To say that Stuart McCormick was unhappy at finding his son first holding an anti-Bush sign, then associating with the children of the most vocal anti-war protesters, was possibly the understatement of the year.

He'd told Kenny before that he would not have a bleeding-heart hippie under his house, and no child of his would be taking any kind of part in an anti-war protest. Both he and his wife had raised their children to support their country and the military, and if Kenny couldn't learn to respect the greatest country on Earth, then he and that boy would be having words.

"I told you you were gonna get it if I caught you hanging around with those pussy libtards, didn't I, you little shit?!"

"But Dad-!"

"Take off that fucking parka before you talk to me."

Kenny shakily lowered his hood, holding up his hands. "D-Dad, I-"

Stuart's fist connected with the side of Kenny's head, and the little boy saw stars. He didn't let himself hit the ground, but he stumbled, grabbing wildly for the arm of the couch. "I was just doing my homework-!"

"Oh really, is your homework a report on being a fucking hippie?!" A steel-toed work boot connected with Kenny's stomach, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to crumple to the floor, coughing and holding his stomach. Another kick to the boy's head for good measure before he strode off into the kitchen, and Kenny heard him open the fridge for a beer.

The blond boy struggled to his feet, and stumbled to the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet before vomiting up what little food had been in his stomach, mostly bile, and some blood. He rested his forehead on the edge of the toilet seat, breathing heavily and shutting his eyes in an effort to make the room stop spinning.

He opened them again much later to the sound of Kevin hammering on the door and screaming at him. "Kenny get the fuck out of there, you been in there an hour! Dad says to get your ass to dinner or he'll tan your hide!"

Kenny pushed himself up, looking in the mirror and wetting a wad of toilet paper to wipe the crusted, dried blood from his nose and split lip from his face. That bruise would take a good seven or eight days to heal, and he was pretty sure he'd swallowed a baby tooth, because the loose one was now gone from the socket.

He tossed the wad into the toilet and flushed, trudging painfully out into the hallway, but instead of turning toward the kitchen, he headed for his room. He heard his father shouting from down the hall, but his voice finally faded out as Kenny shut the door.

He flopped over on his bed, breathing heavily and shutting his eyes. He wouldn't be moving for a day or two; he'd eat when he could stand.

"... Kenny?"

He looked up to see Karen standing in the doorway with a plate. She toddled over, setting it next to him and hopping up on the bed. "I brought you some food. It's not a lot, but you gotta eat too."

Karen had brought him a sandwich and some peas, apparently the money he'd left on the kitchen counter had actually gone to groceries this week. He smiled a little at her, sitting up painfully and starting to eat the sandwich before ruffling her hair. "Thanks, Kare. You're the best."

"... is Dad mad at you?"

"... Yeh. But isn't he always?"

"... guess so..." Karen tugged at the hem of her shirt. "... but you paid for groceries this week..."

"He doesn't know that. All that matters was I was hanging out with people he didn't want me hanging out with, and that's enough. This'll blow over soon, and when it does, Kyle can come over again, and maybe even bring Ike so you two can play trucks."

"... okay," she replied with a smile.

"Good." He patted her hair. "Wanna help me finish my peas?"

"Sure."