Author's Note:

This is an original story, but it may be inspired by various comics. Please tell me what you think in the comments!

Rain poured outside, thunder crashed, and wind blew. Streaks of lightning lit up the sky.

Inside, a man dressed in a fine black velvet robe sat in an easy chair and huffed on a pipe.

"Sorry to impose, but if my wings get too wet, I won't be able to fly," a woman's voice said. It belonged to a very large emerald colored-wasp, about the size of a small kitten, not including the wings.

"That's quite all right, dear. My home is your home...for now," a very smooth English accented gentleman's voice replied.

Another loud crash of thunder sounded, followed by howling wind. She immediately flew off of her perch and landed on top of his easy chair. Carefully, she nuzzled him with her feeler. He looked back at her and gave a gentle disapproving scowl. She carefully backed away and rested herself on the arm of his chair. Absentmindedly, he reached over and began to stroke her like a cat. Her lacy wings shivered at his touch.

"I...I wonder what's going on out there?" she asked while climbing up his sleeve.

"Nothing to be concerned about, just a normal storm caused by the tidal pull of our planet's moons on the thick gasses in the atmosphere," the man explained calmly as he took another huff of his pipe.

She curled herself into a little ball and shivered by his ear, creating an unpleasant buzzing sound.

"Ms. Rain, if you don't mind," the man said.

"Sorry," she said as she willed herself to stop, "it's just that these kinds of storms make me jittery,"

"Well, jitterbug, how did you even get the last name of "rain" anyway? Is it because you hate it so?"

"It's a hive name. We were hatched during a water storm, like this."

"I would think that this weather would make you right at home, then?"

"Most of us died in that awful storm," she said.

"I see," the man said with a sigh as he returned to his pipe. The man reached down and stroked her again only to be met by a sharp sensation and buzzing sound; he quickly looked down to make sure he hadn't been stung; it was just her antennae. Carefully, he removed his hand, stood up, and walked to the fireplace.

The man looked out the window as he stood by the fire. That's when his eye caught sight of a boy hiding behind a park bench and drenched in rain. He watched as the boy clumsily dumped a trashcan so that he could put it over his head.

"My my I would hate to be him..." the man sighed as he continued watching through his window.

Twelve-year-old Jason hid under the trashcan and shivered. It was cold and wet, but it was better to be here than with his new abusive drug dealing aunt and uncle. He had never dreamed his life could get this crazy or that adults could be so untrustworthy.

One thing was for sure, he wasn't going to stick around and be the punching bag. There had to be better options out there than that.

The wind blew against Jason's makeshift shelter and almost knocked him over. The boy crouched low and hoped for it all to stop, not just the storm outside, but the storm inside as well. He hoped that if he kept running away maybe just maybe his new "parents" would come to their senses. It never worked. He ran away, they would be passed out in a drunken stupor or arguing and threatening to kill each other. It was all no good.

There was a time when he had a mother, one who genuinely loved him. She would have done anything for him, but she was always frail and sickly. She died because she couldn't afford her medicine.

Jason stared at the ground, a single tear falling into the mud. That just wasn't right. She needed those drugs, unlike his new family who had no issue finding the street corner pharmacy. He balled up his fists and kicked the trashcan, causing it to roll with him in it. He fell into a puddle with a crash. The boy spat out muddy water and wiped his brown locks out of his eyes.

Irritated, he threw off the trashcan. It wasn't doing him any favors; he was already drenched.

The boy stood, ringing out his clothes as the rain subsided. A few more tears slid down his cheeks.

Carefully, he reached in his pocket and took out an old photograph of his mother and father on their wedding day. It was wrapped in plastic and in fairly good condition despite the downpour. He stared at it like he was looking at a priceless treasure and even more tears fell, mixing with the now slowly drizzling rain.

"Dad..." he whispered.

Jason never really knew his father. He learned that he had been sent to an international prison and died there. His mom used to always brag about what a great man his dad was, a real hero. A tiny sarcastic smirk found its way to Jason's lips as he considered the word.

Hero...yeah right. In case no one noticed yet, they aren't coming.

Wiping another tear from his eye, Jason slowly disappeared into the night.

The man watching him curiously through the window kept his eye trained on him until he faded from sight.