❝ Grandpa! ❞ a small boy of seven with his brows furrowed with a near angry pout. ❝ I didn't do anything! The other kids were making fun of me. ❞ He rubs at the dirt on his face as the other kid is crying. After being ushered away, it's just Professor Oak and his grandson. His shirt's torn and there are scratches from the other kid all over his exposed skin. And yet, despite the injuries, he looks undeterred from even showing a hint of "weakness".
This is the third phone call this week. Samuel isn’t surprised at what he sees when he finally makes it to the school, but having been torn away from work yet again, he’s the farthest from pleased. As the other kid gets ushered away in tears, the professor doesn’t know what to think - he can hardly wrap his mind around what to even do at this point about the frequent disorderly misconduct. He’s tired, evident by the hard lines in his face as he walks over, hand reaching for the handkerchief in his lab coat. Kneeling down, he begins the dab the blood and dirt from Gary’s face. As usual, whatever he’s really feeling is concealed with a scowl. And if it’s like every other time, he expects not to hear the truth ( or the tears ) from him until after they reach the privacy of home.
Holding him at arms length, he gives him a look-over for more injuries; he presses his hands against either side of the boy’s neck, down his arms and legs—-the overall inspection is quick and methodical. There are no major injuries to be a cause for concern… for now. But what will it look like next time? Something life-threatening? Trips to the hospital?
( A jump-ahead thought, perhaps, but being pre-emptive and preparing for the worst seems to be all he can do - and that frustrates him. He just wants his grandson to be happy, healthy and safe. Not fighting left and right. Not hurting. )
Samuel sighs as he reaches up to fix the now mangled collar of the boy’s shirt; there’s a tear he’ll have to sew later.
“Young man,” he says, voice rumbling like the warning of an on-coming thunder storm, but he can only hold onto this conflicted fury with such an intensity for a few seconds before it falters, something soft and worried wedging it’s way between the scorn he’s sure will swirl to life again sooner or later before the evening is over with.
“…You and I are going to have a long talk, and you’re going to tell me the truth.”