A/N: Just one of my crazy one-shots again but this one involves Toby/Signor Pirelli again just because in a way (not a creepy way) I like these two together. Toby will actually be 14 in this and Pirelli (Davy) will be the same age. It is more like a short-story thing.

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Tobias Ragg was a soft naïve little child. Signor Pirelli, his master a hard, vain, spontaneous and cruel faux individual. As a young child, Adolfo Pirelli whom was born Davy Collins, a small Irish boy grew up being beat constantly by his mother and attacked by his father.

His mother had a bad mental disorder and his father was a sleazy drunk.

No wonder he had gave up his life-his poor life for wealth, fame and fortune. Now he being as rich as he ever hoped, Davy lives his false life with a little boy quite like himself when he was of his age; Toby was what he called him.

Day after day, living with this fake Italian man, Toby understood everything. Not fully but a little to know at least something. The scars on his hands, on his wrists and even on his arms reminded him of his wrong-doings. He never did anything right for the rich man and it caused him to grow angry with him. Toby wasn't as smart as Adolfo but hoped to be one day-he could barely even read let alone think.

There were some days where Adolfo would go out to the pubs and often get drunk. Toby noticed this when he would return. His eyes would droop and his words would slur. It did frighten the boy but he knew Pirelli would never do anything to him—well nothing seriously illegal that is. "You're drunk Signor." The young boy told him standing up from where he sat in the expensive hotel room and walked up to the very tall man.

He took him by the hands; feeling the softness of his gloves caressing his skin and sat him down carefully onto the bed. He could tell he was over the top with the alcohol. It was deep in his system. "Get you-you away!" he barely made any sense as he spoke, using what was left of his strength to shove the child away. All he wanted to do was help him and Signor was being a pain. "Signor stop you're drunk." He repeated himself again just in a slightly different order. Suddenly after listening to his constant groans and moans, Toby found tears in his eyes.

What was this? Toby found it rather strange that he was crying. "You need sleep." Toby moved in closer to the man until his little knees bobbed between his thighs. The Italian looked up at Toby with such despair. "Oh Toby…toby!" he said over in over, almost bringing the boy to tears himself. "Stop it Signor, you rest and I will fetch a cold rag." He held his small hand flat at Pirelli's chest, turned and walked away.

Pirelli cursed many times in English and in Italian. His Italian accent was a bit too hard even for poor little Toby to understand, but he learned how to over time.

Once he returned with the cold rag like he said, he came back to find Pirelli sprawled flat on the bed, completely passed out.

The boy inched close to the bed. Pirelli's feet dangled from the foot of the bed. The way he laid looked rather comfortable-just enough comfort for Toby to crawl in with him and fall into a dream.

That was totally out of the question. Signor would kill him if he woke up to find him right beside him. To him, Toby was like a little rat. It broke Toby's heart to even have to listen to what cruel hateful words come from those Italian's lips.

"Signor, are you awake?" the boy asked very quietly, leaning himself over one side of the large mattress. The man stirred and his brows furrowed but nothing more than a couple groans and that was all. Toby looked down at the rag that began to freeze his hands and turned around. "Toby!" was all he heard before turning back around again only to find him still passed out on the bed.

He groaned again and moved his head to the center. He finally opened up his eyes and examined the beautiful craftsmanship painted on the high ceiling. Toby jumped. He rushed to his side with the rag and reached down to place it carefully on his forehead. But instead he moaned deeply and pushed his hand away. "No…he wiggled around yet again, moving so much of his weight it caused the springs beneath the mattress to creak. Toby used one hand to cover a little giggle that somehow slipped out. Pirelli didn't say anything to that.

"Toby, come." He called to the child in a soft quiet voice he could hardly hear. It also startled little Toby. He didn't expect to hear another word from him for a while. "What is it Signor?" he asked, wondering what it could possibly be that he needed.

His eyes slowly closed again and his one gloved hand reached out for the boy. Toby moved out of the way but he ended up grabbing him anyway. Without another word, Pirelli moved Toby's little hand toward him and placed the cold rag against his forehead. The rag was all he died for.

Toby attempted to jerk his hand away but Pirelli's grip was strong and the scars burned fiercely. "Don't move." He growled becoming his rough self again, and pulled the boy even closer so now he was lying halfway on the bed, flat on his stomach. Toby began to breathe vigorously. He was afraid Signor was going to whack him again or lash him with his horsewhip but that never happened. He was too drunk and so far from sober it wasn't even funny.

Toby didn't move-well at least he tried not to. Pirelli let out a few more groans and moved his head back and forth across the bed. Toby just lay watching, still trying to pull free.

"Signor, please let me go, you are hurting me." His soft yet very strong English accent shook full of fear and terror of what might happen next. This time still not letting go, Pirelli opened his eyes and tossed the rag. The boy saw and was forced upon the bed by his two arms and pinned to the very bed which was warm from Adolfo's warm body.

He took the struggling Toby by his wrists with only one single hand as the other pulled out the only razor he used in his famous barber performances. The sight of that said razor scared the boy to the verge of soiling his own britches.

But he's seen it so many times up close he didn't even know why he was so afraid of it now. "You never listen, Toby!" he growled staring down at the boy's vulnerable torso. He had never ever laid a finger on his torso before but he was crazily intoxicated. So there was no telling what he could do. Toby was shaking and the weight put on him caused his ragged breathing. He was a small child and Pirelli was a grown man. He didn't like seeing his master on top of him like this.

"Please Mr. Pirelli, don't cut me!" he had finally let out the emotions, letting the warm tears fall wildly. Pirelli sat up straight, his back erect, with the razor shining in one hand and the other still holding onto his wrists securely.

He was indeed crazy drunk and he could feel his head spin and his stomach growl. He licked his lips once and stared at the wall for a while before jumping off of the boy and racing for the washroom where an empty water basin sat.

Toby closed his eyes and wiped the tears away fairly quickly. The salty tears burned his scars. He heard everything. Pirelli was sick. Hopefully he would get better in the morning-that would possible but probably unlikely. He was still going to be his mean, hard self.

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E/N: Well this is a Toby/Pirelli short story. Don't know how many stories exactly yet but it will just be a few. How was that? I need some advice please!