You aren't truly broken until you're unable to move, defeated and battle-weary on the ground. The battle can be anything; physical, mental, emotional. Hell, it can be completely metaphorical and the fall the same. His was each.
"Honey, eat your porridge," Marian urged. "You've eaten like a bird since you've come here. It's no wonder you're so skinny!" The dark-haired, dark-eyed, and altogether dark-expressioned youth of maybe twelve years stared at her coldly.
"I'm not hungry," he retorted. Marian sighed and turned to the other orphanage volunteer, Sally. They leave the dining hall with weak excuses to check on the younger children. Perhaps a minute after, the boy creeps down the hall behind them, leaning against the wall a foot away from the not-quite-closed door.
"...three days. The child's been here three days and we've gotten no name, no information about his parents, nothing. He won't talk to us," Marian's voice offers.
"I imagine he's having a hard time grasping whatever it was," Sally's answers. "He came in all bloody and broken, remember."
Broken. What a disgusting, misused word. There was nothing broken about him. How pathetic these women were.
The boy opened the door wider, revealing himself and his deadpan expression. The women gasped and stammered. "I'm not broken," he said stubbornly. "I won't tell you. It isn't your business."
Sally forced a gentle smile. "Please, dear, we can't help you if we don't know how." Marian nodded in agreement.
The boy scoffed. "You can reverse slaughter? Impressive," he mocked, his voice dark and bitter. He was cynical, especially for a child. "Fine. My name is Sebastian. I was an only child. Last week, my father beat my mother, then me, then hung himself. She died and I made it outside." His tone was uncaring, any other child would cry. Marian and Sally gasped again and Sally reached to him, but he shied away. "I will avenge them, I don't need help, so just leave me alone."
They would have said something, but he left too quickly for their slow wit. Sebastian wasn't sure why he'd even come here. He remembered the night he'd been brought to the orphanage. He had been outside, covered in old blood and bruises, when a member of the Yard had seen him walking around, and convinced him to go to the Children's Shelter for a meal and clothes. One thing led to another, and it was made clear he was not to leave yet. Normally, Sebastian would never care or listen to what others told him, but something made him stay. This time, he had no such qualms as he stalked out the foil gates to the busy London street. Passerbys looked at him strangely as he walked with far more purpose and elegance than children typically do, as if an adult trapped in a boy's body. He payed them no mind.
Despite his pace, destinationless, Sebastian found himself somewhere children maybe should not go, in one of London's poorer areas. Night was beginning to fall and the ugly, old, shambles of buildings blocked the fading rays of sunlight. He sat down on the ground, leaning against the wall, and tucked his knees to his chest. He fell asleep after a while.
"Oy, think we oughta wake 'im up?" a boy's voice asked, while another boy shushed him. Sebastian cracked his eyes open, annoyed. "'Ey! Whatcha doin' out 'ere, chap?"
Sebastian groaned internally. Four youth of varying ages stood around him. The one who'd been talking to him stood over him with a lopsided, curious grin. He was maybe twelve with messy, brown hair that reached midway to his shoulders. He seemed to be the oldest of the bunch, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Sebastian sat up, looking at them each in turn, carefully. "...Resting," he answered, wary.
"Well I can see that, can't I? Why 'ere, though? Ain't'cha got a bed or nuffink?" the boy laughed, and offered him a hand. "No, I dont s'pose you do, otherwise you wouldn't be out 'ere, wouldja?"
What a lot of questions this boy asked. Senseless fool. "Mm," Sebastian answered carefully, standing without aid. It didn't seem to rattle the boy, who drew his hand back, grin not faded in the least. "I'm Mattie. Over there's Chance, Pencey, and Pock. What's your name, mate?"
Sebastian wasn't sure what to make of all of this, and certainly didn't want to give these strange boys his real name. "Orson," he lied. They seemed to buy it as Mattie clapped him on the back, making him flinch.
"Well, Orson, we got a bed for ya if ya want it. We's from 'er Ladyship Missus Mollie, y'see. She's a nice lass, and likes to take care of ruffians like us."
Sebastian cringed and wasn't sure how to get out of being led away by Mattie and the others. They walked down a few allies until one of the other boys tapped on a door he hadn't even noticed, which slid open with a little boy poking his head out. "Password" the kid, maybe seven, asked in a playfully deep voice. Mattie ruffled his hair.
"Cinnamon."