Helping Hands

[rodentus_callidus]

Tchu! Oh, that means only one person. Have I introduced you to Jan, yet? Idiot friend who wants to help people? *shrugs* Oh well. Here he is. Our first meeting. It'll tell you all you need to know about the poor idiot.

There were times when Sebastien got really, really tired of being beaten up. Gott verdamnt, he gave them the money! Gave it straight up, no questions! Alright, a little sarcasm now and then, but a rat needs to vent somehow, doesn't he?

A fist came up from underneath him, plowing into his rib cage, picking him off his feet and flinging him back into the counter. He bounced off it with a cut-off scream and fell on all fours, sobbing for breath around the hot agony in his chest, scrabbling at the floorboards in pained instinct. Somewhere above him, one of the bastards laughed, and white fury shoved at the pain, elbowing it out of the way while he staggered to his feet in mute rage, lips peeled back in a frozen snarl. He sensed something move to his left, a rush of air as an arm was pulled back to strike again, and all he could do was hiss in furious resignation as the arm swung down ...

... and never connected. Someone big, quite big, and very quiet on their feet, moved behind his assailant and seized the raised arm. Seized, and broke. Sebastien heard the snap as the bone went, the crackle of the little bones of the wrist, just before the choked agony of his attacker's scream. He staggered back, hissing as his bruised back met the counter, as the unknown helper picked up the goon and tossed him out into the street. Not through the window, from the sounds of it, which Sebastien was quite grateful for. Plate glass was hard to come by.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" the leader snapped, stalking past Sebastien towards the newcomer. "I'll kill you for that, you little bastard! You're dead!"

"Such original threats, tchu," Sebastien muttered, ducking back down, and heard someone chuckle brightly. He paused, stunned.

"Aren't they?" the stranger whispered conspiratorially, ignoring the gangleader utterly. "I've heard better from a fruit-drunk bat!" He paused, thinking a little, then admitted. "Actually, I really have. Isaac was very upset that night, for some reason ..." He trailed off, musing, and if Sebastien had eyes he would have stared at him. As it was, he tilted his ears and twitched in amazement. Didn't the idiot have slightly more pressing concerns?

The gang thought so, too. "Hey!" the leader spat, reaching out towards the newcomer as if to grab hold of him. Something happened, a blur of sensed movement and sound, and Sebastien darted to one side with a squeak as something big and heavy and very probably ugly just about missed him. The stunned gangrat groaned from his supine position, and Sebastien, ever vindictive, took the opportunity to rap him smartly over one ragged ear, and kick him in the kidneys for good measure.

"You know," the stranger commented cheerfully. "It's not a very good idea to go around assaulting Polizei. You might get hurt, doing that." Sebastien froze, confusion and horror climbing through him, as the young (he had to be young) idiot went on blithely. "So if you all would just pick up your friend there, and the one outside, and be on your way, we'll say no more about this, hmmm?"

"Polizei?" one of the goons gasped, and Sebastien couldn't blame him. Polizei never interfered with these little gang transactions. Bad for business, and all that. The only time they'd step in was if ...

"Yep!" the lad confirmed, in complete apparent innocence. "I just stopped by to look after my friend here. Why were you hurting him, by the way?" And it was so innocently said, as if he really didn't understand, that every last one of Sebastien's paranoid instincts leapt to full attention, and the gang seemed not far behind him.

"No reason! Mistake! Didn't know! We'll be leaving now, right?" And they ran for it, in rapid and efficient order that left Sebastien twitching on the floor and flinching from so many people rushing past him. He curled back against the counter, his paws over his head and his tail curled tight, and hoped no-one would step on him 'accidentally' in the rush.

Then it was quiet. Very quiet, except for the rattle of jars coming to rest, and his own fearful little pants, and the stranger's quiet breathing. Then the pad of a heavy form moving lightly, and Sebastien curled tighter as he sensed the stranger come near, and crouch down beside him. Defiance was all very well, but Sebastien rather liked to know what he was defying first, so he was just going to be small for a minute, and see what the newcomer wanted.

"Hey," the boy said, gently. "You alright?"

And, alright, being inoffensive was fine too, but stupidity was just ... "Do I look it?" he snapped, his head coming up and out of his arms to turn towards the boy, his malformed eyes in full view, and the fresh cut above the left one. He could feel the blood there, trickling over the eye, but it wasn't as if that made a difference to him. Judging by the sudden intake of breath, the same couldn't be said of the boy.

"Oh," the idiot breathed, and reached up to touch -very gently- the wound, large hands gentle in a way Sebastien wasn't sure he'd ever felt before. "Oh, I'm sorry," the boy went on, soft and sad. "Did they ... They shouldn't ... I'm sorry."

Sebastien frowned at him, his brow creasing and making the blood trickle a bit faster, much to the boy's apparent dismay. "What are you sorry for?" he asked bluntly, brusque and almost fierce in the face of the younger rat's softness. "Didn't do it, did you?"

"No," the boy said, softly. "But I should have ... people should stop things like that. Polizei should stop them. That's what we're here for, and I'm sorry I wasn't here in time."

Sebastien twitched in sheer, unadulterated amazement. "You what?" he managed, nose twitching rapidly in shock, spine stiffening and uncurling in something between outrage and shock. "You think Polizei would help? Are you mad?" Or afflicted, mentally? But he wasn't quite mad enough to risk saying that.

"Ah. No?" And there was confusion there, and a glimmer of humour that made Sebastien suddenly suspicious that he was being wound up. But no. The innocence of the next statement was too ridiculously, genuinely innocent. "That's why I joined, you know!" The boy was smiling, he could just hear it. "To help people! To stop things like this. That's why I joined die Polizei."

Sebastien was quiet for a long, long minute. Part of him was waiting for the punchline, the rest just too stunned to speak, while the boy tutted and patted gently at his cuts. Then, with something in his voice that was almost more pity than derision, and something in his chest that was almost warm, Sebastien asked quietly. "Were you dropped on your head as a child, by any chance?" And the boy burst out laughing, and helped him gently to his feet.

"Don't think so," he gasped, chuckling intermittently, plucking Sebastien casually off his feet to sit him on the counter, ignoring his outraged squeak. "Grandma would've told me, I think. Always said I had too thick a skull, anyway." He reached out again, and Sebastien felt tentative fingers curl through his, a paw lifting his in a very hesitant and gentle shake. "Hey. You have a name, friend of mine? Mine's Jan. Jan Markos!" And Sebastien would have bet his entire stock that the idiot was beaming proudly at him. He didn't think he'd have lost, either.

"Sebastien," he said, grudgingly. "I'm Sebastien." Jan laughed, and shook his hand properly, the power very obvious in his paw and arm, but none of the force he'd shown the attackers, a fact for which Sebastien was very, very grateful. Idiot the boy may be, but he was a strong idiot.

"Pleased to meet you, Sebastien!" he cried, and Sebastien could swear he was serious. The idiot was genuinely pleased to meet some grouchy rat-doctor who sneered at him five seconds after being rescued by him. That ... Sebastien shook his head. Well, there was no accounting for taste.

"Pleased to meet you too," he muttered, and tried not to wince when the idiot hugged him in gratitude for five grudging words of greeting.

One thing was for certain. This Jan Markos was a certifiable idiot. But a very, very helpful one.