Note: After lying untouched in the depths of my computer for almost a year I found this thing again and decided to give it a shot. Think "His Dark Materials" meets "Neverwhere" meets "Newsies" meets film noir. Or simply read it. Just don't expect to understand it. Yet.

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Evil was in the air and it hit him like a punch to the gut. One minute he was sleeping, smiling in his dreams, with the next he was awake and supporting his upright and heaving, sweating frame with aching palms. Screams and sobs and rushing wind filled his ears and his eyes were frozen shock wide open and bloodshot, seeing nothing but fear.

When he woke for real he found that tears, still fresh, had plastered his thin, straw-blonde hair to his high cheekbones. He was curled into a ball in the still dark of the morning and he had never felt so miserable. The room was strangely silent. This served only to amplify the harsh, ragged breathing of the person occupying the bunk beneath his. His eyes stung and he felt more silent tears fight forth.

Danya Ivanov was sinking into despair. He didn't dare look below.

I woke and I felt dirty, sick to my soul, blind. A headache threatened behind my eyes. The room was silent but for one sound, the sound that had drawn me from sleep. I propped myself up on one unwilling elbow and let my gaze find its own way to the source.

Dutchy.

"Shit," muttered a familiar voice above me. Kid Blink was awake, temper too. Unless…

My eyes fell downwards. Specs. Shit. Kid narrowly missed me as he jumped down from his bunk, shivering in the silent chill. Strange for it to be cold in the middle of July, but everything has a reason.

I closed my eyes tightly and rolled away from the scene. I promised myself I wouldn't get dragged into anything, but even as I spoke it in my mind I knew it wasn't true.

Kid grabbed my shoulder and roughly turned me back over.

"Race. Racetrack. Ov-"

"I know," I said, eyes still shut. Dutchy's sobs were relentless. I felt that I might throw up. I opened my eyes and found Kid crouching by my bunk, looking the other way uneasily. Emotion is not a thing usually shown in a lodging house full of boys. Maybe this was one of the times I could understand it. Specs…

Bumlets appeared next to Kid, sleep still clouding his eyes. The mess of jet black hair on his head from the night usually would've prompted a sly remark from me. This morning was too serious for any joking.

"Shit," he said. Kid and I nodded dumbly. All around the room people were waking up, taking in the situation, trying desperately to find a way out. My own stomach churned and I rubbed at my forehead.

"How does Dutch even know?" Asked Snoddy, whose tall shadow covered my own from his position behind me. "He hasn't moved from his bunk. He hasn't… seen."

Kid stood. "How do you think he knows?" Snoddy was silent. Specs was Dutchy's One Love, we all knew that. Dutchy would know if he was… in danger. Just as Specs would the opposite. But why…

"Why Specs?" I voiced my thoughts in a mumble but Bumlets heard me. He shook his head in answer. No one knew. "How bad is it?" Was my next question, but again no one could answer. Not one boy had gone near the set of bunks. I sighed, slid out of bed, and took the first step. Pie-eater blocked my path with no warning of his approach. His kind brown eyes focused on my own and seemed concerned. I brushed by him with a shiver. Pie was nice but he gave me the creeps. Probably because he never spoke.

I knelt by Specs' prone form and reached a hand towards his head. It only got halfway there before I was knocked to the floor. With a snarl, Dutchy had leapt at last from his bed… unfortunately, on to me. He choked back another sob.

"Get away from him!"

I stumbled backwards with my hands and watched as Dutchy turned to his Love and latched onto a hand. Every few seconds Specs' chest rose. He was alive. At this point.

The whole house was alert by now, but there was nobody near us and nobody talking. I shivered again.

"Dutchy," I said quietly. "Dutchy. It's Racetrack. It's Race. Come on, Dutch…"

His head moved and he took me in slowly, dry, cracked lips quivering. I crawled next to him and took a long look at Specs. He seemed normal, just sleeping. At this point. I knew what would happen. You could feel an aura around his form, it just made you feel… bad. It left a stale taste in your mouth and made you tired, depressed. Hopeless. It filled the room.

Dutchy knelt with Specs' chest, now. I stood and gave his shoulder an awkward squeeze, then returned to my bunk. There was a small circle surrounding it.

"Well?" Kid demanded when I broke through. "Is it… you know. Is it?"

I hesitated, nodded.

"Fever," said Skittery as if he were trying the word out. He met my eyes and winced.

"The Fever," I whispered in agreement.

"How long's the sucker got?" Snoddy was stretched out on my bunk. He was trying to sound indifferent.

I shrugged. "Days. A week? I don't know. I didn't… I didn't feel anything last night. So maybe it's not strong."

"Ah, you've been comfortable here for too long," Kid said bitterly. "Haven't been over there in a long time, have you? It was clear, Race kid." He shuddered involuntarily. "It was strong."

Bumlets and Snoddy murmured their agreement, the others just looked uncomfortable. I shifted and cleared my throat.

"Right… let's get ready, then."

They moved off and I looked back to Dutchy. He was still in the same position. I took a deep breath and returned to him, weaving my way among the rest of the house, who had followed our example and were filing into the washroom.

"Dutchy kid… we gotta sell. Boy. Come on. You gotta get ready. Specs'll… he'll still be here when you get back. Promise."

Dutchy made no indication that he had heard any word I'd said.

"Dutchy. Let's go. You need money, kid. Up, let's go. Kloppman will look after your boy."

He refused to talk, move, or stop crying. I grunted, exasperated, and went into the washroom without him. I tried not to judge.

After all… I had never watched someone I loved have their soul eaten.