Couldn't Be Happier by AngelofCaffine

Chapter 1 Ezra Standish didn’t dare move. If he moved, it would break the spell, and he hurt too badly to bold right now. The man before him radiated malice, and the danger in the room was suddenly tangible. Stacy, the woman behind the counter of the cafe and the cause of all this trouble, was sobbing quietly, cradling her broken arm. How in the hell do Ah get mahself into these things?.... He edged backwards a step, clutching the book he’d been peacefully reading in his normal corner of the cafe tightly to himself in an unconscious gesture. He was an unusually intelligent and mature teenager- but he was still a teenager. And he was frightened. The man had come banging into the little place, bellowing for ‘Stacy’, who was the girl this week that took the orders (Marci had quit last week), and there’d been a heated debate. Ezra had slid down in his chair, determined to disappear. The normally charming, verbose boy knew a threat when he saw one, and he damn well knew to avoid said threat at all costs. If that meant evaporating, he would. Until the girl screamed. The man had hurt her, badly from the sound of it, grabbed her arm hard, and Ezra was the only person around, of course Ezra was the only person around, fate couldn’t get her kicks otherwise. And of course, he’d demanded that the man release Stacy at once. Which had lead to...this. He edged back yet again, keeping an eye on the man who didn’t seem to know how to react to the interference of a just-barely-fifteen-year-old. Finally, his lip turned up in a snarl. “Keep your nose outta this, brat. This isn’t your concern.” Now, this logical part of his mind piped up, is when you take the opportunity and get out in one hell of a hurry. But the girl was still crying, and Ezra couldn’t just leave her to deal with an abusive boyfriend alone. He pulled in a deep breath and, against every instinct screaming at him, turned to the young lady. She was only maybe four years older then himself. A child. “Let me see that arm.” He requested, gently, holding out a hand slowly. She blinked, startled at the youthful, soft voice that addressed her, and turned his big blue eyes on the boy before her. He smiled, a sweet, dimpled smile, and made a motion with his hand. “Let me see that arm.” He repeated, oh so softly, a grown up in a boy's body. She smiled back. “It’s okay, hun, really.” She whispered. “Go home.” He only shook his head once, mouth open to argue, when the man grabbed him. Ezra yelped despite himself as he was yanked off his feet, tossed aside like he weighed nothing. His re-introduction to the floor was rough and painful, but he landed in a crouch, not only keeping himself from falling and absorbing the shock of being slammed around like a toy, but also giving him to opportunity to retrieve the knife he kept in his shoe (just in case he’d have to use it) and spy an opening. Deciding he’d totally lost his mind, he lowered his head like a bull and charged, much the way he’d seen other children do when their arguments came to fisticuffs. It worked. Sort of. Ezra was malnourished, thin, delicately built, and, ashamedly, fairly short. He didn’t weigh much of anything. His sudden attack made the man stagger backwards, but he didn’t fall- Ezra didn’t pack enough punch to make him fall. He grabbed Ezra by the arm again instead. He yelled as the man yanked the already abused limb, feeling something painfully crack. A cornered tiger had just turned into an injured one, and now it wouldn’t hesitate to use its claws. Ezra flipped open the little switchblade he clutched tightly, green eyes flashing. The girl screamed when the blade flashed, and the man screamed when blood blossomed from the wound in his side. Okay, Ezra’d had enough. He hit the ground for the second time, but this time he didn’t hesitate. He ran, injured arm cradled to his chest, shoulders heaving with each gasping breath as he shot through the doors of the building and into the safety of the street. He didn’t stop until he reached the place he called ‘home’, and then he leaned against the wall, panting. He closed his eyes and slid downward in an undignified sprawl. He’d lost his damned mind.

Chris still didn’t know how he’d been talked into this. It wasn’t enough that he’d already had more then his fair share of dealings with ‘troubled’ teens, oh no. It had all started with Buck’s no so brilliant idea when they’d spied the solemn eyed, dark haired preteen in front of a homeless shelter, looking lost and absolutely forlorn. His best friend had, against Chris’s growled warning to leave it be in case someone thought they were trying to hurt the boy, approached and plopped himself right down next to him. “Hey.” He’d greeted, for all the world like he was talking to someone he’d known for years. The boy hadn’t been skittish at all. Well, maybe a little. He'd certainly been wary of them. But he’d been more needy of a friend than frightened of strangers. The ten year old had introduced himself as J.D. Dunne...and he hadn’t stopped after that. The hazel eyed boy talked a mile a minute, and Buck had fallen in love. He’d wanted to adopt J.D. His mother, Buck had told Chris, had died only a month before. The kid had no place to go and no one to take him in. It was harder to charm Chris, who didn’t want anything to do with him. It had been too soon-far too soon after his son Adam’s death for Chris to accept another child. It had taken months before Chris had fallen for J.D.’s happy nature and gigantic heart, and still longer before he’d agreed to let the boy stay. When J.D. was twelve, Vin Tanner had come into the picture. The fourteen year old blonde was the antithesis to everything J.D. was-shy, soft-spoken, unsure and defensive. Unlike J.D., they hadn't found him in any sort of shelter- he'd just been wandering the streets. He’d been unapproachable at first, but J.D. made friends almost instantly, and then he’d started trusting them. It was clear after getting within arm’s reach of the blonde why he was so skittish- someone’d beat the shit out of him. Multiple times. It had taken months once again to get another member of the family initiated, but not because of Chris, this time. Vin was remarkably slow to trust, and struggled with dyslexia that lead to self-esteem issues the likes of which Chris had never seen. He also had suffered a back injury as a child that had not been allowed to heal properly, leading to chronic back pain, and the boy was a very, very big practical joker. They’d had some...issues...to overcome. Nathan Jackson had come next, sixteen, a black boy whose parents had been killed by white supremacists. An extremely intelligent young man who wanted to be a doctor, Jackson was all too eager to agree when Buck and Chris offered to put him through school, so long as he helped them with everything from chores to babysitting J.D. No one really knew when the arrangement became permanent or when Nathan moved in, but he had. After him was the eldest and last of Chris’s adopted boys, Josiah. The eighteen year old had made bad choices- a lot of them- and his father, who was a missionary, had been decidedly displeased. He’d kicked Josiah out on his rear end, informing him that he was legally an adult and anyway, if he was old enough to screw up he was old enough to deal with the consequences. The big teen had gotten in even deeper after that, and it had taken an OD and very nearly dying to turn him around. He’d seen Chris and Buck with their oversized family and offered a hand; he’d just sort of fit. No, it wasn’t enough he had a farm full of ‘em. They dragged him out to volunteer at a homeless shelter as well. Still, it was almost worth it to see his friends so-relaxed. Now eighteen year old Nathan was sitting under a tree talking softly to a young Mexican looking boy and a younger boy who appeared to be his cousin, Buck was thoroughly engaged in a game of football with a few of the older kids and all-grown up twenty year old Josiah, and fourteen year old J.D. cradled a tiny baby, under the watchful eye of now- sixteen year old Vin Tanner, and the baby’s teenaged momma. He grinned slightly. They were a handful, but they were remarkable, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world. Sometimes it was very easy to forget that his kids were kids-with the possible exception of J.D., they acted twice as old as they should have. And there were times, even with the spirited, talkative boy, that Chris could see something too wise in those big hazel eyes. As if triggered by the thought, J.D. lifted his gaze and smiled broadly at Chris, motioning him over to see his little prize. Larabee complied slowly, peaking into the bundle that J.D. held. “Her name’s Jessica Marie- she’s a premi, but she’s doin’ good.” J.D. informed him quietly, earning a soft smile from the mother. The baby opened her eyes and blinked at Chris, then mad a soft baby sound and reached for him. He let her grab his finger. J.D. laughed full throatedly and behind him, Vin gave a soft chuckle as well. “She’s so good- she didn’t even cry once when Laura let me hold her.” Laura was apparently the young teen mother. “No, J.D. She already has parents.” Chris teased softly, earning a ‘hey’ of protest and causing Vin to laugh harder. “Yea J.D. Besides, she might go the way of Swift the snake.” Swift the snake had been a little grass snake Vin had found one day. The snake had been declared the official First Pet-and not two weeks later he’d escaped and gotten run over thanks to J.D.’s lack of memory when it came to locking his cage. At the time Vin and J.D. had been devastated-now it was funny. “Ha-ha, Vincent.” “Just makin’ a point, John.” Chris only rolled his eyes.

He honestly couldn’t remember a time when he’d hurt so much, expect perhaps when he’d stayed with his Uncle for a month and learned quickly to be seen and not heard. His arm throbbed and felt awkward-heavy and numb expect for his shoulder, which burned like hell. Every little movement agravated his arm, and he didn’t dare lay down...he didn’t think he’d be able to get himself up again. He was freezing, though, and very hungry. He’d dragged his sorry carcass into the warehouse he lived in, but it didn’t offer much warmth. Angrily he kicked his cot. That only jarred his arm and he cried out. Ow. That was incredibly stupid-no more temper tantrums. It hurt. It was amazing really, to think that he’d wind up like this- living off the streets, in a warehouse, scraping and fighting to even get by. Only two years ago he’d been an unhappy but very well-cared for boy (with the exception of the one uncle) who’d spent a great deal of time with wealthy relatives and a small amount of time with his mother- but a misstep and a careless dropped word and Maude had been reveled as a con and a thief, and Ezra Standish had been forgotten about like so much baggage. Why didn’t that shock him? He’d been alright at first, skilled as his mother (if not more so) at cheating, conning, gambling- lying...stealing, if the need arose. He had a sweet face and people melted at his southern accent-it was easy enough. But somehow that easy part had evaporated. Pawns in his little game had turned into frightening and threatening knights, ready and willing to slice him in half. Big men didn’t have any problems beating up little boys, particularly not if they assumed he’d conned them out of something. He gave a soft gasp of pain as he tried to shift again, clutching his shoulder protectively. He really was very hungry. He grunted and managed to make it upright, found his balance, then started for the door of his warehouse, teeth gritted against the agony in every step. Better that then sit like a bump feeling sorry for himself. Feeling sorry for oneself never got anything accomplished, after all. Hurt like a bitch, though.

He’d thought doing head counts was a stupid idea. Until they’d lost Nathan one day. Then he’d decided maybe a head count was a very good idea indeed. Not that he’d ever tell Buck that. “Everyone shut up, now!” He snarled, over the cacophony that was four boys and one man in a van. “J.D.?” “Present, Sir!” The teen quipped, earning an elbow in the ribs from Buck. Chris sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Nathan?” “Somewhere back here-ow, Buck, that’s my foot....” “Sorry.” “Guess we know Buck’s here.” Chris managed, trying not the snicker at the antics of the teens. “Josiah and Vin?” Josiah spoke up for both of them, and Chris let himself relax. Okay, they had everyone. And they were all alive. Good. Great. He waited until everyone had crammed into a seat in the van (J.D. and Vin, being the smallest and the skinniest respectively, got the joy of being squished in the very back seats) and finally strapped himself in, wincing as the radio blared on at an unnaturally loud decibel. “J.D.-” “Not guilty!” “Tanner-” The silence from behind him told him that yes, Vin was the responsible party. He glared. Vin just gave him a sly grin. Buck laughed and battered Chris’s hand away when he tried to turn it down, the beat of the music pulsing through the floor up into the feet of the van’s occupants. Larabee had to smile as he glanced in his rearview at his unusual charges who were singing along enthusiastically. If they hadn’t been so wrapped up in the song, and if they hadn’t been having so much fun, and if they hadn’t been goofing off so much and if they hadn’t been so relaxed and if they hadn’t been so determined to bug the hell outta Chris, they may have noticed the thin, elegant young man trudging along the sidewalk. They may have stopped when they saw him pause, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. They may have pulled over. They may have stopped him from crossing the street. As it was, they didn’t. They didn’t see him, and neither did the driver of the little bug that speed through a red light. He didn’t see Ezra Standish until the pained teen was already in the road, and the teen never saw the bug, either. Not even when it hit him, he never really saw it, not even when he back flipped over the hood and slammed into the windshield, and through the windshield.