Yes I know. Straying again. But this is for a good freaking cause! It was a request by one of my Oxygen fans: Loveless fangirl! Honey, I started this up just for you. It's only the first chapter, and it's going to be short. But I hope it'll live up to and way past your expectations.

Don't worry everyone else, I'm still working on Oxygen. I've just had a very bad sinus infection that spread to my eyes. I went to the doctor and she said if I hadn't gone in, it might have progressed and I could have very much well have been intensely sick and perhaps six feet underground. Haha. So now I'm being pumped FULLA drugs! 135mg per pill which I have to take twice a day...A big pink horse pill. Haha. No worries, I have no trouble swallowing it though. I'm like House. I can swallow like six pills at a time XDD And no, I'm not a druggy addict...I just have an amazing throat...

I'm off to my drama practice now. Enjoy the new story's first chapter!

A figure strode down the sidewalk. It was a dark and noiseless night, save for the occasional passing vehicle. The figure passed under a street lamp, lighting up the face of an irritated-looking Warren Peace. He paused at the end of the sidewalk to glance around him for the headlights of any passing cars. Then he stomped across the crosswalk, mumbling angrily to himself.

At the other side, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He had just had a long night of work at the Paper Lantern. Part of the night he spent trying to keep the two newbies from taking the wrong meals to the wrong tables. Another part listening to the head chef, Bai Da, talk about his currently PMSing wife. Another part listening to the manager, Shu, bark orders like a little Chinese Chihuahua. Another part listening to a waitress, Lan, vent her frustrations about her current boyfriend because apparently she thought that Warren gave a shit. And yet another part closing up.

It all wasn't enough apparently. Right after he locked the door behind him, he had walked with a long exhausted sigh to his motorcycle, taking down his hair as he went. He had mounted his bike, with full intention on returning to his most likely empty house and falling into his bed. He'd buckled on his helmet and flipped the live switch to turn the keys and his motorcycle over.

And nothing had happened. He'd spent about fifteen minutes trying to get his bike to start, and the thing would…not…start.

With no one around, and the fact it was so late, Warren was forced to leave for home on foot. It wasn't how he had wanted to spend what was supposed to be his night off. But nope, he'd been called in. Sure he appreciated the extra pay…but he'd already worked about thirty five hours this week. He was tired. And nothing else seemed to want to improve his mood.

And yet, to top the entire mountain of suckfest that was Warren's current life, school had started up about two weeks and a half weeks ago. He figured that about one hundred supers attended Sky High. And he didn't want to know ninety-nine of them. He recognized the ones from his grade of course. But he found that he actually knew someone. Someone new.

A freshman. Will fucking Stronghold. The son of the fucking Commander. Christ, he may have been a lot smaller than him but he looked so much like his asshole father. His hair, some of his facial features, and his wardrobe that constantly contained red, white and blue. A Hero dressed in red, white and blue had taken his father away from him when he was just a small boy.

He'd done his best to keep his memories of that night vague in his head. But it haunted his dreams constantly. He couldn't have been older than four years old. In his eyes, his father was a Hero in all aspects. And indestructible Hero. The one who carried him up high on his shoulders. The kind to encourage the growth of his son's power to control fire. To tell him stories. To visit him nearly every night while his mother was asleep and unaware. To give his son the leather jacket that he had worn in high school.

And yet, he remembered just innocently sitting on the front porch steps with his father, telling him about the four little girls in his preschool class who had put a valentine into his cubby for Valentine's Day last week. And all hell broke loose as sirens started to wail, red and blue lights flashed, and his father lit up in raging, red flames that rose from his body like powerful wings. And in came running that goddamned prick…dressed all in red, white and blue with his stupid sidekick trailing behind him. Stronghold Senior came running in with some stupid catchphrase that Warren hadn't bothered to remember and had none too gracefully locked into a devastating fight with Baron Battle.

Warren growled and ran his hand down his face. God, he hated the Stronghold name. He hated that they both frequently wore red, white and blue, claiming to be patriotic. He really didn't like little Stronghold and he fucking hated Stronghold Senior. Warren had meant it entirely when he'd told little Stronghold in the detention room after their cafeteria fight that if he ever dared to cross him again, he'd roast him alive.

His jaw clenched and he applied the toe of his boot to a few metal garbage cans that were already tipped over and spilt on the ground. The kick had caused a loud metallic bang as the trash cans were upset and clattered into the unlit alleyway. And amongst the loud clang of the tumbling garbage cans, Warren heard a cry.

He paused in his frustration, his ears perking at the sound. At first he had figured that he'd knocked some cans over on top of some homeless person or a runaway and surprised them. But as the cans settled, he became aware of a quiet sound. Almost silent, distressed breathing; frightened and labored. He tilted his head slightly.

A hobo or a runaway would've bitched at me…

His shoulders tensed as he slowly raised one hand in front of him. He clenched his fist, and a placid but bright flame sprouted from his clenched fingers as if he were holding a grade-A lighter. He didn't know what to expect, but he wasn't going to get himself found out if it was a mortal, and his clenched muscles braced for a possible trap.

He stepped carefully around the upset garbage cans and the ember cast a lenient, glowing orange shadow over the brick walls of the valley. He looked around and he quickly lowered his hand when he heard a soft whimper. And then the orange light cast over a face.

His hair was mussed. Blood trickled down from the cut on his lip. Blood encrusted the scrape on one side of his chin where it was most likely ground into the asphalt. The blue eyes looked gray and distant in the orange light. Warren furrowed his brow. "Stronghold?"

Those eyes never looked up at him, they just stayed ground level and stared far away with brows arched upward slightly above them. His jacket was bunched around one arm and his shirt had a rigid tear underneath the backside of the collar. He was curled up on his side, his left arm lost under his body which was shaking and trembling in time with his shuddering breaths.

"What the hell is…" Warren paused. He tilted his lit hand a bit. Will's right hand was in a death grip on the waistband of his jeans. Warren stepped a little closer and slowly crouched down. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. He set the flame down on the ground as if it was a lantern and it sat there, still burning placidly.

Warren reached toward Will and hesitated. "Stronghold?" All he got for an answer was a gasp when his palm hardly brushed Will's shoulder. Will flinched with a choked cry. Warren got off of his toes so he was settled down onto one knee beside Will.

"What the hell happened to you?" Warren asked, reaching to grasp Will's shoulder. When he flinched, Warren ground his teeth in frustration. "Hey. Calm the fuck down." This only made Will bury his face into the ground with a whimper of fear, making his hair fall over his face. His trembling body curled up just a little tighter.

Warren closed his eyes a moment and switched his tone to a much gentler one, "Hey. It's alright. Hey, easy. I'm not gonna hurt you." Well why wasn't Warren going to hurt him? He hated his guts, and he thought he should feel a little sore that someone beat the crap out of Stronghold before he could. But he didn't. So why was he striving to make his tone gentler? And why was he very gently starting to rub little Stronghold's back to reassure him?

"I may hate the air you breathe, but I'm not really one to kick someone when their face's already been ground into the pavement." He said, more of a reassurance for himself rather than for the shivering boy.

Will wasn't shying away anymore now that Warren was speaking softly. He wasn't shying away from his touch, but he was still shivering.

"Calm down. C'mon. You get jumped? Want me to go call the cops?"

Warren jumped when Will let out a terrified shriek and scooted away from Warren as fast as he possibly could until he was up against the brick wall.

"Fuck's sake..." Warren uttered, settling his wrist against his knee. This time Will's eyes were tightly shut, his face was contorted slightly, as if he was waiting for a blow to fall upon him. As if what Warren had just said was a death sentence from a judge.

So Warren relented, "Okay, okay. Calm down. It's alright." He tilted his head slightly, watching Will tremble against the wall, still curled up on his side. His right hand was still gripping the waistband of his jeans as if it were a lifeline. Warren noticed another cut to the collection on Will's face, right above his eyebrow. And down near the curve of his jaw there was a bruise.

Warren shook his head, "It's alright. I've been jumped before. I got a knife pulled on me. Got a couple scars to prove it. I didn't call the cops either. But that's just because I powered up and beat the shit out of them."

Warren had meant it to be a little funny but he figured that he'd been wrong.

Will was still trembling.

He heaved a sigh and reached up to brush his fingers back through his hair. "Stronghold. It's late. Now do you want me to help you, or just leave you here shivering like a petrified little stray puppy?"

He shifted closer to Will and grasped his shoulders. "Easy." He urged when Will flinched. "It's alright. C'mon. On your feet." He gently encouraged as he stood up, getting the smaller boy to actually stand on his feet. He was still trembling, and his eyes still had not found Warren's. They were downcast, shivering against Warren's touch.

"C'mon, let's go." Warren said gently, turning the roughed up boy toward the mouth of the alley. "Easy does it." Warren encouraged, practically pushing and pulling Will out of the alley while still remaining right beside him. He led him around the upset garbage cans and out onto the sidewalk. He noticed how gingerly Will was moving, wincing and limping all added to his shivering. And he still kept his right hand gripped fervently on the waistband of his jeans.

"There you go." Warren said, finally letting go of Will. But Will still would not look at him. Wouldn't stop shaking. Wouldn't stop shifting his weight as if he couldn't find a comfortable way to stand.

"Can you make it home from here?"

No answer.

"Okay then…" Warren said gruffly. "Well I'm gonna go home now. Bye." With that he turned and started walking down the sidewalk. He clenched his jaw. Ungrateful little…stupid twerp. The second his face is healed up, I'm gonna pummel it whether he crosses me or not.

Warren froze and looked over his shoulder when he heard something crack. "Fuck." He grunted and went running back to the opening of the alleyway. He left the sidewalk and crouched down beside a facedown Will. He wasn't shaking at all, and he wasn't shivering in his breath.

Warren grasped Will's shoulder and shook it, "Stronghold?" No answer.

So he turned him over onto his back none too gracefully. There was a new cut on Will's forehead where he had hit the asphalt in the street when he'd taken one step off of the sidewalk and passed out. It was bleeding profoundly and Warren didn't feel any misshape or bumps as he carefully ran his fingertips around Will's skull.

He looked around for any possible passerby or car that might enable him to label Will as 'Not Warren's Problem'. But it was very late on a weekday. Most people were already asleep.

He looked down at Will's face, still cradling the back of his head. He tapped the back of his opposite hand against the side of Will's face. "Stronghold. C'mon. Wake up."

No such luck…

Warren reached up and rubbed at his eyes with a groan. He ran his palms down his face and then placed them together in front of mouth. He looked down at the beat up, unconscious boy. He glanced down at Will's Converse. One was untied. His gaze numbly traveled up Will, trying to assess the situation he was in. There were tears in the knees of his jeans where dried blood had built up. And his jeans where undone…?

Warren cocked an eyebrow. What, these idiots pantsed him? Gimme a break…kinda self-respecting criminal… He rolled his eyes, disappointed in the childishness of the people who had beat up Will and distraught about what he had decided to do. But he didn't have many other options. He didn't know where Will lived. He didn't want to get involved with the police. And Will had super strength, so if he was anything like his asshole father, his wounds would heal up in no time on account of his indestructability.

So Warren reached and buttoned Will's jeans and yanked the zipper up. Then he got his feet under him and pulled Will up to sit. He heard a small whimper emanate from the boy but he knew it was just pain that was bad enough for him to feel in his unconsciousness. And then Warren pulled Will up into his arms and stood.

He turned with a sigh into the night and got back up onto the sidewalk. Will's head lolled back and his arm hung and swung freely as Warren walked.

Warren shook his head as he walked down the street. How the hell did he end up in this situation? He glanced at Will's unconscious, vulnerable expression. Warren grumbled, "Fine Thursday. A fuckin' fine one indeed," and looked back to the path ahead.

Warren had to shift Will so he was hanging limply over his left shoulder. He kept his left arm wrapped around his unconscious passenger's legs to keep him from slipping off. He used his free hand to unlock the door to his house. When he heard the lock click, he turned the key back, pulled it out and stuffed it back into his pocket.

He turned the knob and pushed open the door. He stepped out of the darkness of the night and into the darkness of his home. Then he shut the door behind him, and locked it. He walked down the short hallway past the closet, the bathroom and the stairs that led up.

Warren stepped across the carpet of the room. Then he leaned down slightly, cautiously slipping Will down from his shoulder, laying him onto the sofa. He leaned over and yanked the laces loose on Will's Converse and pulled them from his feet, setting them on the floor.

"Don't need bloodstains on the furniture…" Warren grumbled to himself as he turned away from the couch. Before he reentered the hallway, he flipped on one of the light switches in the living room. Two small lights lit up dimly over the window seat which sat on the right side of the room which was the front side of the house.

Warren went into the bathroom and flipped on the light. He grabbed the faucet for the hot water, turned it on and closed the drain in the sink. As he waited for the water to get warm he shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it on the coat rack beside the door in the hallway. When he returned to the bathroom the water still wasn't warm. He shook his head and grabbed a clean washcloth from the basket.

Then he turned off the running water. He submerged his hand into the water. Bubbles started to dance in the little pool of water and steam rose from the surface. He dipped the washcloth into sink and wrung it out a little bit.

He left the bathroom shaking his head, Gotta fix that…

Back in the living room, Warren shifted Will's legs closer to the back of the couch and sat down. He clasped Will's jaw mildly and started scrubbing off the blood that had trickled down his face and neck with the warm, wet washcloth. Warren grimaced, feeling how Will's skin was cold. He heaved a sigh and set the washcloth down on the side table. He went to the closet and yanked out an old, thick, folded up quilt that had been in the house longer than Warren could remember. He toed the few towels that had fallen to the floor back into the closet and shut the door.

Warren went back to the living room and spread the quilt over the smaller boy. He tucked it against Will's sides and made sure his feet were covered. Heaving a sigh, Warren got up from the couch. A glance at the clock on the wall said that it was 12:39am and this brought an exhausted groan from Warren.

With a final shake of his head at his houseguest, he left the living room, went back into the hallway and took off his boots next to the door. Then he climbed the nearby stairs. At the top he yawned quietly into the back of his wrist and brushed his hair back. He went past the upstairs bathroom, working his belt loose as he went. He toed open the door to his bedroom and stepped into the pitch blackness.

Once inside, he kicked off his jeans, pulled off his shirt and laid down on his bed in his boxers. The cold sheets beneath him quickly warmed from his radiating body heat. He took hold of the black fleece blanket that was bunched up against the wall and draped it over himself, allowing himself to be surrounded by a gentle cocoon of his own body heat.

The hell am I supposed to do about that little twerp?

His muscles relaxed and his breathing calmed. He could feel his pulse throbbing gently against the pillow. His mind starting slipping away into lucid dreams whilst he was still somewhat awake. He wasn't caught in the limbo between unconsciousness and consciousness for long however. Sleep crept through his body until it finally found his eyes, exiling his mind from awareness. Banishing the thoughts of Will Stronghold from his mind until he would awake in the morning.