When Gary Barkovitch woke up, he was curled up next to Collie Parker.

He was completely unsure of what to do.

On one hand, he could very speedily slip away and hope that nobody ever noticed. Or he could pretend that he'd never woken up. Or he could wake up Parker and ask him what the hell he was doing, hugging Barkovitch to him like that. Very tightly, too. Barkovitch could barely breathe.

Parker muttered in his sleep and rolled onto his side, taking Barkovitch with him. Barkovitch ended up on top of Parker, faced with a whole new series of options.

A – wake Parker up and die

B – stay here and pretend to sleep and die

C – wait until Scarface woke up and get laughed at. Then die.

Well those were great options.

Parker rolled over again, this time crushing Barkovitch under him. Okay, he probably had to wake Parker up now or suffocate.

"Parker- Par- Blondie!" Barkovitch hissed, struggling. Parker yawned, but didn't move. "Blondie, wake up!"

Parker did wake up.

He also saw Barkovitch underneath him and promptly hit him in the face.

"Ow!" Barkovitch said. He tasted blood. "Fuck, Blondie, that hurt!"

"What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? You're on top of me! I can't breathe!"

Parker rolled off of him and Barkovitch gasped for air. McVries, who had just woken up, laughed.

"Not queer for each other, you say-"

"Shut it Scarface."


Christopher Rank was not a very bright boy, and that was one of the few things he understood.

The other things he understood were how to hurt someone – hurt someone bad – and who to hurt. He understood that he probably couldn't take on someone like Scramm or Parker. But he could beat Hank Olson or the prick he was planning on killing, Gary Barkovitch.

Olson was scared of him. He'd understood that when Olson shoved him in this stable to sleep. Rank decided that this was okay, this was okay, Olson had promised him Barkovitch.

And if Olson didn't keep good on his promise, well…


If Stebbins said he wasn't enjoying himself, he would be lying.

He was a prince. He got everything he wanted when he wanted it. He had servants, one of whom was Pearson. He also had a person who wrote down everything he said – Harkness. Other than those two, he hadn't seen anyone else from the walk.

But who cared? He had food, fancy clothes, a comfortable bed, a fantastic life… why should he be worrying about any of them? Sure, maybe they were sleeping outside, getting into fights with each other. He'd heard that Hank Olson lived with Alexis the Seer. There had been rumors of a small, darkish boy that lived in the Sacred Grove.

He didn't really care.

Let them live their lives, let him be a prince.


"I want to find Ray," McVries said. Barkovitch snorted.

"I want food," Barkovitch said. McVries glared at him, and the prick rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Scarface, nobody cares."

"As annoying as he is, Barkobitch has a point. I'm hungry, too," Parker said. He kept a good distance from Barkovitch, not forgetting the incident that morning. McVries smirked a little at the memory. Now that had been funny.

"Food, then your boyfriend," Barkovitch said.

"Who says you make the rules?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you're an annoying little-"

"You-"

"I'll fucking-"

"Okay, okay, shut up!" McVries said. While their arguing was amusing most of the time, it got really irritating when they wouldn't even let each other finish their sentences. Sure, McVries could guess what they were going to say, but it wasn't as fun.

"Would you stay out of this?" Barkovitch said. McVries had a feeling that both of them enjoyed the arguments.


"Ah, shit," Abraham muttered. Art Baker was standing a few feet away, looking beautiful, like always.

Abraham wasn't queer. Or, he hadn't been, until the Walk.

Damn Art Baker.

He'd thought that he might be able to escape the kid's beauty here, but there he was. Abe needed to get out of there before he turned around and-

"Abraham?"

Damn it.

"Hey, Art," Abraham said. Baker looked relieved.

"I haven't seen anyone else from the Walk," Baker said. God, he was beautiful. Abraham dug his fingernails into his palm to quell the urge to leap on the boy and molest him.

…He hadn't just thought about molesting Baker.

"Yeah, me neither," Abraham said. "I heard there was this Prince Stebbins guy, though – think it's the same one? You know, the weird kid in the purple pants?"

"Probably," Baker said, shrugging. "By the way, you still owe me-"

"Oh, shut up."


And this is the last chapter I have written for this one.

But it will probably be continued someday.