Authors Notes – Erm so this chapter is a little less intense but a lot more angsty. Also, a bit of info that I thought would be helpful to tell everyone so you don't all think that Tony's a selfish bastard. He's not, he just has ummm issues and he's not as evil as he comes off. Ok you'll sorta see in the last chapter, but it's not gonna be fully blatant or anything. He's sorta…well, you have to read into him a little more. He represents MORE than just a stupid street kid. Well you'll see or maybe you won't, but anywho, on with chapter two! Plzz expect the next chapter out in about a week and a half, at least that's what I'm HOPING! No guarantees. RER!

Chapter Two ~ My Actions Reflected in His Consequences

~Present Time~

Pietro put his pen down, carefully pretending to study his pad of notes. It was strange, but he had never hated Lance for lying to them the way he had. He knew he should have; the older boy had been acting selfish and completely hypocritical, considering that he was the one insisting that they all get clean. But…it wasn't his fault. Was it? Drugs were clearly his only escape from the hellish nightmare he was living, and Pietro had no reason to harass him about it. After all, he didn't know what it was like. He wasn't addicted. He couldn't hate Lance. Not the way Todd could.

Pietro had often wondered what it would be like to fall the way Todd did. Completely lose touch with the harsh, grating reality and collapse into a colorful new dimension, a dimension where the skies shone brighter and all people did was laugh. He'd figured that that had been why the young boy had been so addicted. After all, why bother with a fucked-up life when you can buy powdered utopia for a hundred bucks?

They'd sent Todd to rehab three days into his withdrawal, hating themselves for it but knowing that there was no other choice. Well, maybe one, but Lance wouldn't allow it. Todd had been insane with his desperate craving and they were unsure as to how to handle him. Sometimes he'd have violent temper tantrums like the one he'd had after Freddy's death, and they'd pin him down and tie him to a bed. They'd be too scared to stay with him and instead, they'd stand in the next room or maybe downstairs, silently listening to him scream and curse for hours. Other times, he'd sit and cry in front of the tv, babbling nonsense to himself and plucking uselessly at their clothing when they tried to comfort him. And yet other times, he'd hallucinate, he'd vomit, he'd have raging fevers. They'd feared for his life and though Pietro had repeatedly argued that drugs may be the only way to save it, Lance had stoically refused.

So they'd sent him to rehab. Some hole-in-the-wall rehab center where all the rooms smelled like stale laundry and the nurses themselves looked as if they were on drugs. That had been the only time Pietro had ever felt boiling hatred toward Lance. So what if he was just trying to help Todd? Fuck that, he was tearing their family apart. He was the dumbass that got Todd started. It was his fault. Todd had never wanted to. Some crap had happened with his parents and they'd all known he'd been against using because of that. Then Lance had come and ruined it all, ruined Todd with his rambling bullshit about his own stress and worries. Pietro had hated him so much he could have killed him. But then…but then he'd seen Lance's face as they'd led Todd into that coldly generic room in the rehab clinic, and the hatred had all evaporated to be replaced by a faintly buzzing sorrow.

"Are we done yet?"

Tony's irritated words broke the momentary silence, ripping Pietro from his musings and bringing him back to reality with an unpleasant bump.

"Oh, no, of course not," he said, quickly regaining his calm composure. "A couple more, Tony, and the day's pleasantries will be over."

"So get on with it."

Pietro raised an eyebrow. "Why of course. Let's see, how old did you say you were again?"

"Seventeen, dumbass."

"Duly noted, thank you. And when did you start using?"

"Right before I turned thirteen."

"That's a young age to start, Tony."

"Fuck you. I was mature."

"You think being mature has anything to do with it?"

"You thinkin' about getting your throat cut?"

The two males locked gazes, twin sets of frosted sapphires burning into each other, one with young violence while another with calm knowing.

"Why the hell do you keep doing that?" Tony demanded after a minute, the fine muscles in his face taut with anger.

"Doing what?" Pietro asked innocently, settling back comfortably in his chair.

"Making death wishes."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tony."

"Yes you do. You keep saying shit to make me mad."

"I'm asking you questions. That's my job."

Tony sighed impatiently. "Yeah, well you're pissin' me off on purpose. Is this some sort of fucked-up way that Albert rich-white-bastard Einstein invented?"

"I highly doubt that Albert Einstein was rich, Tony."

"Stop changing the subject."

"Well, what was the subject?"

"Why do you keep tryin' to piss me off?"

"Like I said before, Tony, I'm not. I'm only asking you questions."

Tony glanced at the clock, then shook his head. "Whatever. Get on with it."

"Why did you start at such a young age?"

"Wanted to."

"That's not a reason."

"To hell with you. It's a reason if I say it is."

"Peer pressure? Family problems?"

"Neither. I wanted to. Next question."

~15 Years Before~

"Yo, are you sure about this?" Todd Tolensky asked, apprehensively studying the brown roll of paper in front of him. He reached forward and lightly fingered the coarse material. "I mean, is this such a good idea?"

"Shut up, Todd, it's not the end of the world," Pietro snapped, settling back on the couch. "One won't kill you."

"I know," the light-haired boy said meekly. "It's just…it's just, remember that thing I told you about? And I said that – "

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Oh." Todd quickly snapped his mouth shut. "Sorry." He lowered his gaze back upon the brownish paper, then up again to the three older boys, all stoned and sitting side by side on the couch.

" – and all he did was bitch – " Lance was saying, his words brimming with sluggish bitterness as he rambled on to no one in particular. " – and my job was fuckin' shit, you know? Stupid asshole always telling me what to do…"

Todd licked his lips, perspiration forming on his skin. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad…

"…and when I was fuckin' home I was always so fuckin' tired I coulda killed myself. I didn't – I didn't want you guys to fuckin' see all the goddamn shit goin' on with me and – and then that fuckin' little whore of a woman was always fuckin' people behind my fuckin' back…" Lance paused to curse quietly to himself. His breathing was rapid and harsh, as if he'd just run to Canada and back. Todd studied him for a moment, a feeling of deep uneasiness growing in his veins. He fleetingly remembered watching his parents getting stoned in the living room while he got ready for school, and he remembered telling himself that that would never be him. He'd never be like that. He'd never abandon his family, he'd never throw his life away like they had. He'd never put himself to something else's mercy.

"…had to get out, you know? Fuckin' get some control in my goddamn life. Live a little. Then that fuckin' dealer guy came and saved my life, man…"

It wouldn't be that bad. It's not like he'd ever get addicted…Todd chewed on his lip. The other three were all doing it. He wasn't scared.

"Fuckin' gives this shit to me for dirt cheap. You wanna fuckin' know how much I got this for? A fuckin' hundred. That jackass is m'savior…he fuckin' is."

"Uh-huh," Fred muttered greasily, his brow gleaming with sweat as he leaned forward heavily to grab a paper.

" – this is all the fuckin' control I need in this jacked-up life. Don't care about anythin' and everythin's not so fuckin' screwed anymore. Don't care about that stupid cunt and all this shit. What the hell is it anyway? Just a fuckin' time passer for a fuckin' helluva long life – " Lance paused to inhale swiftly, filling his mind with serenity in the form of immaculate powder.

Todd licked his lips nervously, watching his friends sniff feverishly every thirty seconds. Could it really be that bad? Could it? Just once, maybe – he gripped the rough paper tightly between his fingers, probing the coarse spots. Just once. Once won't kill you. You can't let your friggin' parents get in the way of your whole goddamn life – he studied the roll. They were on something else, not this. This isn't the same thing. Totally different. As long as you never use what they were on – he swallowed – you'll never end up like them. All fucked-up and not caring about you or anyone else in the world besides themselves and their pills. You won't end up like them – he tapped the fine powder out onto a piece of foil, carefully placing the roll back onto the table when he was done. You won't end up like them. You won't end up like them. You won't end up like them. He inhaled sharply, shooting crystals of paradise into his brain. You won't end up like them. You won't end up like them. You won't end up – you won't end up like them. You won't end up – you won't – you won't – won't – you –

A pleased smile settled on his lips and he giggled slightly, carelessly dropping the foil to the floor. "This…this is the shit, yo," he whispered, his voice trembling with awe and jubilation. "The shit! I can see the fuckin' sun, yo! The sun and the moon and the stars!" He collapsed onto his back, giggles bubbling from his throat. You – won't – …

~Present Time~

"Well then, Tony. Why don't we get back to the basics?" Pietro suggested, folding his hands neatly across the desk.

Tony shrugged. "Whatever, man. Just finish by three."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters, Tony?"

"Two of each."

Pietro nodded slightly. "How old are they?"

"Why the fuck are you asking me that? You already know."

"Just answer the question."

Tony sighed impatiently. "Five, nine, twelve, thirteen."

"Thank you. And I see that you are the oldest?"

"Yeah…."

"How do you like them, as far as siblings go?"

Tony shrugged. "They're okay, I guess. Fuckin' annoying sometimes."

Pietro scratched his head. "I'm guessing that you don't see them very often, Tony."

"Enough," Tony replied shortly.

"Do they come visit you?"

"Yeah."

"A lot?"

"Yeah."

Pietro looked up, his pale eyes unreadable. "You haven't had any visitations for the past six months, Tony."

The young boy snapped his head up at that and glared furiously. "Fuck you. Maybe I don't want to see them."

"Why would that be?"

"They're fuckin' pricks, that's why."

"Your mother allow them to see you?" Pietro asked shrewdly.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Screw you."

"Does she?"

"None o' your fuckin' business."

"Like I said before, you business is my business."

"Yeah, and fuck you, asshole. Don't try an' pry into my life. You don't know nothin' about me."

"As little as I may know, Tony, it's still my job to help you."

Tony snorted in derision. "Help me with what? You don't fuckin' help me with anything, asshole, except make me hate people like you more than I already do."

"I'm sorry about that, Tony."

"Don't fuckin' be. I'm not."

"Then you should reconsider that sometime," Pietro replied, smiling wanly. "It just may change your perspective on things."

"What the hell're you talking about?"

Pietro shrugged innocently. "Very random things, and for that I digress. Let's focus." He rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles, smiling expectantly at the boy before him. "Let's see…what were we discussing? Brothers and sisters…ah. One moment, please." He flipped open the file folder that lay on his desk and pulled out a set of papers, all paper-clipped together. He removed the paper-clip and slipped on his reading glasses, shuffling briefly through the papers before settling on one. "I understand that the oldest child next to you is Russell?"

"Yeah."

"Are you two close?"

Tony glared at him in reply. "I haven't seen him in six months, smartass. Stop asking me questions you know the answer to."

"I was talking about before that," Pietro answered mildly.

"Then no. We weren't fuckin' close. He was an annoying bastard."

Pietro frowned and removed his glasses. "He goes from being all right, to a prick, to an annoying bastard." He whistled softly. "Make up your mind, Tony."

"Whatever," Tony said flatly, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Do you know if Russell, or any of your siblings, for that matter, does or has done drugs before?"

Tony grinned sardonically at that. "Why? You gonna haul 'em in, too?"

"No, I was just curious."

"Well fuck you. I'm not here to fill your fuckin' curiosity."

"Of course you're not. Why don't we discuss your mother?"

Tony frowned, the faintest apprehension glowing in his icy eyes. "Yeah? What's to discuss?"

"I'm guessing that you two haven't had the best relations," Pietro replied.

Tony shrugged in feigned casualness. "She's a hypocritical bitch."

"Why do you say that?" Pietro asked.

"She just is."

"There must be reason."

"Yeah. She's a hypocritical bitch."

Pietro smiled dryly. "Well said. Could you elaborate?"

"What else is there to say?" Tony demanded. "She's. A. Hypocritical. Bitch. I hate her."

Pietro nodded. "I understand that she has a record for drug possession."

Tony looked furious. "That is what I fuckin' mean! You already know! Stop asking me all this useless shit!"

"It isn't," Pietro replied smoothly. "It's very important, and whether I know it already or not, it's still essential that I ask you."

Tony glowered at him. "Fuck you. All you rich bastards are fuckin' screwed in the head."

"I agree."

"You don't know shit about me, you know that?"

"I most probably don't," Pietro agreed.

"You don't know shit about people like me, either."

Pietro smiled at that, raising his eyebrows and smirking slightly at the young boy. "That I'll have to argue with."

~Fifteen Years Before~

Pietro Maximoff licked his lips nervously, his slender fingers pressed against the cold glass. Outside, a light snow was falling, its silky whiteness partially blotting out the grayish slush and mud that blanketed the nearly-empty parking lot. He licked his lips again and turned agitated eyes toward the clock on the wall. Lance was two and a half hours late. What if something had happened to him?

"He here yet, sweetie?" Rosa, the plump-faced attendant, gazed worriedly at him. "Why don't you give him a call? I'm sure it just slipped his mind."

Pietro opened his mouth to tell her that he had already done so, three times, all answered by the flat-toned operator saying that the number he had dialed no longer existed. But then he changed his mind. As it was, the way she kept watching him in that motherly-sympathetic manner made him want to scream. Instead, he found himself saying something entirely different. "No, actually he's here. He just pulled in." He smiled quickly at her and pushed open the door, slipping out before she could reply. He started making his way into the parking lot, his footsteps purposeful though his heart was not. Shifting the duffel onto one shoulder, he continued walking until the building and the parking lot were far behind him and a deserted highway stood before him. A scathing wind rushed upon his thin frame, knawing through his clothing and sinking its fangs into his pale flesh. He shivered and wrapped his arms about himself, half-yearning to go back to the building. He could never walk. It was over twenty miles away. Meanwhile, nightfall was approaching and it was cold. He could just wait inside; wait for a half-hour or so. Lance had a lot on his mind. So what if he had forgotten?

Pietro shook his head, wishing that he could believe himself. He hadn't spoken to Lance for over two months now, whether by phone or by visitation. The older boy had seemingly ceased to exist. First the phone calls went unanswered, and then, about a month ago, the number had disappeared. Pietro had convinced himself that Lance had changed the number and forgotten to tell him, or had simply forgotten to pay the bill. What other explanation could there be? Lance couldn't just vanish.

Despite the lack of communication, Pietro had told himself that Lance would be there to pick him up on his last day. It was important, after all. He couldn't just forget. It would be Pietro's first homecoming after a whole year in the Bayville Juvenile Detention Center. Certainly Lance would have marked that on the calendar with plenty of asterics and exclamation points. One member of the scanty remains of his family would be coming home. Coming home.

They would turn everything around. Pietro had repeatedly promised himself that; through long days and harsh night in juvie, he'd sworn on his own life that when he got out, they would change things. They'd get their lives back. They'd move on. Lance would get clean and they would go back to school and work. Then Todd would come home in a couple months, clean of course, and they'd all be happy again. They'd have each other and they wouldn't fuck things up again. Ever. They were too smart for that now.

Nevertheless, Pietro could taste the slight sourness of foreboding on his tongue, and he pushed it away impatiently. So what if Lance wasn't answering the phone? So what if the two of them hadn't spoken in over two months? So what if Lance had never come to pick him up?

It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean that something had happened to Lance; it didn't mean that Lance had defected and skipped town on him. It didn't mean that Lance was dead or stoned on some person's driveway; it didn't mean anything. Because he was finally coming home. How could it mean something when he was finally coming home? When their lives were finally turning around and taking the opposite course?

He had changed greatly throughout his time in juvie. He knew that. Thanks to her and a great many other things, he was now a soft, hopeful little prick. The old Pietro would never be thinking like this; like everything would be okay once he came home. He was so different now and he had yet to discover whether or not it was for the better. Somehow his eyes had opened, maybe it was what she had told him in her sharp, matter-of-fact way that had caused it.

He'd seen too many despondent teenagers and hard-faced children to not change. Kids that hadn't even struck puberty yet with faces set in stone and nothing left in their hearts that would make them care. He'd seen too much and it had all made him realize one thing: he was a helluva lot luckier than a very large percentage of the world, and unlike them, he had the opportunity to be good.

So this was the new him. The new, improved, overly-optimistic him. God, would it even work? The situation was most definitely pointing south as of now.

Pietro shivered again, briskly rubbing his arms for warmth. He still had a couple hours of hard walking to do. Where could Lance have gone?

Almost without thinking, Pietro kicked into super-sonic mode and zipped down the deserted road, fleetingly wondering as the trees flew by why he was so eager to come home to something that could not be good.