My brain never stops, I swear to God. This just came to me, and I think I busted this out in about a half an hour. I'm getting to work on the second chapter right away, while I'm inspired, and it genuinely might be up tonight haha. No self control. This is short, but it's a prologue more than anything. You should be confused, that's my intention.

That being said, I'm not 100% set on writing this. I need to see that there's an interest, because I'm not in to writing this for myself. If no one's reading it, what's the point, you know? So let me know if you think I should continue.

If I DO continue, this will PROBABLY pretty regularly alternate between Spencer and Toby's POV. Their stories should intersect late next chapter or the chapter after that.

Anyway, let me know what you think.

Chapter 1

TPOV

He pulled his worn jacket more tightly around his shoulders as someone walked inside, filling the immediate vicinity with the chilled air. New York had an arctic feel to it today, and he couldn't be more grateful that he was finally able to wear what he wanted again. It seemed like such a small thing, but when you were forced to wear the unforgiving, orange prison garb it made you one of a number. It made you one of the lowest members of society; one who was not worthy of even regulating his own temperature. He spent a good part of the last five years in a perpetual uncomfortable state.

But now he was free; and a small part of him was grateful for the cold, for the unrestricted access to fresh air, to the sun.

He patted his pocket for what was probably the fiftieth time. The only things he owned were tucked carefully into his tattered backpack or in the deep pocket of his oversize jeans. "Are you sure?"

His cousin Lucas just rolled his eyes, pushing him toward the platform. "I'm sure. You need to get out of here, Toby."

For years upon years he had dreamed of his release. He thought about the food he would eat... the people that he would apologize to... the ones that he would confront. He thought about the places that he would go, the things that he would do, the opportunities that he would never again take for granted. "Lucas..."

"If you go on some spiel about how thankful you are I might puke in that trashcan." He pressed a thick manila envelope into his hands. "Some things you're going to need."

He avoided his cousin's eyes. Crying in the middle of a train station was about the last thing he wanted to do. When his parents learned of his conviction they wrote him off, and he lost most of his friends a long time ago. But Lucas? He was still there, and he didn't think that he would ever be able to express what that meant to him... he would never be able to repay his cousin for what he was doing for him right now.

In the envelope he found the basics: his license, social security card, insurance information. But he also found some extras. "Lucas," he implored, as his hands wrapped around a wad of cash. "You can't-"

"You wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me Toby, and don't even try to deny it. There should be $500 in there. It's not a lot, but it's enough to get you somewhere new, and hopefully you can find work." He paused. "There's also a ticket in there; to Philadelphia. From there buy a ticket to Rosewood, Pennsylvania. That way anyone following you will have a harder time tracking you. I talked to your parole officer and explained the situation. He was skeptical at first but mentioned that he had a colleague there, Dr. Sullivan. He said that if you agreed to weekly meetings with Dr. Sullivan then he was fine with this."

"Lucas-"

Lucas just shook his head. "Your train leaves in five minutes. You have to go."

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked softly, putting a hand on his arm. He could feel Lucas shaking, but he pretended not to.

Lucas gave him a rueful smile. "I can take care of myself now, and you need to take care of you. It isn't safe for you here."

"Come with me," he tried. "Go home and get your kids. We can start over together." It wasn't sitting right with him, leaving Lucas behind. Maybe it came from a childhood defined by protecting his smaller, weaker cousin. Or maybe it was a premonition that he shouldn't ignore.

"No." He put a hand on Toby's shoulder and pushed him in the direction of the boarding train. "If it was just me, maybe. But I can't uproot the kids like that. You need to go, Cavanaugh. Now. I swear to you, I won't let anyone know where you are. You protected me for so long, let me have a turn."

"Lucas," he whispered, words kind of failing him. How do you thank someone for giving you the tools that very well might save your life? How do you leave that person behind?

"Go!" He half laughed half yelled, and shoved him in the direction that he needed to go.

Toby looked at him for a minute before nodding. "Thank you," he whispered as he turned away and got in line to board the train.

It was hard to gauge the level of selflessness it required to stay behind, to remain in the place where danger lurked around every corner, while giving someone else the tools to escape. He suspected that it came from a sense of needless guilt, but whatever the case may be he had quite literally never felt gratitude of this level. Maybe it was a chance to start new. Maybe he could do it right this time.

Because even when they were kids, he and Lucas knew what it was like to experience the worst of humanity. Living impoverished in one of the most expensive cities in the world made that practically a given. Their parents couldn't provide for them, they offered little in the way of emotional and physical support. So they had to find what they needed for themselves. And that always came with a price.

But they knew how to survive... to recover. They knew what to do when the worst happened, and that was to move on. You never stop moving on, because that's when you fail. When you stop moving, that's when it's impossible to get back up again.

He lowered himself into his designated seat just as the train lurched itself to a start. He pressed his forehead to the cold window and watched the buildings go by; he was leaving behind the only world he had ever know, and he couldn't tell if the feeling in the pit of his stomach was nervous excitement or dread.

He wanted to have hope. He wanted to believe that this was a chance to move forward, to start again. He wanted to believe that the best was yet to come. But he couldn't bring himself to do that. If he had learned nothing in his life it was that hope bred eternal misery.