Jack Meade's Pub and Eatery
Waterford, Ireland
3:00 pm

Pressing his face against the icy glass, Keegan watched as the snow blanketed hills of Ireland passed by him, wishing that he was on a broom instead of a car. Ever since the first day of flying class, Keegan dropped any hope or dream of owning a fancy sportscar and switched over to owning a racing broom. The rush of G's and adrenaline that followed the rush of air was far more stimulating then any wheels on restrictive pavement. But that seemed to be the case with everything now. Once he had a taste of the wizarding world, the muggle world seemed so much more mundane. So much so that he hadn't wanted to leave Tulo's even to see his mum at Christmas.

Why did she pick him up early anyways? It was a question that had been bothering him for some time. As far back as he could remember, she always left him with her parents during the holidays and only visited in the early afternoon on Christmas Day, usually already drunk, to give him some half assed generic present. If that. This was the first time she had picked him up on her own and was taking him somewhere apparently special, since she didn't tell him where they were headed. He would be lying if he said part of him wasn't excited and happy. The rest of him was confused.

"Uh... mum..." He said slowly, toying with the door locks in an effort not to look at her. She grunted in reply, apparently urging him to continue, so he went on "... Where are we goin? Grandma's 'ouse is back that way and I was just wonderin' if we---"

"Dammit Keegan! Stopping messing with the bloody locks! Yer giving me a fecking 'eadache!" She cut him off with a snap and Keegan immediately pulled his hand back and started to toy with the buttons on his jacket. That was the other thing, why was he dressed in his nicest clothes? If they were off to see Grandma, then didn't he need to keep his good clothes clean for Christmas dinner? Tugging at the uncomfortable brown tie, which he hated with passion, he wished that he had been able to wear his school clothes. The Gryffindor robes were far more comfortable then this itchy sportsjacket and too tight tie.

"Do ye remember Seamus O'Brien?" For once she broke the silence and Keegan stared at her in surprise before registering what she had asked.

"The butcher?" He said slowly, the name bringing to mind the image of double-chins, net covered yet greasy hair and the threat that he would lop Keegans hand off if he didn't stop smearing the glass in front of the sweetmeats.

"Yes, him... well 'e 'as asked me to marry 'im." Maeve continued, her comment causing Keegan to whip his head in her direction so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash. She hadn't even told him that she was dating someone, let alone that it was that serious.

"Him? That manky sack o' shite?" He stared at her, clearly shocked. She reached over and smacked him hard upside the head

"Watch ye mouth. 'e's a good man who 'as the money to give me the life I deserve..." Keegan initially started to smile at this, until it dawned on him that she had not said 'us', she had said 'I'.

"What...what does that mean fer me?" He said weakly, slowly realizing what this could mean.

Maeve wasted no time in helping the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach along. "It means that I 'ad to find ye some place to live since I can't be havin' ye tossing around some knacker shite in front of a good Catholic man like me Seamus." Keegan stared down at his fists, which were clenching and unclenching until his knuckles were stark white as she went on "... And yer grandma won't take ye for longer then a week, so I found a new 'ome for ye..." She didn't elaborate further before she pulled to a stop in front of Jack Meades, her pub of choice. "'e's in there, names Dean Brison. 'e will explain everythin'" She said as she reached over and pulled the handle on the door to let him out.

The burst of icy air across his pale face didn't even register with him. Stumbling out of the car, he stood there in the ankle deep snow and stared up at the sign for Meades with misty eyes. The car pulled away without hesitation and Keegan blinked back some tears. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he told himself they were from the biting cold and not any sadness over his mothers betrayal, and then opened the door to the pub.

The rush of air warmed by bodies cramped in a small space, tinted with a smell caused by the same thing, hit Keegan full in the face. Entering into the wall of noise and unbathed skin, Keegan navigated his way to the bar. His mother was a well known face there and the bartender gave him an almost friendly glance when he squeezed between two heavy set drunks. Without a word, he gave Keegan a soda and Kee took a long drink before finding his voice. "I... I am lookin' fer some guy named Brison... Is 'e 'ere?"

Where are they?
Dean's eyes wandered about the crowded bar for Maeve. Despite the history and the last "conversation" they had, he still wanted to see her with his own eyes. In a way, it would verify that she was either a true beauty or a fascination of his youth and despair at the time. Had she aged gracefully or had the alcohol and inner demons begun to show through? Why was she so late? In all actuality Dean had been early and was there at 2:00 instead of 3:00 as they agreed. Now it was 3:15 and he hadn't seen her. He'd excused himself to the privy but nothing seemed to change when he came out. He made his way to the bar and sat down on the other side of a rather large man who was finishing his ale.

 "I... I am lookin' fer some guy named Brison... Is 'e 'ere?"

Dean's ears perked at the sound of his name from down the bar. The rough young Irish voice wasn't what he'd expected and it caused him to look . To Dean, the boy couldn't have been more than 100 pounds dripping wet. Was this Keegan? Was he getting the name right? He'd written it down so he wouldn't make the mistake of calling his son by the wrong name, but now Dean could feel it. A nervousness he'd never felt before built up in the pit of his stomach and he cursed Maeve's name in his head. He didn't want to just introduce himself, but there didn't seem to be any other choice. Dean tapped the guy between them and gestured towards the boy, then to his own chair and, in silent understanding, they switched seats. Dean glanced down at the boy looking him over for a moment before picking at the peanut bowl. "Hey kid." he began hesitantly. "You said you were looking for someone?"

The bartender, Mickey if Keegan remembered right, just grunted in what Keegan assumed was a negatory and Keegan sighed. Staring down at his drink, dozens of pressing questions rushed through his mind. Was his mother really that cruel to abandon him like this? Was he in some sort of legal trouble? Why couldn't he just stay with Tulo? And most importantly: Who was this Brison guy and how did he know his mum? He didn't like this. He didn't like not knowing what was going on, especially in a place like this. All it took was some pervy creeper who claimed to be Brison and next thing you know, Keegan would wake up handcuffed to a tub of ice, missing his kidney and filled with a sense of deep shame.

It was at this moment that Keegan realized the tub of lard next to him was shifting away. He started to sigh in relief, since the man smelled like he had bathed in a tub of hot dog water, when a new man took his place. Granted this one was smaller and better smelling, but Keegan couldn't help but eye him warily out of the corner of his eyes. The guy screamed foreigner. His hair was too long and his clothes were too nice to have been from around these parts. As he reached for the peanuts, Keegan trained his glare on him while sucking down the rest of his soda noisily and waiting for the man to speak. Moments later, he did.

"Hey kid. You said you were looking for someone?"

The saddest thing about this whole ordeal was that Keegan didn't automatically suspect that this could be Mr. Brison. Instead, he assumed something far far worse. As his upper lip curled with disgust and his right brow arched incredulously, Keegan couldn't help the derision in his voice as he retorted "Not fer ye. I dunno what ye be lookin' for, but I can guarantee ye that I ain't no poofy brasser looking for a bob. Ye came to the wrong place fer that."

In the assumption that being a "poofy brasser" was a negative and he'd been called a Bob before things were already panning out in the way Dean's stomach tried to warn him it would. He adjusted himself and looked at the peanuts.  "Yeah, I'm not... whatever you just said. Look, you're definitely Maeve's boy with an attitude like that."

After glancing about the bar again, Dean sat up straight and tried to seem as casual as possible. "So, um, where is she anyways?"

"Yeah, I'm not... whatever you just said. Look, you're definitely Maeve's boy with an attitude like that."

The mention of his mothers name certainly cleared a few things up, but Keegan wasn't sure he was ready to trust this guy yet. There was still that worry in the back of his mind that this wanker could possibly be some pervy conartist that was trying to get him out of the relative safety of the pub and into some dimly lit back alley. Ignoring him for the moment Keegan shook his glass at Mickey, eliciting a new soda, before turning back to the man.

"So, um, where is she anyways?"

"I dunno. Whose askin?" He said obstinately, unwilling to divulge any more information then that, "And why? 'ow do ye know me mum?" he added, suddenly curious. How did his mum know a guy like THIS? He seemed too clean cut and calm to be with a woman like Maeve Kearney. But then, liquor does crazy things to people, and anyone who knew Maeve knew a thing or two about liquor. Taking a long drink, he glared down the older man as though he was daring him to respond.

The boy was certainly a clever one. 
Must of got that from me Dean thought as he heard "And why? 'ow do ye know me mum?"

The words slipped from the boy's mouth like razors trying to go through a sieve.
Those hard blue eyes cut into Dean as the boy drank his brew. He seemed to be abrasive, but to what end Dean couldn't figure out. The man had a habit of being confused by others, but this time the knot in his stomach added to the situation. He had to think of the best way to get what he wanted. There was no way he could just tell the youth how he was cannon to his future without having the woman who was supposed to introduce them present. Dean decided to play by the boy's rules and lifted a finger for a black and tan. This gave him his own moment to pause.   "Well, I'm Brison, Dean Brison." Dean couldn't help himself, childish habits died hard. He took a look at his drink and then took a swig before he  continued, all the while he only took slighted glances  suggesting that his glare didn't matter to him at all. He even dared a careless smirk. "I needed to speak to Maeve about you, Keegan."  He shirked a little inside as he awaited the child's response. He hoped that whilst he was trying to bring his own for of posturing to the table that he'd at least gotten the name right

"Well, I'm Brison, Dean Brison."

If Keegan rolled his eyes any harder they might pop out. Of course this had to be Brison. It wasn't an Irish name and his accent was clearly American, as was his general appearance. Why would an American randomly come up and talk to some kid in a pub unless he was the one Keegan was supposed to meet? If he had really been a pedo, he wouldn't have tried to pick up a local child in a place filled with muscular mean drunks. His mouth curved up at the corner and he turned away so that Dean didn't see his smirk.

"I needed to speak to Maeve about you, Keegan."

His smirk  immediately fell and his expression soured at this comment. "Yeah... well... good luck with that. She ditched us both fer some fat fecking butcher..." He said, bitterness dripping from every syllable before he turned back to his drink. Shrugging nonchalantly, he tried not to act like this fact didn't cut him deeply. "Not that I care. Good riddance."

Avoiding Dean's eyes, he toyed with the straw listlessly for a moment before adding "She said you had something to tell me, not her. I am assuming I did somethin' wrong..." licking his lips, he wondered if that was why his mother was so mad at him. It had to be. She hadn't seemed all that upset about his abilities when he learned about them, so why would it suddenly matter now? He must have done something wrong and his mum hired this yankee arsehole to bring him in. It all made sense. With this in mind, he finally looked at Dean, giving him a wary once over "Yer a razzy ain't ya?"

As soon as Dean thought he’d taken a step forward he was shoved two back. His brow furrowed with a slightly insulted expression. This.... this boy rolled his eyes at his comment after he was positive that it might somehow appeal to the child. He remained positive despite this and took a gulp in light victory over one matter.

At least I got the name right... I think.

Then, the air around Keegan seemed to grow colder with the second mention of Maeve. He watched the boy carefully as he spoke.
"Yeah... well... good luck with that. She ditched us both fer some fat fecking butcher..."

   The bitterness was not lost on Dean and neither were Keegan’s expressions. He looked confused and hurt. If it were any more pronounced it would be the size of a sack of oranges beating Dean in the face. He said nothing, just took a drink and watched the boy try to shrug off the event. Just how had she treated Keegan? Deep down, Dean knew that Maeve was capable of kindness and had to have a good heart. Apparently, from what she’d told him over the phone Keegan wasn’t always like this and they got along rather well. If he’d gotten her drunken speech correct, she hadn’t taken to him having magic rather well.
 “Good riddance” wasn’t something you said about someone you got along with. Dean wasn’t so good with children or sadness. He could normally squeeze a laugh out of anyone, but Keegan was his own son and he couldn’t get anything from him but a lot of lip.
     
“She said you had something to tell me, not her.”

Dean flat out frowned over his drink without looking back down at Keegan. His blue eyes focused on the glass in front of him and he completely missed the rest of what Keegan said as anger began to well up. She didn’t tell him?!? .... Not even a single guess word?! Dean wanted to kill Maeve, and as sure as the tide, if he could have touched her right then and there, he would’ve shook her so hard he’d see his fortune in her cold hearted eyes. His lips thinned to a fine line as he tried not to mentally scream at himself for even remotely believing in that hot alcoholic dog walker. First, she said nothing for the last 12 years, and now, she, quite literally, ABANDONED her only child at a pub in the middle of winter close to Christmas for the sake of a butcher? Where were her maternal instincts? He could feel himself getting angry and was trying to back down from it when the boy’s voice pierced through.

“Yer a razzy, ain’t ya?”

Dean shut his eyes momentarily. The question made him think. Given that he was ticked off it would be a good thing to think of something else right then and there. He’d heard of this term before from a few people he knew and, if was right, Keegan just asked him if he was a cop, or some legal authority. He sighed. There was no right way to tell a child they just got handed over from one person to the next like a pet no one wants anymore. Honestly, Dean still didn’t know deep down if he wanted to care for Keegan. He knew it was the right thing to do, there was no question. However he was still young and enjoyed his life alone. Giving that up and living with a child that he would have to be responsible for all the time was hard to hold in mind. By the way the boy was left here however, it didn’t look like Dean could take back what he said. He had to care for Keegan.  It was his responsibility.

Dean opened his eyes and, without looking down at the boy responded. He was trying to remain convincing and calm, but with what he’d just gathered, it was difficult to keep the skip of irritation from his voice.  “I’m not a razzy, trust me on that.”

Adults always thought kids were stupid... or at least unobservant. According to most 'adults', kids like Keegan couldn't understand the complex emotions of adults, as if there was some switch that flipped when you turned 18 that allowed you to 'get it'. But children were far more perceptive then they were assumed to be, possibly more then most of the same adults that discredited them. They could tell when someone was unhappy or angry or sad and were trying to hide it, it was just that most didn't know how to deal with it or vocalize it. Keegan was no exception.

Perhaps Dean really thought that Keegan's intuition wouldn't peak when the bitter expression crossed his face and he nearly spat out “I’m not a razzy, trust me on that.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were a maelstrom of emotion that tipped Keegan off that something was not right. Keegan didn't think the anger was aimed at him, since the fleeting expression revealed itself when Keegan talked about his mother leaving him there. It was a guess, but Kee had a feeling that Dean didn't expect him to be simply dropped off and left anymore then he, himself,  did.

There was an inkling of a suspicion in the back of Keegan's mind, but he attempted to ignore it. It tried to tell him that, perhaps, this man was 'him'. Keegan sneered at the idea, much preferring to think of him as a cop or a pedophile rather then his father. Besides, his mum said she never knew the mans name or where he lived, so how could she have ever hunted him down? As far as Keegan knew, his father was dead and buried in an unmarked grave where he belonged. And he had no intention of staying around and finding out otherwise.

"Right, well then, I suppose if yer not a raz and I am not in trouble, then I am free ta go, eh?" Keegan said suddenly, hopping off the barstool. The best thing for him to do now was go back to Tulo's and hope she would 'adopt' him until he was 17. Or perhaps he could stay with Mai and her cozy little caravan. He would survive. "Put me drink on mums tab..." He told Mickey, sure that his mum had a long running one. Glancing at Brison, he nodded slowly, as though he were absolving him of any biological duties, "I'll be fine on me own. I dun need 'er or any bloke she found on the street to keep me safe. Ye can tell 'er that."