What if it all was different? What if it was all reversed, all changed; the setting, the story, the love. What if it all was blank? Now, it is. And this story begins before they met, before Toby Cavanaugh knew the smart young Spencer Hastings. Before Toby lost his uncle, before his became a photographer, before he was bit by that radioactive spider… Before it all.

"Watch it, Cavanaugh!"

Another push to his shoulder sent him to the ground. His books fell out his hands, and he heard the clatter of his glasses as they hit the street. Toby wasn't oblivious to these things; he just was used to it. His hands stung as he crawled toward the dark pair of glasses in his peripheral vision. A group of boys ran away, their sinister laughter disappearing down an alley, howling. Toby reached out, searching for his glasses, and caught the glasses by the rim, and he shoved them back on his face, his eyes adjusting. He looked down at his hands as he stood back up, small cuts on them. "Amateurs." He whispered.

He began walking back home, dirt on his jeans, and a button missing from his plaid shirt. He was used to being beat up, being the school nerd and all. But, he didn't really mind the punching, the harassment. He was a pretty natural guy. Besides, he couldn't fight back even if he tried to. Toby continued walking, until he saw a small white house behind a small metal fence surrounding the house. He opened the gate quietly, and he saw two figures move behind the windows. He didn't take much acknowledgement into it, he was used to it. Toby reached the small red door, and knocked twice.

He heard petit feet rush to the door, a small woman's voice, and then there was a man's voice. The door creaked open to reveal his small aunt Ella; she stared at him, grinning. She had dark brown hair, in a bun, but usually long, and she had on a white cardigan. Her hands were small, fragile. "Hey, sweetheart!" His small aunt hugged him around his torso, and Toby hugged back, smiling. "Hey Aunt Ella. Where's Uncle Tom?"

"Oh, he's in the kitchen, trying to cook." His aunt winked at him, and Toby let himself in, dropping his black backpack to the floor. "No, Toby Cavanaugh, you know where that thing goes." Ella scolded him, her small hands on her hips. Toby rolled his eyes. "Yes Aunt Ella." He picked his backpack back up, and began to drag himself up the stairs.

He walked down the narrow hall, to his white bedroom door. He shouldered it open, and his room was typical. Messy, like all teenagers rooms, and he had a bulletin board full of random sketches he did in college presentations. It's not like he was a slacker, it was just all stuff he already knew. He was a smart kid, always was. Toby closed his door quickly, but not enough to let it slam, as he trudged into his boring room.

Toby threw his backpack onto his black plaid bed, and threw himself next to his bag, lying face first on his bed. He didn't try to take off his black converse; he just lied there, groaning from the pain in his stomach from an earlier beating. His hair tickled his ear; it was growing out faster than usual. He heard a light knock on his bedroom door.

His groan was his response. "Toby, dinner is ready!" He heard his aunt call. Toby replied back with,
"Be right there." But his voice sounded cloudy since his mouth was still pressed into his bed. He heard his aunt's footsteps disappear, and he finally forced himself up, looking across the room at the mirror that hung on the back of his door. He saw a black mark on his cheek, and he quickly grabbed a beanie from his bed post, and threw it on, dragging the beanie over his head, covering a bruise on his forehead from some kid who threw a textbook at him. That one hurt.

Toby ran downstairs, almost tripping over his dirty shoelaces. His glasses bobbed around on the tip of his nose, and he furiously shoved them back onto his face. He walked into the small kitchen, his aunt and uncle already sitting to eat. His uncle smiled. "Hey there, Tobes." He called, standing up. Toby smiled. "Hey Tom." And his uncle gave him a hug, patting his back once. Toby let him go, and his uncle sat back down. Toby took the seat that was at the end of the table.

"So, kid, how was your day?" Uncle Tom asked him. Toby didn't look up from his fists, which were clenched from the thought of his day. What was he supposed to say? "Oh, it was fun getting my ass kicked." He couldn't say that. So he would say what he would always say. "It was fine."

Aunt Ella looked at him. "Oh, come on, that's all?" Uncle Tom asked, leaning forward in his seat. Toby just shrugged.
"I just listened to the lectures today, took notes, nothing else." Toby replied under his breath, taking his fork into his hand, pushing around the macaroni and cheese on his plate. He didn't want to look up, he knew they were worried about him all the time due to his lack of response to these type of questions. After his mother died a year ago, Toby didn't really have any faith in himself, let alone in conversations. This conversation easily went dead, just like every time. Aunt Ella, turned to Uncle Tom, her eye's showing a bit of sadness. "So, Tom, I called about the hole in the roof, and they said…"

The conversation wavered on, and Toby didn't pay much attention. His beanie started sliding back, so he tugged it back on. Aunt Ella saw this, and her eyes widened. "Toby! What happened to your cheek?!" Toby sputtered awake again, and turned to her. "Huh?"

Toby had almost forgotten about the bruise on his cheek. He touched it, and it burned slightly. Aunt Ella quickly got up, and stood next to Toby's seat, and peered at it. "Who did this? I want a name." Toby shrugged, shaking his head.

"No, Aunt Ella, it's nothing, I just fell off my skateboard earlier."

"Toby Cavanaugh, I'm not letting some idiots push you around—

"I said it's nothing!" Toby yelled too loudly, and his aunt went silent. The air sounded of the awkward guilt Toby felt inside of him, his hands shaking. Aunt Ella folded her hands together, looking down.

"Toby, that is no way to speak to your Aunt!" Uncle Tom yelled across the table. Toby breathed out deeply, before standing up, almost knocking his plate over and barged out of the room, rushing up the stairs, and slamming his door shut.

He ran from the guilt that was building up inside of him.

He rushed over to his bed, sitting on the edge of it, throwing his head into his palms. He felt his heart quiver in his chest, and he felt like his room was hot and humid from the rage building up inside of him. He looked over to his side table, where there was a picture of a young boy with a young woman. She had Toby's blue eyes, and she smiled, holding her son in her arms. It was his mother.

"Mom!" A young Toby called out, throwing his backpack to the floor, running through the white house. A figure was sitting on the couch, and her red/brown hair turned as she saw her son. "Hey Toby! How was your first day of school?"

His mother stood up, and hugged her son. "I missed you." Toby said. First day of kindergarten, and he was already freaking out. His mother hugged him back. Toby couldn't help but look at the IV needle sticking out of her arm. "Mommy?" Toby asked. His mother looked at him.

"Yes?"

Toby looked up to his Mom, her face bright, but her eyes were tired. "Why did cancer have to go to you?" He asked, his lips pouting. His mother froze, and she had a deep look in her eyes. "Sweetie, cancer is just a little hiccup. I'll be fine, honey. I promise." Toby never questioned his mother, everything she said had always made sense to him. He hugged his mother, and she held him back. What he didn't know, is that he wasn't the only one crying while they hugged.

And one year later, a seven year old Toby would attend his mother's funeral.

Toby turned away from the picture, he felt his emotions churn, his stomach flipping. He felt tears come, but he shrugged them off, going over to his window that led out to the front of the house.

He stared out of his window, across the street of the new house. Nothing seemed different, nothing every did in his eyes. Everything was darkness and death, at least around him it was.

This was a new house. It was unusually large, a big white house with wood shutters, vines spinning along the sides. The windows were large, and there was a single room that showed from the front of the house. Toby peered at a small lean figure dragging something into the house. A U-HAUL truck was parked outside of the house, and this lean figure was a young girl. She seemed around his age, and Toby felt his heart stop when he saw her face. He knew for sure this wasn't real… there was no way such… beauty… existed. She had a round face, a pointed chin; her eyes were a soft brown, her hair in a messy ponytail. She had a freckle on her cheek, below her left eye, across from her nose. She had pink lips, their shape perfect. She seemed unreal, almost angelic in his eyes. From this neighborhood, he had never seen such light in this darkness. He couldn't help but lean against the window, trying to get a better look. She was dragging a huge black luggage case into her house, her eyes closed concentrating on the load. She wore simple clothes, a blue tank top, jeans, high top converse. She opened her eyes, and Toby retreated back when she turned her head over to his direction. Toby hid behind his black curtain, his heart skipping a beat. He slowly peaked back over to the window, looking frantically for the brown haired angel. But when he turned to look, she was gone.