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'That' Story [5/11]

That Story, or Ten Reasons Why Priestly Doesn't Like Chicago

1. The Little Old Lady | 2. The Weather | 3. The Computer Genius | 4. The Bars | 5. The Crazed Psycho | 6. The Women | 7. The Tripper | 8. The Lost Boy | 9. The Skateboard | 10. The Little Old Lady (Again) | 11. Epilogue
When he was outside, he found himself doubled over trying to breathe. In between huffs he managed a "Thanks, man." that was overrun by his saviour, who was pacing in half-steps and ranting... at him, apparently.

"Damnit Dean, what the hell were you thinking? You should know better!"

Okay, so maybe his rescuer wasn't as 'all-together' as he thought. Probably a good time to flee.

"Look, thanks for the save back there, but I'm gonna head...” back inside was probably not the best thing to say, considering the man seemed quite intent on getting him out of there. “...home now."

"You're damn right you're going home. And you're gonna stay there. No bars, no hunting - nothing.”

Boaz was beyond lost at this point. What. The hell. Was going on? And who the hell was this guy?

Seeing Boaz’ stunned expression, the man seemed to soften up. “I know you’re upset about Sam, but this kind of reckless behaviour isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Yeah... Yeah, you’re right.” Boaz said hesitantly. “I should just go home and calm down now.” He hoped the guy bought it.

And he did, which told Boaz that he was either a) good actor, or b) whomever the guy thought he was (a hallucination, probably) usually gave up without a fight.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity, Boaz started around the man to circle around to the front of the bar.

He made it all of two steps before the man grabbed his shoulder. “When did you get your ears pierced?”

Crap. Quick, think of something! “They’re not, they’re fakes.”

The man gave Boaz a dubious look before his hand started reaching for Boaz’ ear.

Guessing what was coming; Boaz freaked a little and backpedalled out of reach. “Okay I lied, they’re real. No need to yank them off.” From the look on the man’s face, Boaz guessed that he still had to answer the question. Crap.

Seeing the blank look on Boaz’ face, the mans’ eyes narrowed. “What’s my name?”

"Rumplestilkskin," Spilled out of Boaz' mouth before he could stop himself. From the look on the man's face, Boaz could correctly assume that he was not amused.

In fact the next thing he knew, Boaz' face was planted against the brick wall of the bar, and a very distinct pressure was felt on the back of his head.

“What the hell are you?” The man growled.

“Right now I’m scared. Scared and poor. Very poor. So you have no reason to shoot me, right?”

There was a pause. The next words were calculating, meaningful. “I’m going to count to three, and when I do-“

“Hey Bo, you out here mate?” Buzzer breezed through the back door, his head jerking this way and that as he tried to spot his friend.

Boaz couldn’t see behind him, so he couldn’t exactly tell if the man behind him was the kind that would shoot him for making a sound. It was a risk he was willing to take. “Yeah buddy, over here.”

As Buzzer grew closer, Boaz heard the click of the gun pointed at his person. Hadn’t his night been bad enough already? He could officially say that he hated Chicago.

When Buzzer was close enough to see what was going on, he stopped short with his hands up. "Woah, hey, let's not go crazy now, huh?"

“Oiy Buzzer, you out ‘ere, mate?” Great, Jake too, and if the footsteps were any indication, Tom and Delia were with him.

“Over here.” Buzzer replied, and the silence was almost palpable as everyone waited for the group to convene.

Jake looked at Boaz, and then the man holding the gun on him and blinked. “Cor Bo, you sure know ‘ow to make friend’s, yeah?”

Boaz was about to point out that Jake was his friend, but wasn’t going to risk saying anything whilst in his current position. Jake seemed to realise that too.

“Look, mate, I dunno ‘ow Bo’s dun yer wrong, But surely it’s no reason to be killin’ the man, now is it?”

I didn’t do anything! The guy is psycho! Boaz bit down the words.

The man glared at them suspiciously. “What is this?”

“Tell me mate, yer the one with the gun.”

He seemed slightly confused by the turn of events, as though it wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. “Christo.”

Jake shared a look with Buzzer before he said, “Sorry, wha’?”

But the man wasn’t listening. In fact, he was looking at Tom with the strangest look on his face. It was almost as though they were having their own conversation in that one glance. When Tom tilted his head ever-so slightly, Boaz felt the pressure on his head ease a little.

“Who are you?” He asked at last.

“’M Jake, an’ this is Buzzer, Tom, Delia an’ I take it ye’ve already met Bo.”

The man turned to Boaz. “Bo?” He echoed.

“Boaz,” he grudgingly admitted. “I prefer Bo.”

It seemed like an eternity, but the man finally lowered his gun. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

Oh, is that all? Boaz tried to think up a reply, and ultimately settled on a lame, “That’s alright.”

The man looked around the group one last time, before nodding and backing away.

The second he turned around, Jake thumbed in his direction. “’Oo the hell wassat?”

Boaz tossed up his hands. “No friggin’ idea. Rumplestilkskin.”

A snort drew their attention to the retreating form. Apparently he had heard Boaz. He muttered something in reply, which caused Jake and Boaz to share puzzled looks.

“He says his name’s John. Or Jack.” Buzzer informed them.

“What did he want?” Delia was looking right at Boaz.

“Seriously. No idea. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

Jake slung an arm over Boaz’ shoulders. “’Ee’s jus’ a people person, aren’t ya Bo? Now, what do ya say we ‘ead off ‘fore some old lady tries to beat ya to death with her handbag?”

Considering his luck thus far tonight, that sounded a little too plausible for his liking. He nodded and followed the others to the car.

[cont>> ]