Hey, what's up? I'm submitting another story that will hopefully be a multi-chaptered one. Which is ridiculous, since I have two others that have yet to be completed or updated. Whatever. I'm trying something new out. I normally just write fluff, but this will be an angsty story, through and through.

Warnings: homosexual content, shota, mentions of abuse, self-abuse, angst, mentions of rape. I think that's it? Maybe?
I also don't own Happy Tree Friends. I think that only needs to be stated once.

The cold night air whipped around his face in cloudy breaths as he ran. He looked behind him, trying to gather his shorts from around his knees, feeling sticky with what, he didn't want to know. He clutched a bag to his chest while running, feeling hot tears sting his eyes and he could hear his heart in his ears.

Voices thundered out behind him; adrenaline filled his veins and he dashed towards some dimly lit docks. Something crashed behind him and he nearly screamed out if surprise; instead he spotted a pile of wooden crates. He dashed behind them and flung himself in between the crates and a wall. He stiffened, pausing to let himself catch his breath and he was for once thankful for his age and small size.

He heard footsteps and he forgot to breathe; men yelled at one another, there were some thumps and more footsteps, and then the noises receded and vanished. He sighed, relaxing as much as the wall and the crates would allow. He stood and noticed an open crate with a label of a town on it; he grinned weakly and clambered inside of it, grabbing the lid as he did. He jammed the lid overtop of himself over the crate.

Before long he fell asleep, feeling safer than he ever had in a long time.

Russell sighed, gripping the steering wheel in his hand tighter. The smell of sea salt was all around him, and the sun glittered off the ocean waves. The sky was bright blue with fluffy clouds. Russell couldn't imagine a better day to be sailing.

Russell and his crew had gone on a week-long voyage to a small tropical island to pick up a shipment of fruit. It wasn't necessary, but Russell did it occasionally just for the sake of sailing. Mime had come along because he was fond of the sea and was excellent at cleaning; the Mole was a doctor and wanted to keep Mime company; Handy wanted to help keep the ship in working order, and Lumpy was just a pair of spare hands. Lumpy was more likely to kill anyone than help, but Russell needed all the help he could get. Handy also helped navigate, since Mime didn't let the Mole do it.

It took a full week to sail to the island. Once they got to the island, they stayed a few days to restock the ship's inventory, load the crates, and rest a bit. Then it took another week to sail back. All in all, it had been pleasant, and so far only Handy had died once. Lumpy had accidentally knocked him overboard and the amputee drowned. Beyond that, everything had gone smoothly and they were on their third day sailing back. Handy wasn't impressed with Lumpy once he respawned on the ship, needless to say.

Mime was currently on board, sweeping the ship deck. Lumpy kept the teenager busy; Lumpy was careless and messy, so for the majority of the trip Mime had just cleaned up after him. The older man was currently stretched out leisurely in a fold-out chair, with a cocktail in hand; Mime would normally be pleased that Lumpy was occupied and not making a mess, but Russell had told Lumpy to help Mime. Mime could tell from the get-go that wasn't going to happen. Mime told himself to just be thankful that the idiot wasn't wandering around destroying things and shipmates.

On the other hand, Lumpy was watching Mime clean through his sunglasses with slight interest. Mime was pretty; it was a hot day so the lithe boy had worn shorts that left little to the imagination and a tank top. None of the girls had come on the voyage. Usually Lumpy didn't bother with Mime since he and the Mole had shacked up months ago, but boredom left him little to do. The Mole was helping Handy with his bandages elsewhere, anyways. Lumpy yawned and decided he was hungry, and looked to the crates they had picked up.

Lumpy stood and walked to the crates, grabbing a crowbar as he went. He managed to pry a crate lid off with some difficulty, making a mess of splinters and wood chunks in the process of.

What Lumpy found inside wasn't what he expected.

Inside was a sleeping teenage boy, curled up at the bottom of the crate. He had a thin blanket pulled over his form, but from what Lumpy could see he was marred with bruises and dried bodily fluids. Lumpy stared at the young male for a moment longer before shrugging and opening another crate and leaving with an armful of food.

Mime had seen the whole spectacle Lumpy created in annoyance. Mime had already swept that area, and Lumpy had also taken the cargo without asking. Mime shook his head and approached the mess, preparing to clean what the other man had left. He had just walked by the first open crate when what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. Mime stared, gaping at the sleeping boy at the bottom of the large wooden box. Mime covered him mouth in shock, looking around the deck for someone who could help him; Mime found nobody, so he went below deck to find Handy and the Mole.

Below deck, the Mole was attempting to wrap the length of Handy's damaged arms in bandage. Normally Mime would have done it to save them time and frustration, but Russell had him cleaning the ship. The Mole had been at it for at least twenty minutes, ten minutes to find the bandages, the other ten minutes to just wrap the amputee's arms. If it had been anyone else, Handy would have been irritated. Handy couldn't get mad at the Mole for doing his best.

Mime came stumbling in, pink in the cheeks and looking thoroughly disturbed. The Mole had one of Handy's "arms" wrapped but, but he recognized Mime's steps and turned to the artists' direction. Mime wasn't a person who got upset easily, so hearing Mime tear into the room wasn't a normal occurrence for the Mole. "Mime? What's up?"

Mime ran up the Mole, tugging on his sleeves. Handy frowned; the Mole had to wrap up one of his arms still. "Mime. We're kinda busy. What's wrong?"

Mime frowned back at Handy, but decided to humor him. Mime pointed up deck and re-enacted his experience sweeping and finding the sleeping boy. Then he crouched and made up as if he were in an enclosed box, and then pretended to sleep. Mime jumped up and down afterwards, looking frantic. Handy just stared. "...Uh..."

Mime fumed, and just grabbed the Mole by the crook of his arm and motioned for Handy to follow. The Mole apologized to Handy as he was dragged up the stairs by his frantic boyfriend; the red-headed man rolled his eyes and followed suit.

Handy's mild irritation for Mime vanished when he laid eyes on the unconscious boy inside the crate. Mime stood on his tiptoes and explained the situation to the blind man, who immediately switched into his doctor mindset. "Handy, let Russel know. Mime...help me get him to the medical ward." Handy did so; he took off immediately to let the captain of their ship know they seemed to have a very broken-looking stowaway. Mime helped the Mole pick up the boy and lead him to the ships' small medical ward.

End chapter.

Not a big intro chapter, but hopefully the next ones will be longer. I'll get into the unconscious boy's perspective more. Guess who he is! Your hint is the ocean theme.