravely although he didn't know what the word meant. He lifted his chin. "I take care of myself."

"Is that so?" Light brown eyes raked Axl's thin form from head to toe. A frown marred J's brow as his gaze traveled back upwards. "Ain't ain't a word. And you're not doing such a good job, little man. Who's your mom and where is she? She know you out here wildin'...fucking hell," J breathed as some type of realization hit home. "Yo, King," he said to his companion, not removing his eyes from Axl. "I think we got us a solution to that CPS situation. I bet this is Lauren's boy."

The response which came from the shadows was clear and concise. "Bout time he surfaced."

Hearing his missing mother's name, spoken right after the sentence where he'd been identified as a "solution to that CPS situation", was enough incentive for Axl to whirl in the direction he'd just come from, towards the only home he currently knew, and start running again. He managed two steps before a strong hand clamped onto his wrist which held the empty Reese cup package and spun him back around. The force of the grip forced his trash to the ground to keep company with the rest of the litter that was the sad remnant of Axl's breakfast.

"Uh-uh, not happening. You're coming with me. Child Protective Services been round here causing problems searching for your little ass ever since I discovered your mother's...fuck, uh, shit. Yeah, you're definitely coming with me."

Axl fought his captor like crazy. He clawed at the hand restraining his wrist and drug his feet along the pavement as he was jerked towards the stairs. "I d-d-don't want to go to no CPS. I j-just want..." he took a deep, shuddering breath, pinched J hard, then shrieked, "I just want my mom back!"

"Fucking hell," J said again, gruff voice harsher. He stopped moving and glared down at Axl. "Stop all that scratching and pinching, boy! You're not a pussy ass bitch! You mad, somebody does something you don't like, then hit them, damn it!"

Immediately, Axl stopped struggling. Then swung his free arm in a wild arc which connected with J's scarred cheek.

"Oh, shit," King called from the safety of his shadows, chuckling. "That hit looked solid, J."

"It was," J confirmed.

Frightened, Axl was two seconds from blurting an apology in hopes of wiping clean the shuttered expression which had cloaked J's face when J said to him, "I let go of you, you give your word not to run?"

"I won't run," Axl responded, willing to say anything to make the man turn him loose so he could make his escape.

"Your word is the only thing of true worth you'll ever have. It's what elevates the few great men of this world from the legion of the average. A great man knows his word is bound to his life for the rest of his life and he doesn't give it unless he means it." J tightened his hold on Axl. "So, for the second time, I ask, if I let go of you, do you give your word not to run? I advise you to answer truthfully this time."

After a long silence, Axl repeated, "I won't run."

But this time he did meant it. There was no point in running anyways. J was bigger than Axl, probably faster than Axl and would very easily catch and overpower Axl. And if he ran, all Axl would've done is wasted energy he didn't have to waste while making a bad situation worse.

Besides, J didn't really seem all that angry over Axl punching him. And he evidently had some type of knowledge about Axl's mother and Axl really wanted to know why she'd left him.

Wanted to know why she didn't want him anymore.

"Where's my mom?" he asked quietly. "Do you know where she is?"

J relaxed his hold on Axl's wrist and Axl pulled free. "She's, ah, hell, we'll get to that. Eventually. But first you need a hot meal. I bet you haven't eaten real food in days, have you? And you also need a bath. And some clean, warm clothes that fit."

Tears burned Axl's eyes as J removed the tan cap covering his buzzed hair and placed it on Axl's head instead. It wasn't much, but it offered a shade more warmth than what Axl had previously had. He cherished the extra...and longed for more.

But not if it meant being turned in to CPS and trundled from foster home to foster home. He'd had friends before who lived in foster homes, always short lived friendships because either Axl and his mother moved away or because his friends were shipped to another home. Axl never heard from them again, but he knew they were never adopted. They were too old with too many issues. Issues which had been picked up, oftentimes, in the foster homes in which they had been placed.

Axl had heard their horror stories. He'd seen the bruises. He knew what went on when the lights went out. And while life as a squatter with his own mother had never been good, it was still better than that.

"I don't want to go to no CPS," Axl whispered, wiping his eyes, determined not to cry. "I don't want to live in no foster home."

"Yeah, can't say I blame you. Been there, done that. Didn't much enjoy it myself." J lifted a hand to his face and fingered his scar, a tormented expression flashing across his features. Quick as it had come, it was gone and he'd returned his hand to his side. "No CPS. No foster homes. Trust me?"

Axl stared at J. He knew he didn't have very many options to choose from. Back to a cold house and certain death by freezing or starvation? No. CPS? No.

Trust J?

Tentatively, Axl grabbed the hand he'd just tried his damndest to injure. "Trust you."

"Alright, then, now that we've got that settled, let's get some food in you." J grinned at him. "And, damn, boy, you got a wicked right hook. And mad heart to swing on me like that. I respect a man with heart since not everyone has it. And it's something I can work with. Cultivate."

As they started for the steps again, hand-in-hand, Axl found himself wondering why J cared when Axl's own mother didn't anymore. The question must've shown on his face.

"Because," J explained, looking down at him, "that's what I do. I provide a family to boys and girls when they no longer have one they can rely on. All I ask for in return is their loyalty. Can you give that to me, little man?"

Axl nodded his head.

"For life?"

Axl bobbed his head up and down again. "For life."

"Welcome to Los Olvidados. You're going to hold the honor of being our youngest member inducted to date, but, hell, I can't leave your ass hanging. Especially since..."

"What's Los Olvidados?" Axl questioned when it became clear J wasn't going to finish his thought. He had a strong suspicion it had something to do with his absent mother. And he had a stronger suspicion it was something J wasn't ready to talk about with Axl just yet.

"Your new family. First thing you need to know is that you can leave whenever you want, no strings attached, but you'll always be one of us. Second thing is that if you do decide to leave you must always remember our secrets are your secrets and they can never leave your lips. When you die, they die with you." J paused at the top step, opening the door to the apartment building. "King, hold things down out here."

"Got ya, Justice," King replied. As Axl shuffled into the warm, dark interior of the apartment building, King, still shrouded in shadows, said to him, "And no more stealing from Hardy, kid. He touches one of The Forgotten, he dies. So it's only fair not to tempt him."

*

January 15, 2011

The memory featuring a filthy, malnourished eight years old Axl's very first meeting with the then eighteen years old Justice was the one which had sealed Justice's fate in the predawn hours of a morning twelve years in the future from that day. Truthfully, any of the tons of other memories Saint had discovered while delving into Axl's mind which came after that initial meeting would've been reason enough for Saint to have chosen Justice.

For example, there was the memory of the authoritative teen confidently inviting the CPS case worker into his apartment's living room and quietly advising the man, at gunpoint and in front of Axl no less, to close his file on Axl Thomas, to leave and not to ever return. Or there was the memory of Justice furnishing his spare bedroom specifically for Axl, including the child's first bed, weather appropriate clothing and a shit load of the latest in high tech electronics.

There was the memory of a naked Axl riding an equally naked Justice on the carpeted floor of Gage's bedroom when Axl was eighteen and Justice twenty-eight.

There was the knowledge of the true depth of Axl's love for Justice. And the fact that the reason Axl kept spiraling wildly out of control was due to Justice's failure to see that love and accept it.




Seventy-Two Hours Ch. 01



But it was that very first memory which resonated the deepest with Axl and, in turn, with Saint. And it was that very first memory which led Saint to inform Axl his freedom to complete his task would come at the price of Justice's.

That was the deal Saint made with all those unfortunate enough to find themselves cursed with having to wheel and deal with him. An unfortunate's soul owned by Saint, usually by their own foolishness. A task, chosen by Saint, to be completed by the unfortunate in a set time frame to win their soul back. Freedom to complete such task only granted by the willing agreement of the most important person in the unfortunate's life, determined by Saint, to deliver themselves to Saint's compound to act as assurance.

Other than Saint's owning of the unfortunate's soul, it was all just a bunch of bullshit. The task. The time frame. The assurances.

Especially the assurances.

Considering Saint had a vested interest in his unfortunates, a literal piece of himself left behind in their souls during his mind dive, he knew where they were and how to get to them at all times. A snap of Saint's fingers and unfortunates who'd thought they'd gotten away scott free by leaving their parents, siblings, spouses, offspring, best friends or whoever behind to suffer the unfortunate's fate found themselves right back in front of Saint. He then enjoyed not only making them beg his forgiveness, he also relished making them beg their teary eyed, deceived loved one's forgiveness before banishing both to suffer eternal damnation in the nether world.

The only reason Saint demanded the collateral to begin, played his game to begin with, was because he could. He was of Thiatian lineage. Descended from a very long line of demons who'd thrived on the torment of mortals since the beginning of mankind.

And since Saint's existence directly related to that torment, he made sure to cause a lot of it. All the time. Hence his game.

Saint sauntered down the hall of his compound allocated to his temporary guests. He'd just left the room housing Justice, a tortured enigma Saint had no claim to, yet, but who's soul felt familiar. It was vaguely reminiscent of another soul Saint had run into before, though Saint didn't know who or when. What Saint did know was that Justice uncommonly intrigued him.

Justice was a ruthless gang leader, a loving father figure, an unrepentant killer, an adoring surrogate older brother all rolled up and mashed together into one. He was, in short, a walking contradiction. With such a wide variety of issues plaguing him they made him a clinical psychologist's walking wet dream.

They made him Saint's walking wet dream.

The man's torment was almost irresistible, it called out to Saint so loudly. And it had spiked beautifully, deliciously, just as Saint had known it would when he'd provoked Justice with thoughts of the virgins' souls at stake in Saint's and Axl's game. But even before Saint had executed his test instigation, the amount of agony Justice inherently possessed had already convinced him if were to keep Justice around, rather than banishing him to hell or back to his own house when all was said and done, he would be able to survive solely off of Justice for a very long time to come. He'd been siphoning and feeding on slight amounts of Justice's emotions ever since the man had arrived early that morning. And had discovered just a little bit of Justice went a very long way.

By the time he'd finally arrived at Justice's room, Saint had been happily gorged. There had never been another capable of doing that before.

And it made Saint want to keep it all to himself for an eternity.

It would so easy to arrange. A little sabotage of Axl's task and then, Bam!, Justice was Saint's. Forever.

Yet Saint had to admit there was something else about Justice which tempted him, something outside of his troubled soul, something more Saint hadn't quite managed to figure out yet.

Saint stopped at a door a little further down the hall, opposite side, of the door to Justice's room. Opening the entrance wide, he took in the scene but didn't enter.

The woman was on her knees by the side of the twin bed. As was her norm, she prayed in silence, a rosary held tight in her fisted hands. Though her white head was bowed, her curtain of hair shielding her facial features from view, Saint knew from their past engagements her lips would be moving in constant recitation of the Lord's Prayer and her face would be weary and lined heavily with stress. Lines of stress which had appeared only since the beginning of her residency at the compound.

It was easy to see she'd been a beautiful girl in her youth. Even as recent as three days ago, when Saint had first made her acquaintance, she'd still been a handsome woman. Now she was very nearly broken by the horror of what she was allowing to happen. Exactly how Saint liked his assurances.

And yet, despite Mira's obvious misery, Saint couldn't wait to be rid of her. For hers was a pain he couldn't enjoy it was tempered so by his longing.

Mira Rodriguez's soul was special. And of the type Saint thankfully only had the misfortune of encountering one other time, four to five centuries back. Hers was a truly untainted soul. A soul whose human life had been lived walking the straight and narrow, lived dedicated to the church, the devoted worship of Christ and the tending of the welfare of those not as well off. Saint seriously doubted an untruth had ever passed the woman's lips.

She was married to another special soul, but special for an altogether different reason. Her husband was so wicked the man had the capability to put the world's memory of Jeffrey Dahmer to shame with the cannibalistic inclinations he held for little boys buried deep in the back of his head.

Why Mira had agreed to marry Lou, Saint had no fucking clue. Best guess he had was she felt sorry for the son of a bitch and had exchanged vows with him as the personal sacrifice which would guarantee her a solid gold mansion built on the hill overlooking the pearly gates from the inside when her time came. And his guess of personal sacrifice wasn't based on Lou Rodriguez's downfalls, which were many at present with yet still more to come, but rather on the fact Lou was uglier than two pieces of warmed shit smashed together.

Another guess was that the clichéd, yet true, concept of yin and yang applied with the two. As opposites, good was attracted to evil and vice versa. One could not exist without the other as the two were hopelessly interspersed and deeply connected.

Mira was light to Lou's darkness. And, in all honesty, she was probably the only reason Lou's hidden desires had remained unexcavated for as long as they had...they'd remained hidden all the way up until the night Lou had decided to try his hand at forcing a black youth, walking down an alley by himself, into his car. The encounter Lou had afterwards with the bunch of goons who saw his attempt at abduction, one of who happened to be the youth's older cousin, was the encounter which had bought Saint into Lou's life.

Saint literally had to force his feet to remain still as they ached to carry his body closer to the forbidden. Wrestling his desire, he called, "Mira."

The white head jerked up and swiveled in his direction. Fearless brown eyes locked onto his. "You've changed appearances."

"So I have."

She studied him for a few minutes. "Black. Male. Alpha. Pierced. Brimming with energetic power. And wearing your stolen goods like a badge of honor." Her laughter was mirthless. "Wish I could meet the person who inspired such a prolific change versus the choir girl persona you usually don when you meet with me. Must be one scary individual."

"And you shouldn't let appearances deceive you. That so called choir girl was a very accomplished serial killer who only came to my attention because one of her victims managed to overpower her before succumbing to his own wounds. At the time she crossed my path, she'd already successfully, and very gruesomely, claimed seven victims and the police had no idea who was responsible. Still don't. While the man you see before you now—" Saint indicated his form with a wave of his hand "—biggest sin was a fondness for female flesh just a tad younger than the legal age of consent. Eighteen did nothing for him, but seventeen, seventeen was perfect...and got him into mortal trouble with a pissed off daddy."

A similar trouble Saint could easily find himself in over Mira.

As soon as Mira had stepped foot through his compound's doors, Saint had recognized her for what she was. And, in spite of the peril she presented to him, the indomitable disastrous allure her pureness represented, he refused to send her on her merry way as he'd so desperately wanted. It just wouldn't do to have to explain to Lou, who Saint was trying to infuse the fear of Satan into, that he was scared to approach his five foot nothing wife, much less do her any promised harm.

If that wasn't counterproductive, Saint didn't know what was.

So Saint hadn't made Mira leave, regardless of the personal knowledge he'd gained from that long past experience with the other untainted as to what would happen if he gave in to her appeal. No good would come of it. First off, he would fail. Spectacularly. Secondly, in the process of failing so gloriously he'd be hurt, left with an intangible scorch he'd feel for decades to come. Lastly, oh, that was the best part. He didn't even want to think about the heavenly beings it would bring descending on his compound's roof, ready to wage war.

After the last incident, he was surprised the powers above let him keep Mira at all without kicking up a fuss. Maybe they let her stay because they felt safe and secure in their knowledge Saint knew and respected the repercussions of succumbing to her temptation. A very possible explanation.

And doubtful.

More than likely they'd let her stay because they knew she wouldn't leave without honoring every letter of her agreement with Saint first.

She was just that type of woman. The type who possessed the ability to terrify demons while simultaneously making angels respect her.

And it just made Saint want to suck her essence dry, to leave her body a soulless husk, all that much more. He wanted to wallow in all that pureness that would severely burn him ever so sweetly.

He wanted to feel again that closeness to the Father who'd forsaken those of Saint's ilk long before Saint had ever bleeped into existence.

And that was the reason Mira had to go, asap, now that Saint's business with Lou was concluded.

"Time for you to go, Mira."

Rather than the joy he'd anticipated his proclamation would bring, the easier to send Mira along on her way without any questions or arguments, the stooped shoulders sank even lower. "Then Lou held up his end of the bargain."

"He did."

"Five innocent souls. Hand delivered to you."

"Did you doubt he would succeed?" Saint asked, genuinely curious. Mira was well aware of her husband's persuasiveness. Influencing five virgins to come with him to the compound was nothing to Lou...Christ, the sick, twisted bastard had somehow managed to convince strong willed, able minded, innocent Mira to wed to him, after all.

"No," she answered in a voice filled with a profound tiredness. "Though I came here because, God help me, I love him, I prayed each and every day he would fail."

"Then you know he belongs here. You know he's one of ours."

"I know." She rose gracefully to her feet. "Can I interest you in a trade?"

"Lou? In return for the souls?"

"I'd never be able to convince him to do anything so honorable," she said derisively. "Besides, I have a feeling his incorporeal being will one day be called back to your fold."

Shaking his head, Saint smiled grimly. "Then I'm not interested in trading with you. Just as Lou belongs to us, Mira, and, yes, one day he will return home, you belong to them. Much as I'd like to, and you have no clue how much I'd really fucking like to, I cannot lay claim to you. If I tried, I'd risk serious harm to myself along with causing some serious fucking damage to my very comfortable way of life."

She was silent for a long time. With each passing minute, her weariness became more pronounced. "Before I go, will you at least share with me the details of the night you met my husband?"

"That, Mira, is something for you to discuss with Lou."

Then she was gone, delivered home, safe and sound, to her execrable husband. For several minutes Saint continued to stand there, staring into the small room empty of everything but a lit floor lamp and a bed. The remaining echoes of Mira's presence batted at him tantalizingly as they rolled past in waves to fill the hallway. He briefly considered having the room cleaned thoroughly before its next habitation to rid it off all traces of Mira before deciding not to. She'd fade away. Eventually.

And when she did, she'd take with her that connection to his Father.

No need to hasten the inevitable.

When Saint finally turned from the room, he discovered Justice leaned against the frame of the door to his own room, watching Saint intently with his piercing hazels. His heavily muscled arms were folded across the massive expanse of his white t-shirt clad chest. Unabashedly, Saint let his eyes drift appreciatively over the man's form.

Justice wasn't handsome, at least not in any classical sense of the manner. But the lack of the boy next door's natural charm didn't lessen his appeal any. Because his appeal lay in the raw charisma he radiated. He was, essentially, the exact opposite in every way of the boy he so adored. That drug addicted fucker did somehow manage to exude boyish charm.

Sometimes, amazingly enough as revealed through his memories, even after he'd shoveled a truck load of coke up his nose.

But their differences went further than that. Axl's titian based hair was an ad for Loreal with its variety of colors and its perpetually tousled, windswept style, while Justice's hair was still mostly buzzed with the exception being the dark, carelessly disheveled, skull hugging waves he'd let grow just on the very top of his head. Axl had the freckled, milky white complexion common to those with red hair and green eyes while Justice's complexion was a natural golden brown hue indicative of his mestizo Cuban heritage. Axl's round, baby face was unmarked while Justice's was a mass of sharp angles and bore a grisly scar which had a chilling story to accompany it.

Everywhere Axl was small and soft, Justice was big and hard. Saint eyed Justice's flat stomach. He let his gaze drift lower, to the apex of Justice's jeans.

Oh, yeah, from Axl's explicit memory, Saint already knew Justice had the capacity for big and hard in that particular area.

Where Axl had the skittish personality of a true crack head, complete with that nifty ability to disappear into thin air at the first sign of trouble, Justice was able to withstand high levels of stress while keeping his cool. As evidenced when Saint's eyes finally met his again and Justice inclined his head slightly in a disdainful acknowledgement.

"You certainly seem to have enjoyed the view," he mockingly remarked, lowering his gaze to Saint's crotch and the big bulge trapped there. Then he retreated back into his room's interior, the quiet click of the shutting door reverberating through the hall louder than the logic behind the frequency of sound said it had any right to.

As another wave of Mira rolled into Saint, a startling realization occurred to him: He'd just figured out the puzzle of Justice's soul.

His essence reminded Saint of Mira's. It was different in that it was approachable, but yet and still also disturbingly similar.

Which made absolutely no sense at all.

Mira was untainted. In all ways.

Justice was not. The least of his sins included the use of brute force to get what he wanted, the greatest the murders he'd committed. Saint had been able to glean from Axl that Justice was directly involved in at least five homicides Axl was aware of as he'd seen Justice commit them. The first had been dear old Hardy, a couple years after Axl had joined Los Olvidados. The store owner's crime had been raping one of Los Olvidados's underage female members.

But there was a whole slew more killings Axl suspected Justice of but couldn't say for sure.

So why the hell did Justice's thoroughly sullied soul have the same underlying goodness that defined Mira's?

A theory started to form in Saint's mind...

As he strode to his quarters, he was keenly aware of the painful tightness of his leathers. He tried thinking of weddings, the births of healthy babies and other occasions filled with celebratory, happy humans to make his erection fade. When that failed, he tried to make things a little more comfortable in the region by adjusting his cock into a different position. Still not meeting with any success, he gave up and started whistling a jaunty tune.

By the time Saint reached his room ten minutes later, he'd come to two indelible conclusions.

Justice was Saint's key to experiencing a little slice of heaven on earth.

And Saint was definitely keeping Justice Jameson for himself.



Seventy-Two Hours Ch. 02



Author's Note:

Okay, so I have to retract the statement I made in chapter 1. I don't think this is a little darker that what I normally write, I know it is.

These characters aren't particularly likeable, but I'm writing this story because I do find them compelling. I think nomoretears00 got it right when she described all three of them as damaged.

Anyways, here's chapter 2. Forewarning you now there is a physically violent scene between Justice and Axl. Just a hit...but I know from my own experiences with domestic violence that just a hit is just a hit too much.

Thanks for reading. Feedback and comments welcome as always.

*

April 22, 2007

Laughing, Axl accelerated his brand new, cherry red Mustang to insanely high speeds. He was on the way to the hospital, having just received word by text that the baby had been born.

Axl didn't let up on his breakneck speed until he reached the rear, lesser used visitor's parking lot. After maneuvering the car carelessly, and also very crookedly, into one of the many available spaces, he jumped out and paid the attendant. He strolled to the street, was just about to dart across—

He didn't get the chance.

A hand clamped onto the back of Axl's neck and yanked him backwards. Out of the way of a vehicle speeding even more haphazardly than Axl not five minutes before.

"Shit, that was close!" Axl exclaimed. "Where the hell did that car even come from?" He watched the car as it veered precariously to the left, across two lanes of opposing traffic, before it finally drifted safely back to the right. "I didn't—"

"Of course you didn't see it, you're high."

Axl groaned silently when he heard his savior's voice. There was only one person he knew who had that just woke up sound. And it didn't matter if it was morning, noon or night, that person always sounded like they'd just rolled out the bed.

And, funny as that was, it wasn't what Axl was supposed to be thinking about. There was something of far greater importance which deserved his attention. And that something was...

When he couldn't make himself remember, Axl tried to shake his head to dislodge the cobwebs. And discovered he couldn't because his savior's firm hold on his neck hadn't decreased.

Holy. Shit. The something of far greater importance was his savior. Aka Justice. Who was standing next to Axl. And who evidently knew Axl was high. Jesus, on any other day that would seriously be a fucking buzz kill. But today it wasn't.

Today, Axl was just too far gone to care.

"Hey, J! Whatcha doing out here, bro?" Axl asked enthusiastically.

Hazel orbs regarded him coolly. "Waiting for you. Like I told you I would be in my last text."

"You did?" Axl tried hard to remember the text. He couldn't. Only text he remembered receiving from Justice that afternoon was the one announcing Gage's birth.

"That's exactly what I told you in my last text. That would be the text I sent right before your response that you'd see me in the parking lot in fifteen. But I'm guessing you don't remember that one either."

"Nah, sorry, I don't. But let's go inside, man. I'm excited to see my lil' brother."

A dark, bushy eyebrow bolted upwards and a hoarse, incredulous voice clarified, "High?"

Shit. He would want to harp on that.

"I'm not high," Axl protested. Far as he was concerned his little white lie was close enough to the truth. After all, wasn't it worth consideration that he wasn't as high as he would've been if he hadn't left his friend's house exactly when he had? Trying to make small talk, he continued, "Got here fast as I could, man. Left almost soon as I got your message."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, I stayed long enough to help Brand break down the work, but I left him and Dante to bag it up."

Axl very carefully made sure to omit any reference of what they'd all been doing when the text had come through prior to said breaking down occurring. And what they'd all engaged in a little bit more of after they were done and before Axl had actually taken his leave.

Rolled up hundred dollar bills. DVD cases topped with even lines of white powder. A couple snorts.

A big trip to heaven.

"You mean you left right after sending me the text that you can't even remember sending. The text you sent an hour ago."

"Damn, did it really take me that long to get here? My bad, J. There was a lot of product and time just got away from me."

Justice stared at Axl through hardened, narrowed eyes. Barely restrained anger glinted dangerously in the amber orbs. "Time got away from you because you're high."

"It was just some weed," Axl blurted, rethinking his theory of being too far gone. Justice's grip was tightening painfully and Axl didn't doubt Justice was close to giving in to the urge to throttle him. And no matter how high he was, the seriousness of facing certain death required a healthy measure of soberness. "I swear, J. That's all it was, man. Weed."

Justice let go of Axl, some of the anger leached out of his gaze. Only to be replaced with something even more disturbing. Disappointment. "Just some weed? You say that like it's no big deal."

"It's not." Not when compared to what Axl had in truth been doing.

"Axl, has it ever occurred to you that just some weed at sixteen will eventually turn into just a little bit of cocaine when you're eighteen? And just a taste of heroin when you're twenty? Hell, on that path to sure success, before you're old enough to buy alcohol we'll have made a crack head out of you first, boy."

Desperately, Axl tried to think of anything he could say to staunch his idol's displeasure. "Hey, I know the technical term for what you're talking about," he joked with a grin he suspected was as idiotic as it was bright. "We talked about that in health class once. It's called the gateway effect or some shit like that."

"Gate..." Justice's harsh tones faded into nothingness. The expression on his face was an engrossing combination of awed disgust Axl would've found amusing...on any other occasion. "Jesus, have you forgotten our number one rule?"

Never get high on your own supply. Biggie's fourth crack commandment. "I haven't forgotten. It's just that I—"

"It's just that you what?" Justice interrupted in a shout. He shoved Axl in the shoulders so hard Axl just barely managed to stop himself from stumbling to the ground.

But the completely unexpected hit aimed at Axl's chest did take him down.

The air Axl's lungs had been so innocently enjoying escaped in a whoosh as Justice's fist connected. Axl doubled over, still upright. Slowly, as the pain neared the level of unbearable, he sank to his knees. It took several moments for him to convince himself his heart hadn't stopped beating. And, when he did, he then found himself having to sway his belly not to paint the sidewalk with all of its contents.

Somehow Axl finally managed to pick himself up. Right at the moment he regained his feet, a man and woman exited the parking lot.

The man, evidently having seen what happened and intending to intercede, approached slowly. "Hey—"

"Mind your business," Justice snapped, not bothering to look at the interloper. "This is between family."

The man glanced back and forth between Justice and Axl, his disbelief clear. His expression said it all.

Huge, violent, dark Justice. Versus half the size, in agony, lily white Axl.

"Is he telling the truth, son?" the man directed to Axl. "You two really family?"

"Isn't that what I just fucking said?" Justice ground out. The corner of his scarred eye twitched.

"Yeah, that's exactly what you said. Now I want to hear what he has to say."

"We're family," Axl wheezed in assurance. He was scared that whatever the reason behind the couple visiting the hospital, it was about to take a back seat to the care the man was putting himself in danger of needing. A battering suffered at Justice's hands could be that detrimental.

Then he wondered at his immense stupidity as he watched the sensible female pull her male across the street. With the man gone, that meant Axl would once again bear the full brunt of all that detrimental anger by his lonesome.

With no other readily available witnesses, a quick scan revealed. With nothing at all to curb Justice's violence.

"Do you want to end up like my mother? Do you want to be beaten to death while high?" Justice hissed, faced shoved right in front of Axl's. "Or is it your own mother you're striving so diligently to be like? Cause that bitch is a real good fucking example to model yourself after. Beaten to death while high and abandoning her only child to fend for himself in the middle of winter."

Scuffing one of his Air Force Ones over the other, Axl dropped his head. Hot shame coursed through his veins, chasing and subjugating the coke.

Or the dying of his high may have been related to the pain radiating throughout his entire being from the point where Justice's fist had collided with his body.

Axl had been snorting the toxin for some time now. Didn't really know why he'd started other than he wanted to know some variation of the high which had haunted his mother and ruined her life. But ever since those very first lines he'd sucked up his greedy nostrils, he'd known how Justice would feel about his recreational drug use.

Justice had been the one to discover his own mother's lifeless, badly bruised body when he was ten. Justice had also been the one to discover the dead, abused, mottled body of Axl's mother in the alley beside the apartment building where he used to live. 

Justice loathed drug addicts. He viewed mothers who used as the worst offenders.

But even worse than the mothers were the children who saw what happened...and still walked down that same path.

What a hypocritical situation. The drug dealer who hated his clients yet would never stop selling to them.

What an atypical situation. The drug dealer who actively participated in the destruction of families. Then supplied the cast off children a place in Los Olvidados, another familial unit of sorts, in return.

Like he had with Axl after selling Axl's mother crack rocks the night she'd been killed.

"You know what? Don't answer that," Justice fumed, "since it's clear to me you have some kind of fucked up wish to be just like our dearly departed mothers. I consider myself an obliging type of guy so I'll do my best to make your dream come true. You're already high, so that part is taken care of. Now we're at the part where I beat your fucking ass. What you just experienced? Nothing compared to the punishment you're about to suffer."

"P-p-please don't," Axl stammered. He knew, if pushed, Justice would carry out his threats, consequences be damned.

"P-p-please don't," Justice mocked cruelly. "You don't want me to pound your hard ass, stubborn head into the fucking concrete? Then give me one good reason not to." He stuck up his pointer finger, right in front of Axl's face, as a numerical example. "That's all I'm asking for." He tapped the digit against Axl's forehead. "Go ahead, use that doped up brain of yours to think up one good ass reason for me not to drop you and hope when you regain consciousness you'll have found some of the fucking common sense you seem to have misplaced somewhere!"

"B-b-because it's n-not necessary."

And because his chest already hurt to high hell. As for including the rest of his body in on the pain? No fucking way.

He wouldn't survive it.

"You giving your word not to get high again?"

Just to assuage Justice, Axl thought about replying in the affirmative. But then Justice's long ago words about the only thing of true worth Axl would ever have echoed through his mind.

It was time to man up. Even if it did mean he would suffer a beat down.

Axl was addicted. And he wasn't ready to stop using. When he was high, it was the only time he understood Lauren Thomas and the poor choices she'd made in her life. It was the only time he could forgive his mother for leaving him.

It was also the only time that it didn't hurt quite so much when Axl acknowledged he was in love with a man who would never be in love with him back. A man who had a wife. And a newborn son.

The man who had saved Axl as a child.

Jesus, how screwed up was it that Axl sexually desired the man who'd reared Axl as his own? The answer was simple.

It was screwed up enough that Axl had turned to drugs to cope.

Axl took a deep breath. He backed up a safe distance from Justice. Then raised his eyes to stare at a point just over Justice's shoulder. "I can't give that to you, J. Not yet."

"Why am I not surprised." After a long moment, Justice sighed. "Guess that's it, then. You've made your choice."

"Guess I have. Can I...can I see still see my lil' brother?"

"Hell no." The denial was immediate.

"I can respect that," Axl mumbled. "Yeah, uh, guess I'll leave now. And I'm sorry, J. Never should have come up here like this."

Axl turned around and retreated to his car. He felt emotionally numb over Justice having shut him out of his life for the first time ever. He was in disbelief. Using the remote, he unlocked the doors and gingerly slid into the driver's seat so as not to jostle his sore torso.

Then jumped in surprise when Justice slid into the passenger's seat next to him.

"Damn, that hurts," Axl moaned. He focused pained bleared eyes on Justice. "Uh, J, whatcha doing, man? You coming with me or something? Need me to take you somewhere?"

"Nah." Instead of immediately elaborating, Justice adjusted the motorized seat until it reclined all the way back. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Huh?" Axl asked stupidly.

"I said I'm not leaving. I can't. My newborn son, your baby brother, is in that building across the street."

"So why are you in my car then? Not that I mind or anything since you did buy it, but, uh, what—"

"Because you're not going anywhere either, Axl," Justice explained evenly, all signs of his earlier anger absent. "Right now you need me a lot more than my other little boy does. And since I can't let you near him right now, and also refuse to let you leave in your inebriated state, this is the compromise I have to settle for."

Hope flourished in Axl's chest. It overcame his pain, both physical and emotional.

Justice wasn't shutting him out. Justice truly wasn't shutting him out.

Axl twisted his upper body behind the steering wheel until he faced Justice. "J, I just want you to know that, ya know, I really appreciate that you're not giving up on me."

"You're my family, Axe, and family doesn't give up on one another. We may not be related by blood, but our bond is just as strong and real as the bond I have with my son." Justice turned his head to the left and pinned Axl under the force of his stare. "Because of that bond and the love I have for you, I'm sending you to rehab. You may have made your choice, but in no way does that mean I have to sit back, accept it and do nothing, goddamn it."

Axl knew then that Justice hadn't bought into his lie. People generally didn't go to rehab for weed.

Much later, to his elation, Axl was finally allowed to enter the maternity ward of the hospital. He'd been lightened of the variety of unsold drugs he'd been carrying on his person.

But the smile on his face couldn't be removed. Because Justice was by his side.

Justice was still there for him.

*

January 16, 2011

Justice reclined on his back in the center of the small bed, staring at the ivory colored plaster ceiling. The day of Gage's birth was stuck on repeat in his mind. He truly didn't want to think about his son, but with nothing else to do, he'd started to reflect on his past. And his past was the only place where Gage existed now.

And it sure beat the hell out of the alternative: thinking about the implications of his actions as so nicely brought to his notice by Saint the day before.

The day of Gage's birth had been momentous for Justice. An emotional roller coaster. Witnessing the arrival of the bundle of joy. Hearing his first lusty cry of life. Cutting the umbilical cord. Washing his tiny body clean.

That first hug.

The first kiss.

Those had all been the ups of that day.

Then came the down. Just one. The day of Gage's birth also happened to be the day Justice realized he was losing Axl. The kid had shown up at the hospital so high he should've been awarded his own spaceship, a license to wield molecular nano weapons and the authorization to eradicate alien life forms.

Alien life forms which, for all Justice knew, were as real as Saint.

It was just some weed, Axl had protested. But Justice had known he wasn't telling the truth.

The glassy state of Axl's eyes. The lack of the tangy, earthy odor peculiar to marijuana clinging to Axl's clothing. The way Axl had unconsciously wiped his nose with the back of his hand, as if to remove damning evidence.

Then Axl had gone and made that motherfucking joke, had tried to downplay the seriousness of the situation.

And Justice's tenuous control on his temper snapped.

As his fist connected with Axl's chest, images flashed through Justice's mind of Lauren Thomas's sightless eyes and gruesomely beaten, snow covered, naked body. But imposed over those images had been the memories of his own mother in a much similar, albeit clothed, state.

The thoughts came next. Thoughts of the reason behind Lauren's visit to Justice that long ago night combined with thoughts of what could've happened to Axl if he hadn't ventured out of hiding. Thoughts that Axl was proving, pretty effectually, that no matter what the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

A revelation, Justice realized with acute distaste, applied equally to Justice. Only it wasn't his mother Justice took after. It was his father. His father who had also physically abused someone he professed to love. His father who had been responsible for the taking of a life.

But didn't that make Justice worse than his father? Justice had taken countless lives.

As Justice watched Axl slowly sink to his knees, he'd made a silent oath to do the best he could by his son. To do better by Gage than his own father had ever done by him and than he himself had ever done by Axl.

And to then do ten times better by Axl than he was by Gage.

As a start, Justice had sat with Axl in the car he'd gifted to him the week before as an extremely early seventeenth b-day gift. They'd stayed there until the high petered off. Then he'd kept Axl next to his side until the morning Gage was released from the hospital. And that afternoon, for all the good it had done, as promised, Justice had signed Axl up for rehab.

It was four years later and Axl had been to that same rehab center four different times in total. The first time was the only time he'd gone by choice. The three other times Justice had used his resources to track Axl down and made him go back by force. On each release, Axl would stay home and stay clean for a few weeks. But eventually the day always came when he would slip out the door unnoticed to reacquaint himself with his vices.

When those days arrived, Justice, though he didn't understand Axl's motives, was never surprised. Because he would often ask Axl for his word. And Axl would always respond, "I can't give that to you, J. Not yet."

Axl's weakness was the reason they were both in this situation with Saint. But Justice wasn't mad at Axl. It was himself he was pissed with.

He should've never given in to Axl's wheedling to let him sell drugs so that Axl could make money of his own. He should've paid closer attention to the signs that Axl was using. He should've made Axl stay clean. He should've made Axl give his goddamn word.




Seventy-Two Hours Ch. 02



He should've...

He should've...

He should've...

If he had...

But he hadn't.

Needing to flee a past teeming with a shit load of his shortcomings and continued failures with Axl, Justice vacated the bed. He strode to the door, flung it open, then stormed out into the hall.

There were about a dozen doors, all closed save one, on the hall's opposite wall. There were a similar number of closed doors on Justice's side of the hall in addition to his own open door.

But it wasn't the unknown people possibly lurking behind those unopened doors which made Justice pause. It was the quietness. He didn't know what exactly he'd expected to encounter at a demon's residence. Maybe non-stop reigning chaos, people slowly going crazy or dancing imps of destruction, but he sure the hell had never expected to find tranquility. That had been the furthest thing from his mind. It was uncannily eerie making it that much more disturbing.

It made Justice wonder if maybe he held the pleasure of being Saint's only remaining guest at present. And if that meant he would be subjected to a special sort of close attention from the demon.

Justice sure the fuck hoped not. And the chances of his hopes being honored were actually looking pretty good. Saint had been scarce for the past twenty-four plus hours.

Eventually, Justice continued on his way. The only other time he stopped was to briefly check out the contents of the room with the open door. It was the same room he'd seen Saint standing in front of the day before. The glow from the hallway's track light fixtures dimly illuminated the dark room's interior revealing it to be a mirror replica of Justice's room. Right down to the door on the far side Justice knew from his own room's layout led to a small bathroom.

The only thing missing from the room was the occupant, a woman Saint had called Mira. Justice had missed the beginning part of Saint's exchange with her, but he'd heard enough to know Mira was special. She belonged "to them" Saint had informed her and if the demon claimed her soul, which he really wanted to do, it was at great personal risk to himself.

Saint had made no effort to hide all that desire when he'd finally turned away. His eyes had glowed freakishly bright through the dimness. And as they'd landed on Justice it occurred to him that the arousal they reflected was more for Justice than it was Mira.

If that piece of rotting hell shit thought he would be altering Justice's agreement to include fucking, he had another thing coming. Yet another reason why Justice didn't want to be the recipient of Saint's closer attention.

Justice's journey led him to a mammoth, domed ceilinged courtyard. Directly ahead was another long corridor. To the right was the huge set of double doors he'd walked through early the morning before when he'd entered the compound. And to the left was a matching set which led to parts unknown.

Yearning for a dose of icy cold Detroit night air to clear his head, Justice turned right.

Once outside, he was presented with two choices. He could walk down the long drive towards the gated entrance, each step a fuck you to both Saint and Axl. Or he could follow the floodlight brightened paved path along the front of the huge compound to where it eventually curved around a corner into uncharted grounds.

Justice chose the path. Which ended at a huge, unlit conservatory housing a private garden.

The humid temperature within was a nice warmth on skin chilled during his short jaunt outside. Ambling through the glass building, Justice marveled at the array of beauty. Plants of various species, colors and sizes flourished everywhere, heedless of the bitter, bleak weather raging right outside their sanctuary.

Soon Justice found himself in front of what had to be the conservatory's crown and glory. A massive water fountain. The waist high base of the fountain was comprised of a wall of concrete block formed in a circle. Standing inside the block wall, elevated on a four to five feet tall circular platform which rose out of the pool of water, were the statues of two gigantic, perfectly formed, and perfectly nude other than the wreaths circling their curly haired heads, men.

"Stunning, are they not?"

Although he hadn't realized he wasn't alone, Justice masked his shock as his eyes sought out the source of the soft, melodic voice. When he did finally locate the owner, he wondered how he had could have ever not noticed the man to begin with.

He. Was. Beautiful. Justice didn't normally notice the attractiveness of other men, but this man, hands down, held the position of being the most beautiful creature, male or female, Justice had ever laid eyes on.

He was perched on the part of the stone wall the furthest he could be from Justice while still being visible, facing him. He stared down at his right hand as he used the tips of his fingers to create his own rippling patterns in the night darkened water. His hair was dark, appeared to be black as midnight, and the glossy tresses hung down his back to lengths unknown. Though if Justice were to guess going by the strand hanging over one thin shoulder, he'd say it was possibly hip length if not longer. The man's skin was pale, but not pale like Axl's creaminess. His was a pale that was so pronounced he was almost translucent and he seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming through the glass ceiling.

"Stunning, right?" he asked in that strangely musical voice. It was smooth and pleasant to Justice's ears as silk was against his skin.

Stunning didn't even begin to cover it.

"Definitely," Justice agreed, water fountain forgotten. He studied the man's features. Everything about him was delicate from his obvious youth-eighteen, or, at the very most, nineteen-to his flawlessly arched eyebrows to his full lips.

"It's a depiction of Castor and Pollux. They're making a sacrifice to Persephone. Perhaps you've heard of them before? Do you have an interest in Greek mythology?"

"Not really."

"Then I won't bore you with further details."

Justice may not have had an interest in Greek mythology...but he did have an interest in this man before him. Wanting to hear the captivating voice again, he prodded, "Who, exactly, are Castor and Pollux?"

"Twin brothers. One immortal, the other not. Their love for each other was so great that when Castor died Pollux gave up half his immortality-oh, no, you were just humoring me, weren't you?" The man pushed up off the wall. Cautiously, he approached to within a few feet of Justice then stopped. His sudden halt caused the ends of his hair to sway enticingly around slim hips sheathed in a flowing material, validating Justice's theory about its length. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, I'm humoring myself more than anything else."

The younger man didn't speak for a moment, but then he finally asked, "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Humor me," he requested shyly, eyes steadily focused on the ground. "By answering a question."

"Ask away."

"Are you another victim brought here because of a loved one's..."

"Stupidity," Justice supplied. Drawn to the ethereal male, he crossed the remaining distance separating them.

He was a full head shorter than Justice and so lean as to be almost gaunt. He looked...fragile. Breakable. And he incited every protective instinct Justice possessed, more than Axl ever had, even as a thieving, half-starved, orphaned child. Justice wanted to claim the man, care for him, love him, make love to him. He wanted to worship him with his mind, his body, his soul...and his tongue.

And the fact that it was another man making Justice experience this whirlwind of emotions was irrelevant. What was more important was that the man was ardently in need of loving and sheltering...things Justice could provide. Things Justice urgently needed to provide.

"Not exactly the word I would have chosen," the youth whispered. "I'm Kairos, by the way. Kai for short.

"Justice. Just arrived yesterday morning. And, yes, my presence here is as the result of my dear friend's—"

"Callousness. It was callousness which landed you here, Justice. And I know it was callousness rather than stupidity because I am here because of my sister's."

Callousness. A word which implied Axl's continued drug use was fueled by aloofness as opposed to simplemindedness. It implied Axl was unfeeling about the havoc his actions wrought.

Was callousness truly the case? Was Axl's indifference the reason Justice was here, risking not just his life, but also his soul?

And, if so, how far did that indifference go? To the point Axl would sacrifice Justice to save himself?

"So, there are others here, then?" Justice asked, still thinking over the word's meaning.

"Many. As far as I can tell every room in our corridor is filled at present with the exception of one which is sure to be filled again soon. But you'll catch none daring enough to venture out. Other than me, that is. And in the absence of other companionship, I've been forced to turn to the inanimate siblings for comfort. That's why I'm really glad to meet you, Justice." All the while the Kairos spoke, he insistently stared at his feet.

Which made Justice ache to see his eyes. He knew they would be every bit as gorgeous as the rest of Kairos. "Then why are you telling your feet rather than me, Kai?"

Kairos shifted nervously, chuckling. "Old habits. You know what they say. Die hard and all that."

"And I say there's no time like the present to set the foundation for new ones. Healthy ones."

"Y-y-you w-want me to..." Top lashes fused to bottom as Kairos squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I can't."

"Wanna bet? Because I'm betting you can."

"You don't understand," Kairos protested, backing away. "I-I'm a—"

"I won't hurt you." Justice took a single step forward which brought him right into Kairos's personal space. He placed the tip of a finger beneath the younger man's chin and tilted his face upwards. As the moon fully bathed the male's pale beauty in a silvery, shimmery light, Justice involuntarily sucked in a deep gulp of air.

Kairos was truly spectacular. Almost seemed possessed of a nonhuman quality.

Fairy, Justice thought illogically. Or elf. Or genie. Or...something. Something otherworldly.

"Let me see your eyes, Kai," Justice coaxed huskily, entranced. "Show them to me."

Kairos breathed in once. Twice. Three times.

Then his lids fluttered open.

Revealing eyes a pure, crystalline blue. Which were filled with terror. Of Justice.

Christ, Justice realized, someone had did a real number on the kid.

If Justice ever discovered who that someone was...

"I'm not that person from your past, Kai. Whoever it was that hurt you, I'm not him. You don't ever have to be afraid of me." Not knowing why he did it, outside of knowing he possessed a deep desire to ease Kairos, Justice grabbed one of the man's small, slender hands. Ignoring the startled gasp, he swiftly brought it to his mouth. His lips skimmed over its backside, the cool, smooth texture a touch of bliss which sparked exhilaration in every one of Justice's senses. "Cheers to the start of a new habit. Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I would agree." With a tug, Kairos removed his hand from Justice's grasp. His eyes were lowered once again, but a small, delighted smile graced his lips as he used his other hand to cradle the retrieved member close to his chest, right above his heart. "But I really don't think I'll be needing those new habits."

Shit. "Your sister...?"

"Hasn't been heard from in the almost three days I've been here." Kairos's words were spoken quietly. They were heartbreaking to hear. "I'm honestly not of the opinion that she'll be completing her task by tomorrow."

Or returning to save him. She had deserted him. Callously.

"So why don't you leave?" Justice growled. "Right now. Walk down that driveway and right out the gate. Fuck your sister like she's trying to fuck you."

"Because if I leave, Saint will come after her." Kairos shook his head sadly. "Like Pollux felt for Castor, I can't bear the thought of my sibling's death. I only wish I had half of Pollux's immortality to share with her. Since I don't, it is my entire mortal life I'll have to sacrifice instead. My love for her has always been, and will always be, true as the love the Dioscouri shared for one another."

"Even if her's for you isn't? Fuck. That. You have to leave, Kairos. Is this something else I have to show you that you can do? Because I will, goddamn it."

"Will you?" Kairos asked softly, hopefully. "Will you take me from here? Will you keep me safe?"

Warning bells clanged in Justice's head. His mind screamed, What about Axl?

If Justice left with Kairos, it was a violation of his agreement with Saint. Automatic cause for Saint to take Axl's soul.

But where was Justice's guarantee that Axl wasn't going to try to screw him over first similar to Kairos and his sister? He'd heard nothing of Axl's actions outside of what Saint had already told him. He was completely in the dark, didn't know if Axl was still actively upholding his end in all of this or not.

And it was Kairos in front of him right now, not Axl, desperately in need of his help.

He'd do what he could for Kairos now, Justice impetuously decided. And he'd do what he could for Axl later.

"Yes, I'll take you from here. And you'll always be safe with me." Justice grabbed one of Kairos's hands. "C'mon, let's go."

Right at that moment, the sound of heavy footsteps sounded behind Justice. He whirled to confront the unwanted visitor, protectively shoving Kairos behind him. He came face to face with Saint's hulking henchman.

"What the fuck do you want?" Justice snarled, teeth bared.

"Down, boy," the man responded with a sneer. "I'm here because Axl has arrived with virgin number three."

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Justice's stomach. Virgin number three. Three. Firm proof Axl was upholding his end. "Why the hell you decide now to start giving me progress reports?"

"It's not you I'm reporting to, buddy."

"It's not me..." Comprehension dawning, Justice stepped away from Kairos's small figure.

Only to hear the beautiful youth sigh exasperatedly as he dropped his act. His expression reflected his chagrin as he stared up at the guard with icy blue eyes. "I swear, Bast, you absolutely have the worst timing."

"You said to let you know soon as he arrived."

"I know what the fuck I said, you sack of useless flesh covered toothpicks. But is it too much for me to expect you to occasionally use your common sense and just a little discretion?"

"I was just following—"

"You goddamned, motherfucking, hell spawned, piece of shit!" Justice exploded.

Saint had effortlessly played him. Had latched onto and used the one thing sure to always breach Justice's defenses.

Justice was a sucker for a person in need. Those weaker than him affected him intensely. Always had. Always would. It was how his friendship had started with King two decades ago when he'd saved the scrawny kid from a serious beat down, the whole reason behind Justice starting Los Olvidados for the forgotten kids of his childhood drug and crime infested neighborhood when they had no one else to turn to and it was the very basis of his relationship with Axl.

Justice wanted to fling himself onto the demon and pummel his tiny body bloody for his deceit. He'd planted seeds of doubt which had almost made Justice betray Axl.

Realization slammed down hard on Justice. Oh, fuck, he'd almost betrayed Axl.

Just short of acting on his rash desires, Justice's sanity and self-preservation returned. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he said, "At no time was it mentioned that I would be subjected to your fucking mind games while I was here, Saint."

"What did you expect, Justice? I'm a demon, for Christ sake. I corrupt, I don't nurture and coddle," Saint replied as he started for the conservatory's entrance, Bast falling into step behind him.

Cursing Saint from hell to heaven then back again, hoping he'd have an enlightening encounter with the archangel Michael somewhere along the way, Justice followed the two all the way into the compound's courtyard.

He had to see Axl with his own two eyes. He had to make sure Axl was still okay.

But when Justice attempted to follow through the second set of double doors, Bast stationed himself in the middle of the entryway, preventing him from entering. "Back to your room."

"Fuck off," Justice snapped. As he tried to push forcefully past the man, Bast, who towered over him by two to three inches and easily outweighed him by a good fifty pounds, blocked him again. "If I'm not mistaken, Bart, you're nothing more than a human lackey. Which means I already know how to kill you. Slowly and very, very painfully at that. And through various, creative methods which will have you lingering for days, begging for mercy. So, unless your goal is to one day be on the receiving end of my skills, I suggest you get the fuck out of my way."

"The name is Bast," the man barked, still obstructing the entrance.

"For the love of...Bast, if he wants in so bad, then let him in," Saint commanded impatiently from inside the room.

Giving Justice a look of pure loathing, Bast stepped partially out of the door's entrance. But that was all the leeway Justice needed. He entered the room, shoulder ramming hard into Bast's, eliciting a very satisfying grunt from the giant as he stumbled backwards a step.

"That's a good bitch, Bambi, follow orders like the inconsequential poodle you are," Justice commented, eyes scanning the room's interior.

A low rumble of warning sounded from the guard's throat. "My fucking name is Bast."

"That's what you take insult to? Not a very smart one, are you, Barb?" Justice goaded. "Just remember, your goals, my skills." Then the guard and his ire were forgotten as Justice's eyes connected with a green gaze across the room.

"J," Axl said weakly, his disconsolate expression brightening ever so slightly.

Though his soul was in mortal danger, Axl still looked like Axl. Granted, he looked like an Axl with an unhealthy pallor. And a completely worn out Axl. And an Axl who appeared much older than the twenty years he'd been on Earth.

But he was still very much an alive Axl. An Axl not affected by Justice's momentary lapse into rashness.

And he also looked dangerously close to collapsing under the weight of the drugged girl leaning against him. He barely appeared capable of keeping himself upright, yet he somehow managed to do so while also holding the girl up with an arm wrapped around her waist.

Justice crossed to the pair, relieving Axl of his load. The girl never opened her eyes, didn't notice a thing. She just leaned into Justice, snuggling her head trustingly under his chin.

Whose daughter was she? Whose sister?, Justice found himself wondering. Did she have friends and family who would mourn her once they discovered she was gone, never coming home?

And what had she been doing to bring her to Axl's notice?

A notice which would result in the death of her mortal form. And the torture of her soul for eternity.

She was nothing more than a necessary evil. A means to an end, Justice reminded himself forcefully.

Bottom line, it came down to her or Axl.

And Justice chose Axl. Would always choose Axl.

"This is much better than I'd ever expected," Saint crooned, sounding damn near orgasmic. "So nice."

Justice focused his attention on the demon, still in the beautiful form of Kairos. He was sprawled sideways in a velvet upholstered throne-like chair, one leg casually kicked over the chair's arm, the other planted on the floor in front of him. All that lustrous hair surrounded him like a rich mantle making him appear like some type of fucking boy-king.




Seventy-Two Hours Ch. 02



Which, in his compound and in his present form, he was.

Schooling his face into a mask of passivity, Justice asked, "What's nice?"

Saint's smile was devilish. His crystalline blues sparkled with mischief. "You."

But Justice was through playing games. The demon had already had his fun at Justice's expense once. From here on out, Justice was going to make sure he was off fucking limits. Axl's life depended on it.

And if that meant not leaving his room again, so be it.

"Where do you want the girl?"

"Bring her to me."

The first few steps were filled with stumbles as Justice half drug, half lugged the unresponsive girl towards Saint. After a few moments of the halting progress, he stopped and swept her feet off the floor. The second part of the journey across the huge room was completed much quicker without all the hindering delays.

He deposited the girl onto Saint's lap, careful not to let any part of himself touch the demon, then returned to Axl's side. He arrived just as Axl's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his legs gave out. Justice caught him before he hit the ground, sweeping him up against his chest like he had with the virgin.

Not waiting to be dismissed, he cradled his precious cargo tight and stalked to the room's exit.

Only to discover Bast now blocked the way out.

"Must we really do this again, Barbie? First you don't want me to come in, now you don't want me to leave. How bout you just do us both a huge favor and stay the fuck out of my way with your indecisiveness."

"The name is—"

"I don't give a shit what the fuck your name is, Bastard. Move. Your. Fucking. Ass. Now."

"Let him go," Saint said.

And go Justice did. Without a backwards glance.

But sight wasn't necessary for him to hear Saint's warning, "Dawn, Justice. I want him gone by dawn."

On reaching his room, Justice entered then kicked the door shut behind him. He laid Axl flat on his back on the bed and started removing his clothes. The winter coat was the first to go. Followed by the too big long sleeve shirt, the shoes and the socks. Justice unfastened the jeans and stood beside the bed carefully working on easing them down Axl's hips when the green orbs finally cracked open.

They locked onto Justice. Then Axl sat straight up, frantic. "How long have I been out? Oh, shit. Oh, shit. How long, J? Doesn't matter. I have to go. I have to—"

"What you have to do is rest. When's the last time you got some sleep, Axe?"

"I don't know, twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours ago. Or it may have been as long as forty-eight. I honestly don't know when, but that's not what's important right now. What's important is that I still—"

"Have time."

"No, I don't," Axl moaned. Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, he tried to stand but his unstable legs just barely supported his weight. He sank back to a sitting position and rubbed slow circles on his temples as he drew in a shaky breath. "Do you have any clue how hard it was to find those three virgins in this godforsaken city? It was damn near impossible! Everyone is having sex now! Everyone! Sixteen years olds, fifteen years olds, Jesus, even twelve years olds!"

"Shit, Axe, tell me you're not bringing him kids."

"What? No! I know I'm fucked in the head, J, but I'm not that screwed up." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "They've all been over eighteen so far. Which only makes it that much harder for me. And...and I still have to round up two more. Two more who've done nothing to deserve this punishment. Maybe I should just accept—"

"No!" Justice roared.

"Then I have to leave, Justice," Axl said quietly. "I have to leave right now so I can finish this horrible thing that I've started."

"You will leave, but not yet. Right now you're no good with the shape you're in. If you left, you'd get nothing else accomplished tonight. Rest for a little bit, then start again fresh tomorrow at dawn."

"But I—"

"Dawn, Axl. Trust me?"

As Axl's eyes widened in recognition, Justice knew he had him with those same two questioning words he had spoken to him so long ago. The same two words which had been the start of their relationship.

"Trust you," Axl said in the same unquestioning tone he'd used way back then. He lay down flat on his back. "I'll always trust you."

Justice resumed removing Axl's jeans, meeting no further resistance. He undressed Axl down to his boxers, then shucked most of his own clothing, leaving only his jeans on as he was commando and didn't want to discomfit either of them with his complete nudity.

"Roll onto your side," he commanded after clicking off the floor lamp.

But before he could climb onto the small bed, Axl asked, "You're keeping the jeans on?"

"If I take them off, I'll be bare assed."

"S'ok with me, J."

After the briefest of hesitations, the jeans were removed though Justice doubted the wisdom of doing so with the state of upheaval he already felt towards Axl. But the opportunity to feel his naked skin pressed against Axl's, to partially act on the thoughts which had plagued him for so long, was too much to resist. He spooned himself behind Axl, one arm acting as Axl's pillow, the other looped securely around Axl's waist, holding him tight.

This was the real thing. Flesh and blood. Not some carefully constructed, beautiful illusion of distress. And it felt so right to have Axl safe in his arms, back pressed close to Justice's chest, two hearts beating in sync.

He never wanted to let him go.

"Justice?" Axl whispered into the darkness.

"What's up?"

"I give you my word."

Tears burned Justice's eyes. He burrowed his face into Axl's neck and tenderly pressed a kiss there. "That's the best news I've received in a long time. Thank you."

For a long while they both lay there, neither saying anything more, neither falling asleep. Justice was acutely aware of each jump, each shift in position Axl made. The kid was way too wired.

What the hell, Justice decided after about twenty minutes. Axl needed to rest, but it wasn't going to happen in his present state. In order to rest, he needed to be relaxed.

And Justice knew exactly what to do to help him get there.

To hell with the potential fallout. If there was one, he'd deal with it later.

Without a word of warning, Justice flipped Axl onto his back. While Axl sputtered in confusion, Justice used the moment of disorientation to rip Axl's boxers down his legs and off. He tossed them to the floor.

Then spread Axl's thighs and knelt on the bed between them.

"J? What are you—"

But Justice had already consumed the tip of Axl's semi-erect cock between his lips. He ran his tongue in circles around the spongy head, feeling the organ come to life in his mouth.

Axl's smell was musky, his taste salty. He wasn't exactly fresh, but neither was he repulsive.

He unbelievably turned Justice the fuck on.

"God, J...mmm...what are you, fuck, what are you doing?"

Justice freed Axl's cock to answer ruefully, "I know I've never done this before, but you can't tell me I'm that bad. What does it feel like I'm doing?"

"But why? You don't have to."

No, Justice didn't have to. But he wanted to.

And that made all the difference.

"I know."

"B-b-but what about what you said that day?"

"I was wrong, Axl. A goddamn fool who's lucky to still have you."

Suckling gently on the now fully erect column, Justice engulfed the flesh as far he could, which, due to his inexperience, wasn't all that far. Not even halfway. There weren't very many things Justice could claim to be virginal about, shit, he'd lost his own virginity at eleven with a curious foster sister, but this was one area in which he had no experience at all.

Yeah, he'd received before. From his ex-wife on the sparse occasion the ice queen had decided to treat him, usually when she wanted him to buy her something absurdly expensive. From the occasional conquests he'd cheated on his personal piece of the South Pole with. From past girlfriends.

But he'd never before given. Not to another male, leastwise. But giving to Axl was definitely turning out to be a treat. A true learning experience Justice thoroughly enjoyed.

Justice sucked the shaft softly. He used his tongue to lave the prominent veins in his quest to become intimately acquainted with Axl's cock, causing Axl to push up into his mouth seeking more of the contact. In response, Justice immediately increased his suction, causing Axl to groan gutturally. The rumbles traveled straight down Justice's spine on an unerring path to tease his own throbbing erection.

As he started to become more comfortable in his newfound knowledge, with the strange sensation of having another man's sex in his mouth, Justice relaxed. Which allowed Axl to slide in another couple inches. He was now dangerously close to the back of Justice's mouth and Justice knew if Axl inadvertently lunged his hips upwards too hard at that moment the experience would be over for them both. But not because Axl had reached the release he so greatly needed.

Justice backed off a little, kissing lightly along the length as he went. Once a safe distance up, he started to bob his head up and down.

"Oh, fuck," Axl moaned.

Grabbing the base of Axl's cock with one hand, Justice jerked him in harmony to the love he made to him with his mouth. Soon Axl was writhing uncontrollably, thrusting urgently.

"Shit, J. Just...fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." He was firmly on the way to an orgasm.

But Justice could tell he was fighting it, probably remembering the only other disastrous time they'd been together.

Encouragingly, Justice rubbed Axl's thigh with his unoccupied hand, letting him know it was okay to give in. A low expletive and a small gush of hot, salty pre-ejaculate was Justice's only warning that Axl had taken his advice. The cock in his mouth hardened, then filled Justice with spurt after spurt of Axl's essence.

Justice swallowed it all, savoring a consistency previously unknown to him and a flavor he realized he could learn to enjoy. He nursed on the spent flesh until it was soft with nothing left to give but the occasional residual twitch.

Then smiled when he heard Axl's deep, even breaths.

The boy was in a dead sleep.

*

May 9, 2009

Using his key, Axl unlocked the front door of the palatial mansion. He slipped inside and closed the door quietly with a firm click, then called out, "Justice?"

When no answer came, Axl approached the winding staircase. Ascending the treads two at a time, he stopped at the top. "Justice?"

But still there was no answer.

Wary, afraid of what he might find, Axl padded to the ajar bedroom door just to the left of the staircase's landing. He pushed the entrance all the way open, took a deep breath and entered. "Justice?"

The big man was there, sitting on the floor, back flat against a painted blue wall. He was gloriously highlighted in the early morning sunshine pouring through the open blinds. One leg was stretched out straight in front of him, the other cocked at the knee. His hands were crossed loosely at the wrists, lying atop his bent leg.

He stared at the crib situated on the opposite wall. It was empty except for a single pastel blue teddy bear.

"Justice?"

Hazel orbs swung towards Axl. A weak smile of welcome played along Justice's lips. "You came home."

The level of pain reflected in Justice's eyes floored Axl, then tore him in two. He rushed over and sank down next to his friend. "Of course I did. I...I'm sorry, Justice." A sob tore free of Axl's throat as he said, "I'm so goddamn sorry, J."

Justice slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "Nothing to be sorry about. Not your fault."

"Where's Lisa?" Axl asked, automatically tensing. He tried unsuccessfully to force himself to relax. Because no matter what she demanded, he wasn't leaving again. Justice needed him.

And he needed Justice.

"Gone."

With that answer, Axl allowed himself to fully settle into the comfort Justice provided to him and hoped his own presence offered some measure of ease. He was gratified the inevitable confrontation with Justice's shrew of a wife wouldn't take place right away. "Why isn't she here with you?"

"Because she blames me." A harsh bark of laughter escaped Justice's throat. "And she's right. It is my fault. All my fucking fault."

She blamed him? The shock of the statement caused Axl to sit upright. Just based on his own many unpleasant experiences with her, he'd always known Lisa was a cold, calculating bitch, but this? This was just ridiculous!

How could she blame Justice for something out of his control?

And why the hell was Justice sitting there saying he agreed with her?

Axl stared at Justice's disfigured profile. He watched the tortured emotions at war with each other on the planes of his harsh face. "How can she blame this on you? How can you blame yourself?"

"She can blame it on me," Justice expounded, voice full of aching agony, "because she knew she was a carrier. I can agree because I didn't know I was one, too. Not until it was too late." 

Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Lisa only knew beforehand she carried the mutated gene because she had access to something Justice hadn't...a well-documented report of her family's medical history.

It wasn't Justice's fault that the people who gave him life sucked royally at parenting.

"She can believe that all she wants. You can believe it all you want, too." Axl placed a hand flat against Justice's cheek and urged Justice's face towards his. He stared into his eyes. "But I know the truth, J. And I'm apparently the only one who's not misguided at the moment. So when you're ready to hear it, just ask. I'll tell you."

Tears filled Justice's beautiful golden eyes and Axl's heart constricted painfully in his chest. It was so damn hard to see the man who was always so strong brought so low.

But the death of a child could crack even the hardest of stone hearts.

Gage was gone. After a long, debilitating, exhausting illness, Gage had finally passed away the day before at the age of two. A little angel returned home to the heavens.

For the first six months of his life, he'd been a happy, healthy, normal baby. Then it had all gone to shit. It started with his irritability. No matter what, there had been no soothing the boy. That had been quickly followed by his refusal to eat. And the vomiting of what little nourishment he did consume. But it was when he had that very first seizure they'd all begun to realize something was horribly wrong with Gage.

Scared shitless, they'd rushed him to the emergency room. And after weeks filled with poking, prodding and numerous tests, Gage had finally been diagnosed. At seven months of age, it was determined Gage Jameson had a degenerative disorder which had no cure.

He'd been given, at the most, thirteen months left to live.

Axl had stayed at home for as long as he could. He wanted to be there for Justice. For Gage. But the past few months had been the worst. And it had become too much for him to handle.

Ironic enough, it wasn't Gage's constant crying or the scarily fast pace he deteriorated right before Axl's eyes which pushed Axl away.

That he could handle. Just on the basis that Gage might bless him with a smile. On the rare occasions the curly haired cherub did grin, it made Axl feel like he could take on everyone in the world for him.

Everyone...except Lisa.

Axl saw it all in the way she looked at him. The confused furrowing of her brow, the clear question in her eyes.

Why had the Lord seen fit to let a piece of scum like Axl live but take away her darling, innocent boy?

Then came the day she'd cornered him.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" she'd asked, leaning nonchalantly against the kitchen island on which Axl made a ham sandwich.

Axl had offered neither confirmation nor denial. He'd just put the finishing touches on his sandwich, refusing to look at her.

"I've known since the first day he introduced me to you, I think. The adoring reverence in your eyes. Hero worship, I at first thought. But then it became clear to me. Took a while, but I eventually recognized that this was no child's worshipping of his idol I was being subjected to, it was a faggot's infatuation with his crush."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Axl took a bite of his lunch, chewing slowly. The bread had been sawdust in his mouth.

"Yes, you do, Axl. And I'm done with it!" She slammed her hands flat on the granite countertop. "Right now we're having a family crisis. And you, no matter what Justice says, are not family. You're a burden. A burden I can't deal with right now. Not on top of...not on top of watching my son die," she said brokenly. "I cannot bear having to witness one second more of your sick, twisted fixation with my husband. Your so called brother! I want you out of my house!"

So Axl had finished his sandwich. Then left. To give Justice and Lisa time to work through their emotions without the added strain to Lisa's perilous mental state of his presence. And, for the first time since he'd been released from rehab, Axl had gotten high. To help manage his own emotional turmoil.

He'd smoked weed. He'd snorted coke. He'd even tried heroin for the first time. But he was very careful not to use anything often enough, or in high enough quantities, to become addicted again.

At one point, when weeks had passed and he hadn't heard from Justice, was halfway convinced that Lisa had revealed his secret to Justice and that maybe her words also reflected what Justice felt, Axl had toyed around with the idea of embarking on that journey into crack addiction. He'd wondered if heartbreak may have been what had paved the path of his mother's addiction to the insidious drug. If so, like mother, like son.

But King had found him before he'd sunk that low and taken the final plunge. King had found him and started giving him regular updates on Gage's condition and how Justice was faring.

All thoughts of self-destruction had instantly fled. Even if Axl couldn't be strong for himself, he knew he had to be strong for Justice. Because he knew one day soon Justice would need him.

And that day was today.

Justice's broad shoulders shook as giant sobs wracked his big body. Axl wrapped his arms around him and just held on until they subsided. He wished it was easy as that to stop all the sorrow in Justice's heart as well as his own, but he knew it wasn't.

It had only taken two years for Gage to wiggle his way into all of their hearts. It would take a lifetime for the pain of his passing to dull.

What they both needed right now was to focus on the happier moments with Gage. Eyeing the stereo he'd purchased specifically for Gage's room, an idea formed in Axl's head.

He use to play music for Gage. And while holding him close to his chest, he'd whirl them both around the room.

That had made Gage giggle in delight once upon a time. Before he'd stopped laughing altogether. Before the illness had truly taken a firm hold on him and dimmed the bright gleam in his dark eyes. But laugh he had.

And maybe, just maybe, Axl could make this a case of like son, like father. Maybe Axl could make Justice laugh, too. Or, at the very least, make him crack a smile.

Axl disentangled his limbs from Justice's, stood up, dug his iPod Touch out of his pocket and made his way to Gage's wooden dresser. He attached his iPod to the docking port of the stereo sitting cattycorner on the dresser's back edge then turned it on. Scrolling through the playlists, he located the one he'd named Smile and called up one of the last songs he remembered making Gage laugh.

All the while Justice continued to stare at the crib with reddened eyes. Until the strains of Cold by Crossfade filled the air. Then his gaze, heavy with emptiness, shifted to Axl.