A/N - Okay, here's chapter two. I'm not entirely sure if this will end up a coupling, but I'm thinking maybe. It just makes the whole thing more tragic, ya know? Next chapter will be the last.

Thanks for reading, and I really appreciate reviews. I don't know much about the make up of the camps, so just bear (bare?) with me on it. Oh, and if you want translations for the French, just ask and I'll edit the chapters so it will be in English on the bottom.

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

It was something he hoped he would never have to experience again; smoke, acid, grease and gunpowder all mixed together with the horrifying scent of decay to form the most horrid stench he had ever had the misfortune of inhaling. Gale was in a small boxcar, hands and feet chained to the wall, with a dozen other boys his age. He hadn't seen his parents since the day before, when they had been shoved and hustled to a different train. He had no idea where they were or what might have happened to them. All he knew was that he was alive, but certainly not for long. He had heard the other boys talking in low tones, their terrified voices carrying through the wooden car perhaps more than they intended.

Auschwitz.

The blackest, most hellish place for a Jew to wind up, located in Germany herself. Gale wrapped his arms around his knees tightly, trying to keep himself from shaking like a frightened rabbit. All his muscles were tense and his thoughts were in shambles as the name of the most wretched Nazi death camp continued to whir around in his brain. There was only one way out of the place, and by no means would it be anything shy of raw agony. The only thing Gale could wish for now was the almost impossible quick, painless death of his parents. Perhaps they would be lucky enough to be shot...and it was all his fault. He tightened his grip on his knees, shudders wracking through his body. He was going to die, plain and simple. And he was the only one to blame.

The boxcar ground to a halt, putrid smoke wafting into the space as the sliding doors were thrown open. The thirteen or so teenage boys in the train all fell silent, bunching together out of fear. Ten German soldiers clambered into the car while the others remained just outside, rifles resting on their shoulders and cruel, sick grins twisting their features. The freezing wind of the winter outside made Gale convulse from cold; he wore nothing but ragged sackcloth, torn and bloodied. He tried not to think about the previous owner.

One of the men sauntered over to him, his craggy features set into a deep scowl. He was scarred; one side of his face pulled down and twisted. Gale guessed he was once on the lines, but was sent here to exterminate the Jewish people once he was injured. The man swiftly unlocked his chains from the wall, still scowling, and began yanking Gale harshly along, not caring when he pulled too hard and Gale stumbled, his knees grinding into the rotting wood of the train's car. He only dragged him along, and the other boys watched in terror. Gale was the first one off.

What an honor, he thought wryly to himself. He ground his teeth together when the scarred soldier wrenched his chains, causing Gale to fall out of the train and into the hard ice below. His bare feet were instantly numb and he shivered again. The other Germans only sneered at him; some even spit as he was forced along. Gale could hear the cries of the other teenagers as they were unloaded, and once he heard the guttural growl of one of the soldiers. A sharp keen followed quickly after, and Gale fought the urge to turn around. He couldn't do anything for the boy.

The camp was enormous, with tall fences and many grey buildings. They were very small, and Gale could only assume that each one held a different torture. Through the chain-link fence, he could see a few people milling about in a small prison yard. Many were obviously ill; they were hunched over, barely shuffling along. Their fingers and toes ranged from the normal skin tone of new arrivals to the disgusting black of ones who had been in the camp for some time, frostbite having quickly set in. Gale thought he even saw a child or two, but he couldn't be sure. Altogether, there were far too few people to ease his nerves. The most humans not garbed in uniforms he saw at one time were those in lines outside the buildings, soldiers keeping them under suffocating security.

Gale suddenly felt the manacles on his wrists tighten, and he let out an involuntary hiss from the pain. The scarred man smirked, twisting the bindings tighter as he continued to drag his charge into the camp. The Jew refused to make any more noise, even when a passing guard backhanded him across the face. Weak from the lack of food, it sent Gale tumbling to the ground. His left shoulder hit the ice first, and a shooting pain shot down his arm. He blinked back the tears and bit his tongue to keep from crying out. As soon as he was on the ground, the scarred soldier hauled him to his feet again. Gale noticed they were now outside a very small building. There were no people on the outside and the doors were thick, made of steel. Producing an iron key from his coat pocket, the man quickly unlocked the door, shoved Gale inside, and slammed it closed, not even bothering to remove the chains.

Relief so violent he trembled washed over him when the door was closed; that meant this wasn't a chamber meant for torture. Gale quickly pulled himself into an awkward sitting position, being mindful of his shoulder, and took his first look around. The room was very small, with no beds or any furniture. Only a small window, high over their heads, let in a bit of sunlight. Otherwise, the walls and floor were completely blank. There was some straw scattered around, no doubt an insult; little more than animals, they were, then.

Inside, there were only four people, all of them filthy and haunted. Two grown men, one with scraggly chocolate hair and another with greasy black, sat hunched over on the opposite side of the room. They were unshaved and rugged, their bodies curving inward to either relieve themselves of pain or as a subconscious instinct to protect themselves. They said nothing, just stared at him with expressions full of pity and empathy. Gale nodded at them, not entirely sure of their nationality, and took a close look at the other person. It was a small girl—apparently, the people imprisoned were not separated by gender—with short auburn hair. He guessed her to be younger than him by about three years, and her skin was pale, with hints of blue flecked around her nose and eyes from the cold. Her eyes were a strange shade of reddish brown, and she was absolutely tiny. Malnourished, no doubt.

Gale turned back to the men, his eyes imploring as he shuffled over to them, hugging himself. He took a seat a few feet away and asked the brown headed one, "English?" His French accent was heavy as he spoke, but the man seemed to understand. He nodded, and Gale sighed in relief. "What is your name?" he asked, scooting closer. The black haired man said nothing, just stared at his feet.

"Kasey," the chocolate haired man said, and immediately Gale knew he was from Britain. "This man here is Marlin, native of Germany herself." The other male nodded, not looking at them. Gale studied him, noting his eyes were a dull cyan that had probably once been bright. Kasey had chocolate brown eyes to match his hair. "And that young woman over there is Molly. She says little, but that's only to be expected. She's been here only a few days. Witnessed her brother's death yesterday."

Gale cast another glance over at the girl and noticed that she had drawn her knees to her chest and buried her face against them. She was either ignoring the men talking about her or didn't hear. "Where is she from?" Gale asked, trying to speak around his accent. "Her hair color and eyes do not match many of those in Europe."

"France," Kasey answered promptly, and Gale gave a start. His own country? "Her mum and dad died on the journey over. Soldiers were a bit rough with them and went too far. She's alone now, and we can barely get a bloody word out of her." He paused to scrutinize Gale. "You're a French bloke, no?" Gale nodded. "See if you can get her to talk. She's a lonely one, and we all need someone here to confide in. I've got Marlin—though his English isn't entirely proper—but you two don't have someone yet."

Gale wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea. The thought of making friends in a death camp did not seem very logical; why come to care for someone when you knew they would only die in the most horrendous way possible? But he could see Kasey's logic; it would ease the ache of loss and the horrible fear of what tomorrow might bring. With a curt nod in Kasey's direction, he crawled over to the girl huddled by herself, shaking with either cold, fear or heartbreak. Most likely all three.

Molly didn't look up when he leaned against the wall beside her. Gale sighed heavily and mimicked her position, saying nothing until curiosity got the best of her and she peeked up at him from around her arm. Her strange eyes were rimmed with red and puffy, and Gale could see the glisten of remaining tears. He tried to smile at her, but he had a feeling that it looked more like a lopsided grimace. Either way, the girl let out a small, hollow laugh. She could tell he was trying.

"Vous êtes Molly, oui? " Gale whispered, not entirely sure what to say. He figured that French words would bring her some comfort, no matter how infinitesimal.

"Oui," Molly said. She sniffled again, and Gale cautiously put a light hand on her shoulder. "C'est moi. Mais je souhaite le contraire."

He was confused, to say the least. She wanted the opposite? Did she mean…

"You wish otherwise?" he murmured, reverting back to English. "What do you mean?" He paused. "Oh, my apologies. English, mademoiselle?"

"…Yes," she said after a long pause. "I wish the opposite." Her accent was even thicker than his, but he didn't mind. He got her to talk, with relative ease. He felt a strange sense of pride well up in his chest. There was another lengthy silence between the two. "I do not want to exist anymore. It is not worth it. Even though my death will surely be a suffering one."

Gale couldn't think of anything to say. He wasn't the 'comforting' type. Instead, he merely said, "I understand. I…" He drew a shaky breath. "It is my fault I am here. My parents, as well. I was reckless and we were found, hiding in Strasbourg. What part of France are you from?"

"Lyon," she muttered. "Il a été et sera toujours ma maison."

Gale cracked a small smile. "Idem ici."

Molly hesitated, then smiled softly back.

Translations:

Vous êtes Molly, oui? (Gale): You are Molly, yes?

C'est moi. Mais je souhaite le contraire. (Molly): It is me. But I wish the opposite.

Il a été et sera toujours ma maison. (Molly): It was and always will be my home.

Idem ici. (Gale): Same here.

Oui. (Both): Yes.

...mademoiselle? (Gale): miss (as in, unmarried woman)