"You touch that one again," Jason hissed, yanking on the bully's collar, gripping it so tightly his knuckles had gone white, "and you're not gonna have any fingers left." He glared down at the sniveling boy, his grip unrelenting.

The bully squirmed uncomfortably, trying to pull away, his expression a mix of fear and anger. Jason leaned in menacingly, his voice low and his eyes narrowed. "Now p*ss off before I change my mind." He finally let go, watching with a satisfied smirk as the little punk scurried away.

His friend was curled up in the corner, sniffling and sobbing quietly. Jason walked over and knelt down, running his fingers through the hair of the one person who mattered to him.

"You okay?" he asked, his tone now soft, his gaze concerned. "Did that creep hurt you?" Jason's hands were covered in small scrapes and cuts, a few bruises here and there, rough and calloused from countless fights and hard work. Still, his touch was gentle, his thumb wiping away the tears from his friend's cheek. "Let's go back to our secret hideout. I'll get you fixed up and you can read me one of those books you like so much, all right?"

Their "hideout" was really little more than a hole in the wall leading to an old, abandoned inn in the ruined area of the slums. Nobody went there anymore, not since the monster attack that had destroyed that part of the city, so it was perfect for a pair of urchins like them. Their little safe haven from the cruelty of the world, from the city guards, and from the mafia that Jason had to do odd jobs for to get by. He was only eight, but he'd already done so many things he'd never be able to tell his friend about.