Javier's Chico

1.

Having a three-year-old was hard enough. Add on being just twenty-three years old, speaking no English and on the run from lawmen in Mexico, and then you've got a real problem.

Javier was starving, and not in an exaggerated way. His skin was starting to cling to his bones and he could see his ribcage. He was weak and tired but it was just to get Mateo to safety, he didn't care about himself. Mateo was no better than he was, but if he could just keep the boy alive, maybe someone would find the love in their hearts to take the boy in and raise him better.

Lately they'd been sleeping in outhouses or abandoned, rotting buildings, eating scraps to survive. He'd curl himself up over the seat in the outhouse and wrap his son up warm, holding him tight against his chest. Most nights Javier went hungry, every bit of food he had, Mateo had the majority of. He never planned to have a child but some things just happen, and now he had a sweet little boy who he would die for.

"Papá.." Mateo whined, sick of being carried around on his father's back, with the sun blazing and hurting his skin and making him sweat. He was all gross and muddy, barefoot too, Javier had no idea how long it had been since either of them had a bath.

"Lo sie, Mateo...Nosotros comeremos pronto.." (I know, Mateo, We will eat soon.)

The farm he was approaching looked like the best place for food. It had been a while since either of them had anything that wasn't stale or gross, and he knew Mateo liked eating chicken. One plump chicken was more than enough to feed the both of them, it'd last them days.

He placed his son under a tree in the shade, with his jacket and his sombrero to keep the sun out of his eyes, with the promise that they would eat well that night, but to stay put while he caught tonight's food. Mateo did as he was told, he was a good kid despite their poor circumstances. Any other kid would've been a real little shit if they didn't get food exactly when they wanted. But Mateo was quiet, he didn't complain, even as a little toddler who didn't understand anything, he knew Javier was doing his best.

Javier looked left and right at least ten times before hopping the fence to the farm. He looked at each chicken, some small and lean, some shorter than the others, then he found the perfect one. It was short and fat and completely distracted, it probably hadn't even noticed Javier. Though, he hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be trying to calm a chicken as it squawked and bit him, but he was not letting go.

Then, a pair of footsteps. That was it. Javier was done for.

"Havin' trouble there, son?" A low and gruff voice came from behind him and the man froze. He glanced over to the tree and saw his son blissfully unaware of everything, picking at the grass.

"No...No English." The other man had two chickens stuffed under his arms and it seemed like they were doing the same thing, "I need, please señor."

"What? You hungry? Where the hell did you come from? You Mexican?" Javier was practically shaking in his...well, whatever he called shoes. The man looked him up and down and noticed his shoes were barely held together.

"Yes, Mexico. Very hungry."

"Jesus, kid, you're a way's away from home, ain't you? What you doin' out here?"

Javier shook his head, dumbfounded at the man's words, "Very hungry, señor, please.."

"They ain't mine, kid. You want food?" Javier nodded quickly. "Come with me, I can feed you." The man made a gesture to Javier to follow him. "What's your name? Your nombre?"

"Mi nombre es Javier. I...I have a boy." The man raised an eyebrow, Javier pointed at Mateo still sitting in the grass, "Mateo."

"Good to meet you, kid. Name's Dutch."

~~~

It took a while for Javier to understand what the man wanted. His name was Dutch Van Der Linde, a name that made Mateo laugh when he heard it. He kept gesturing to his horse, cracking jokes that Javier didn't understand but laughed along with anyway. Dutch brought Javier onto his horse that looked way too small to be carrying two people and a toddler, but it certainly managed.

Dutch mentioned something about a gang...and where they rode into, there certainly was one. This gang all stared as Dutch rode in, not with chickens as he had promised, but with a man and a boy. Mateo was wrapped in Javier's worn and tattered poncho and he held him close as he followed behind Dutch, keeping his distance from everyone. His fight-or-flight was kicking in in that moment, the way these stranger's eyes were pointed directly at Mateo.

"Grimshaw, get these boys somethin' to eat." Dutch instructed right away, "Arthur, John, set up a tent. This here is Javier, I'm sure he'll fit in just fine here."

"Who's the kid?" Arthur pointed at the toddler wrapped up in Javier's arms. Javier flinched and pulled his son closer when Arthur got closer, and Mateo shielded his face inside the poncho.

"Mateo, Javier's boy. I want you fellers to be real nice. He's a way's away from home."

"Does he...speak English?" John asked and Dutch shook his head. "How you know he ain't here to rob us?"

"The kid is skin and bone, John. He ain't gonna rob us. Set up that tent."

Arthur and John got to work immediately as the gang tried to get to see Javier, but he pushed past them all. He needed peace and quiet, but most of all, he needed something to eat.

He found peace sitting under a tree, cradling his boy against him tightly. Mateo was falling asleep now, something Javier was desperate for, his legs aching and weary but his stomach cramping with hunger. He would've rather let himself die of starvation than his son. But his hunger pains were just too painful for him to get any sleep, he went sleepless most nights.

Miss Grimshaw brought over a bowl of some kind of stew, and left Javier on his own again.  He fed his son first, and then he ate whatever was left in the bowl, making sure to practically lick the bowl clean. It was nice to have a break for once, without dodging lawmen or finding somewhere to sleep for the night. It was a cruel life for someone so young, but he couldn't leave Mateo in Mexico, not without his papá. Things were better here, thats what he heard, though in his few days of being in America, he noticed that this place was just as cruel as Mexico.

He didn't look up at the sound of footsteps as they approached him, but he recognised John's boots. He sat beside Javier without saying a word, placing a pile of clothes next to him. John just didn't know how to talk to him if he didn't know any English, but it seemed Javier knew what he wanted to say.

"It's a beautiful day." John said rather abruptly. "You okay, Javier?"

"Okay.." He sighed, feeling his heart hurting with guilt for his family back home.

"Hello Mateo. Are you okay?"

"Me, some English. But Mateo knows none." Javier spoke for his boy, stroking his fingers through Mateo's hair.

"If you're gonna be riding with us, Hosea will teach you both English. There's food whenever you need it...and I'll take you into town so you can get a bath and some clothes. I have some candies, maybe Mateo might want some?"

Javier hadn't felt such kindness in years, even in Mexico, life never treated him well. He just nodded while John fished around in his bag, pulling out a red and white paper one, with sticky candies all melted together to form one mushy ball of sugar.

"Mateo, decir, 'thank you'." Javier instructed the boy, reaching his little hand out for the glob of candy.

"T-Thank you.." The boy trembled, still clearly frightened of John. He also butchered both words, either with his accent being so thick already, or that at his young age, learning two languages was going to be difficult. He was so young and all he remembered were these American soldiers in his village where his mother lived, they sounded just like John, big, mean and scary.

"He's frightened, I get it. I'll talk to you later Javier."

"Goodbye, Mr John. And thank you." This was going to be hard, Javier knew it, when Mateo is so afraid of everything and they both barely spoke English. But it was the only choice Javier had if he wanted himself and his son to live.