This chapter is going to be more of a filler chapter than anything. There's going to be a lot of time jumps, and then next chapter is when the main part of the story gets going. Also, fun fact, this chapter is literally 13 pages in the word document I have.
1909
Adjusting to life in the palace was confusing. There were so many new rules Dmitry had to learn and memorize all of a sudden, and he struggled to keep up. For example, he couldn't turn his back to any of the royals. This was partially because it was a sign of disrespect, no matter how close you were to the family, and partially because Anastasia had a penchant for jumping on him if he wasn't paying attention. The first few times she did it nearly knocked him off his feet which she, of course, found hilarious.
A lot of the time he found he couldn't keep up with conversations. The siblings had a habit of chattering to each other in different languages, ones Dmitry had never learned. All four grand duchesses often spoke English to each other in private, and Anastasia and Maria loved to show off how fluent they were in French. Dmitry had only even spoken Russian before, though he was starting to pick up words in English. Not enough to have a conversation, but enough to know they were talking about him when they said the word "idiot". He wasn't sure what it meant exactly; perhaps it was a nickname.
He was supposed to stay practically glued to the Tsarevich's side, though that was often easier said than done. Alexei, as it turned out, also had a rebellious streak in him. It was nowhere near as famous as his sister's, but it was enough to cause problems for Dmitry. He was surprisingly nimble, despite being confined to a wheelchair a lot of the time, and liked to send Dmitry on errands and then hide. Dmitry had never liked younger kids much, and the Tsarevich was only reinforcing that opinion.
The two eldest Romanov siblings mostly ignored him, which he thought was just fine. But it surprised him how energetic and child-like they still seemed to be. Olga and Tatiana were perfectly behaved when it counted, such as during lessons and state affairs. But the second they were no longer expected to act like little ladies, there would be a wild scramble through the palace that the younger three inevitably joined.
With his new responsibilities came a degree of freedom. When Alexei was doing his lessons, Dmitry was free to do whatever he pleased. More often than not he ended up wandering around the palace and the yards around it, trying to get acclimated to his new surroundings. Sometimes Anastasia was free at the same time he was, and she loved to act as his tour guide. Her idea of a tour was much different from his, he learned, when she took him around and showed him all the good places to hide when you were in trouble and which trees were the best to climb.
Anastasia wasn't the only one who sought him out. It hadn't taken Dmitry long to figure out that Maria was the kindest of all the siblings, and she was the most welcoming of him, next to Anastasia. She often asked him questions about his past because she genuinely wanted to know more about him. She was the one who began calling him Mitya, something that the rest of the siblings, except Anastasia, quickly picked up.
If he was being honest, though, part of Dmitry missed living on the streets. Sure, he'd been cold and hungry a lot of the time, but he had been free to do whatever his heart desired.
"What's up with you?" Anastasia asked him one day when she found him sitting under a tree in the Imperial gardens. He'd been hoping to hide out there until the Tsarevich was done with school, but was thoroughly unsurprised that Anastasia had come looking for him.
"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to sound as clueless as possible.
"You're not fooling anyone, Dmitry," Anastasia said, flopping down on the ground beside him and kicking her shoes off. "I know something's bothering you, I just can't figure out what it is." Dmitry was ready to deny it, but he remembered what Anastasia had said about him being her best friend. He'd never really had a best friend before, but he imagined that Anastasia behaved like one to him. He guessed that made her his best friend too.
"I guess I just miss the streets a little," he muttered, kicking at a pebble. He was embarrassed to admit it to her when her parents had been so kind to him.
"I thought you said you wouldn't miss it?" Anastasia asked.
"I don't. But I do," he said, furrowing his brow. "It's complicated."
"Well, I have plenty of time," she said, letting herself fall backward.
Dmitry didn't speak right away, and Anastasia didn't press him further. He was grateful for that, though he was a little suspicious about her being so nice to him. In the year since meeting her, he learned enough about her to know that this was out of character for her.
"I think I just miss having my own life," Dmitry finally said.
"What do you mean?"
"Out on the streets I could do what I wanted, when I wanted," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Here, it's like everything is controlled for me, and I'm expected to serve someone else at a moment's notice. I don't think your brother even likes me." Anastasia rolled her eyes and sat up.
"You can be so blind, you know that?" she said, back to her usual self. Dmitry was about to retort when she stopped him. "Alexei likes you. Trust me. He just thinks it's funny when you get flustered."
"Well, that's mean."
"He's five, and he's the youngest. What did you expect?"
"I don't know," Dmitry scowled. "I never had a brother. Or a sister."
"Oh," Anastasia breathed. They were both very aware that it was the first time Dmitry had brought up the subject of his family since the night he came to live in the palace.
"My mom died when I was young," he said. "I hardly remember her at all. For the longest time, I didn't even know she'd died. It seemed like one day she was there and then next, she wasn't."
"Dmitry, you don't have-"
"My father died about a year and a half ago," he continued, ignoring her. "He was in a labor camp because he didn't believe the country should be governed by a monarchy. I've been on my own since."
"How did you live?" Anastasia asked, completely entranced by his story.
"I did what I had to," he said with a shrug. "You caught me trying to steal from you, that should give you an idea. Anyway, there are plenty of kids like me. Maybe not all the same situations, but all orphans trying to get by."
"I didn't know that," she said, lying back down.
"I don't see why you would," he said.
"Well, thank you for telling me."
1911
Anastasia slumped sideways in the chair she was forced to sit on, leaning her head against the wall. She was so furious she wanted to cry. It wasn't like she'd meant to hurt Dmitry. All she'd meant to do was hit him with a snowball.
Okay, so there had been a rock rolled in the snowball. It still was an accident. Anastasia had thought the snow would cushion it, considering how much snow she had used. She hadn't thought the rock would actually hit whoever she threw it at. And he had been such an easy target, pulling her brother around in his sled.
She could still see Dmitry dropping to the ground, clutching his forehead, could still hear his screaming. Even Tatiana and Olga had been concerned about him as they watched his blood stain the snow red. He'd been taken to Dr. Botkin while Mama and Papa had scolded her. Then they'd marched her back into the palace and now she was being forced to sit in the corner of her father's study and wait for her punishment.
It felt like hours had gone by when the door opened again, and Papa lead Dmitry in. His forehead was bandaged, making his hair stick up a bit. Immediately Anastasia jumped up from her chair.
"I'm so sorry, Dmitry," she said, stumbling over her words. "I didn't mean to hurt you!" Dmitry only shrugged and didn't meet her eye. Anastasia felt a new wave of guilt wash over her.
The Tsar cleared his throat, and both children looked up at him. "Anastasia, I'm very disappointed in you."
"I know," she said, lowering her gaze.
"I thought you knew better," he continued. "You could have seriously injured Dmitry. And what if you'd missed and hit Alexei?"
"I know," she said a little more forcefully, and immediately regretted it.
"I'm fine, sir," Dmitry said. "I didn't even need stitches-"
"I know, Dmitry, and I'm glad," the Tsar said. "But that's not the point. Anastasia has to learn to think before she acts."
"But Papa-"
"No buts." The Tsar looked terrible in his anger, and both children looked down. "Anastasia, you're becoming a young lady. You have to start acting like one. Your sisters never got into such trouble when they were your age."
"I said I was sorry," she tried to insist.
"And I believe you are," her father said, his gaze softening a little. "But I'm not sure sorry is going to cut it this time. I'm going to have you stay here next week when Maria visits your grandmother."
"No, please, Papa!" Anastasia cried, rushing forward to hug her father. "Please, I want to go. I haven't seen Nana in such a long time!"
"I really am fine-"
"There will be no arguments," the Tsar said in what the children called his no-nonsense voice. "I'm sorry Anastasia, but maybe you'll remember this the next time you're about to do something reckless. There will be plenty of times to visit Nana again."
Anastasia was sent to her room, where she would stay for the rest of the afternoon. They could hear her wailing all the way down the hall, and the Tsar shook his head.
"You're free to go too, Dmitry," he said, sitting down at his desk.
"Does Alexei need anything, sir?" he asked. The Tsar smiled the tiniest bit.
"Don't you worry about that for now, my son will understand," the Tsar said. "Just go rest. I'll have someone bring some ice for your head."
Dmitry nodded and left the study. Truth be told, he felt perfectly fine besides a small ache where the rock had hit him. While it had been a nasty cut and would most likely leave a scar, he was told there wouldn't be any lasting damage. He didn't particularly feel like resting. As he passed Anastasia and Maria's room, he heard a delicate tinkling noise. He recognized it after a second as a music box, but didn't recognize the song.
"Anastasia?" he called quietly, knocking on the door. He got no answer, but the door creaked open at his touch. Anastasia was lying on her camp bed, curled on her side. She was still sniffling, though not outright sobbing like she had been before. In her hands was a beautifully decorated music box, one he had never seen before. Even from the doorway he could see two tiny figurines spinning in the center.
"It's my Nana's lullaby," Anastasia said, though she didn't look up at him. "She gave this to me three years ago so I wouldn't miss her so much."
"Oh," Dmitry said. He stepped further into the room despite not being invited, wanting to get a closer look at the music box. He imagined it must be worth hundreds, if not thousands. It even had tiny pearls inlaid against the gold borders.
"It's been so long since I've seen her," she continued. "Three whole years. I didn't even know you, the last time I saw her."
"I'm sure there will be other times you can visit her," Dmitry said. "Maybe she'll even come here again." Anastasia sniffled closed the lid, and the melody stopped. Laying it to the side, she stood and walked over to him. Up close he could see that her eyes were still red and her cheeks a bit splotchy.
"I really am sorry," she said, and he believed her. To his astonishment, he found he wasn't even mad at her anymore.
"And I'm sorry you can't go see your grandmother," he replied. "I wasn't hurt badly at all, it hardly even stings anymore." Anastasia reached up, quick as a flash, and put the tiniest amount of pressure on the bandage. Dmitry yelped at the sudden searing pain above his eyebrow and jumped away from her.
"What was that for?" he demanded, curling a hand protectively over the bandage. He took it all back, he was very mad at her and thought she deserved every bit of her punishment.
Anastasia shrugged. "I figured you were lying to me to make me feel better. Turns out I was right."
Dmitry spun on his heel, not caring about turning his back on her, and stomped from the room.
1912
Anastasia crept closer to her brother's bed. He laid so still and was so pale that for a second she was scared he'd already died. But Mama was still there, holding his hand and smoothing his hair, so he must still be alive.
'For now,' the nasty voice in her head nagged. Anastasia shook her head, banishing it to the furthest corner of her mind. She couldn't afford to think that way.
Dmitry appeared in the doorway behind her, carrying a bowl of ice water and a towel. Though they didn't say anything to each other, the glance they shared told Anastasia enough. Alexei had not improved, and his temperature was still high. Anastasia scrambled closer to her mother, who showed no sign that she knew Anastasia was there.
Dmitry gingerly replaced the towel on Alexei's forehead with a fresh cold one, terrified to touch any part of the sick boy in case he accidentally hurt him more. Logically he knew that simply touching him wouldn't make things worse, but with the Tsarevich in such a desperate state Dmitry didn't want to take any risks. This was the first time Alexei had been seriously injured that he had been present for. There had been smaller bumps and bruises before, but nothing as life-threatening as this.
Dmitry unconsciously touched the small Y-shaped scar above his eyebrow; getting that scar had hurt enough, he couldn't even imagine how much pain Alexei must be in right now.
"Your majesty," Dr. Botkin whispered, bowing his head toward the empress. She looked up slowly. "I'm told Father Grigori is arriving soon."
Dmitry nearly dropped the bowl, earning him a stern glance from the doctor. He rushed to pick up the ice that had spilled from the bowl, glad for the semi-darkness in the room that hid his burning cheeks. He was supposed to be thankful that Rasputin was coming, but he hoped he would be allowed to leave soon.
Though Rasputin had never been anything but kind to Dmitry, he couldn't help but be creeped out by him. He wasn't sure what it was that rubbed him the wrong way, and none of the royal family seemed to feel the same way. The Grand Duchesses sometimes even called him "Uncle Grigori". And somehow, he always managed to help Alexei when he was sick or injured. So while Dmitry sincerely hoped he could somehow pull off another miracle and bring the Tsarevich back from this, he wasn't eager to sit around and watch.
None of them were entirely sure how much time had passed when Rasputin finally arrived. Dmitry had his back turned toward the door, but he knew exactly when he appeared. The Tsarina straightened up a bit, and looked away from her son, and Anastasia peeked out from around her mother, a small smile on her face. Dmitry didn't turn, instead opting to switch out the cold towels again.
"Thank you for coming," the Tsarina said in the hushed tones that everyone seemed to instinctively use around Alexei's sickbed.
"I will do what I can," Rasputin replied. He came to stand next to Dmitry, who looked up. The man offered him a polite smile and a nod, which Dmitry tried to return. Rasputin placed a hand on Dmitry's shoulder as he looked over Alexei.
"Thank you, my boy, for taking such good care of our young friend," Rasputin said, turning to look at Dmitry again.
"Oh, no, it was mostly Dr. Botkin," Dmitry protested, squirming a bit. He didn't feel right getting praise for someone else's work, though Dr. Botkin didn't seem to care.
"Don't be so modest," Rasputin laughed. "I've heard lots of stories about you, Dmitry. You do not have an easy job." Dmitry was unsure of what to say in response, but it didn't matter because Rasputin turned away from him, finally taking his hand off of his shoulder, and studied Alexei again. He made the sign of the cross above the boy's body, then turned to the rest of the room.
"I will work now," he announced, "but I need peace and quiet. I will have to ask everyone but the Empress to leave us."
Both Dmitry and Anastasia couldn't see how much quieter the room could get, but they obeyed without a word. As she left, Anastasia glanced back over her shoulder at her brother before the door was closed behind them.
"Do you think he'll die?" Anastasia asked in a small voice.
Dmitry grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I hope not."
"Me too," she said. "I don't know what I'd do without him."
Dmitry swallowed hard. It was something he'd thought about a lot over the past week and a half since the tsarevich's condition worsened. Obviously, he'd be horrified if the boy died, having grown to be friends with him as well. He would absolutely miss Alexei and the fun they'd had. But if Alexei did die, what would that mean for him? Would he be forced to leave the palace? Where would he go? It had been three years since he'd had to fend for himself, and if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he didn't want to have to go back to that life.
1913
"Checkmate," Alexei said in a bored voice. "I win again." Dmitry huffed a sigh and tipped his king over with one finger.
The family was at Livadia once again, but Alexei's joints had been swollen and painful the entire time so far, so he and Dmitry were forced to stay indoors. They could hear the girls outside laughing with delight, and Alexei's face grew dark.
"It's not fair," he said wistfully. "I wish I could play outside too."
"I know," Dmitry said. Outside, one of the girls shrieked, followed by louder laughter. "I could tell you another story," he offered half-heartedly.
"I think at this point you've told me all the stories you know, Mitya," Alexei said with a small laugh. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I could recite them all."
"Probably," Dmitry agreed. "Besides, Anastasia's better at telling stories than I am."
"Yeah, but that's because she makes everything up as she goes along," Alexei said. "That's why it's so fun. You never know where the story is going to go."
Dmitry got up to look out the window. He could see all four of the grand duchesses on the beach; even from here it was obvious that one was completely drenched. Dmitry wondered what had happened.
"I miss swimming," Alexei said. "I used to go all the time, but Mama hardly lets me go anymore. She hardly lets me do anything."
"Well what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?" Dmitry said, turning back to the Tsarevich with a smile. Alexei's face blanched.
"Oh no," he said. "I know that look. You look like Nastya when she's about to play a trick on someone."
"Come on, I'm taking you to the beach," Dmitry said, grabbing the wheelchair from the corner of the room. "Live a little. It will be fun."
"But what about Mama? And Papa?" Alexei glanced nervously at the doorway as if his parents would magically appear there and put a stop to this plan.
Dmitry shrugged. "If we get caught, we'll tell them we were just going for a walk," he said. "They'll never know the difference." Alexei still looked worried, but he allowed Dmitry to help him into the wheelchair.
Dmitry pushed the chair down the halls as quickly as he dared without hurting Alexei, the two of them giggling and shushing each other the entire way. Neither of them could believe their good luck when they made it out the front door without being caught. When they got to the edge of the sand Dmitry had to help Alexei back out of the chair. He supported most of the Tsarevich's weight as they made their way down the sand. Grinning in the sunlight, Alexei didn't look nearly as sickly as he did indoors.
"Look!" one of the girls cried as they approached. The three others grinned and waved, though their governess looked less than pleased to see the two boys. Now that they were closer Dmitry was unsurprised to see that Anastasia was the one soaked to the bone.
"What are you doing out here Alyosha?" Tatiana demanded, though she was grinning.
"It was Dmitry's idea," Alexei said as Dmitry lowered him to the sand. "We were bored and I wanted to be with you guys, so he snuck me out."
"You should be resting," their governess scolded them, though she made no move to bring them back to the palace.
"I can rest out here," Alexei said, laying back on the sand. Already the warmth was making his joints a little less painful.
All of them spent the rest of the day on the beach, enjoying the bright summer sun. Maria and Olga stayed with Dmitry and Alexei building a sand castle, and Anastasia managed to wrestle Tatiana into the ocean until her older sister was almost as waterlogged as she was. Dmitry knew it was going to be next to impossible to sneak Alexei back in undetected, but he was willing to accept that punishment.
1914
He hadn't meant to startle Tatiana so much, but Dmitry couldn't help but think that she was asking for it the tiniest bit. She had been sitting on the wide sill of the big window in the library, all but hidden by the curtain he'd pulled aside looking for Alexei. She had shrieked, startling Dmitry, who yelled in fright as well.
"Mitya!" she breathed, pressing a hand to her heart. "Don't scare me like that!"
"I'm so sorry," he said, bowing low. "I didn't realize you were there."
"You don't have to bow to me," she said with an edge to her voice. "You should know that by now."
Dmitry did know that, but he still felt very intimidated by the two oldest imperial children. They always seemed so regal and mature to him, even though he'd witnessed first-hand how energetic and wild they were in their younger years. They were both older now, though, and much more intimidating too. He would rather spend time with the younger three siblings, who he knew on a much more personal level.
"What were you even doing behind there?" he asked.
"I was reading," Tatiana said, holding up the book that had been on her lap. "This is my favorite place to read, because usually no one bothers me here." The title of the book was in a language Dmitry couldn't read, but he nodded anyway.
"I was looking for Alexei," he said to explain. "He wanted to play hide and seek, and I thought he might hide here."
"Oh no," Tatiana said, shaking her head with a small smile. "He usually hides under a bed or in a closet."
"Oh," was all Dmitry could think to say as he tried to make a mental list of all the beds and closets in the palace. "I guess I should go look for him." He turned to walk away and leave Tatiana in peace.
"Dmitry?" Tatiana swung her legs down from the sill and put the book aside. "Can I ask you something?"
"Uh, yeah," he said, turning back. Tatiana had her head tilted to one side and was staring at him with a curious look on her face.
"What do the people of Russia think of my family?"
"Sorry?" he stammered. It was probably the last question he was expecting, and he wasn't quite sure how to answer.
"I've heard rumors," she said quietly. "And I found some articles from newspapers. The people who wrote them weren't very kind to my father or my mother. I was wondering what you heard about us before you came to live here?" Dmitry hesitated for a second.
"How much do you know of my past?" Dmitry asked her slowly. He knew that Alexei and Anastasia both knew his story well at this point, and all the siblings were close to each other. But he wasn't sure if they had shared that with their siblings or felt it was his to share.
"Not much," she admitted, looking a bit sheepish. "And I am sorry about that. At first I never asked because I didn't want you here, and then by the time I was curious you had been with us for a while. I thought it would be rude to ask."
"What do you know, then?"
"I know that you were an orphan living on the streets. Somehow you met my sister, and when Papa met you he felt bad for you. He said that if it had been his child all alone and starving, he'd want someone to show them kindness and mercy, so he found an excuse to let you stay." Dmitry bit his lip and nodded.
"Well, you're not entirely wrong," he said. "I was an orphan when Anastasia found me. But I hadn't been an orphan for long. Before that, my father took care of me. We didn't have much, but somehow we always had enough. When he died I was heartbroken."
"What happened?"
"He was an anarchist," he said carefully, suddenly very aware that he was talking to the daughter of a tsar. "It wasn't that he wanted to overthrow the government entirely, though. He just thought that no one was born better than someone else." Tatiana nodded thoughtfully, and Dmitry wondered if he shouldn't have told her so much. When she didn't say anything, he continued.
"He spoke out about his beliefs, and maybe he was reckless about it. There were some who agreed with him, and all of them were sent to a work camp." Dmitry lowered his eyes. "I loved my father, but sometimes I wish he hadn't spoken out about his beliefs."
"It must have been very hard on you," Tatiana said quietly, touching his arm. Dmitry looked up in surprise. When had she come to stand next to him?
"It was," he admitted, "but everyone knew that's what happened when you challenged the government. I don't really know what people think now, but when I was on my own I know that a lot of people were afraid of the power your family holds. And a lot of the time that fear turned to anger."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Tatiana said, pulling her hand back. "If I show you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?" Dmitry nodded.
Tatiana opened her book and pulled out a folded piece of newspaper. It didn't look very old, but Dmitry wondered how long she'd kept it hidden. She unfolded the paper and handed it to him, not meeting his eye. On it was a crude picture of the Tsarina and Rasputin, and Dmitry found he couldn't look at it for very long without becoming disgusted with whoever had drawn in. He knew the Tsar and his wife weren't the perfect monarchs, but they didn't deserve this. He crumpled the paper in his fist.
"Why do you even have this?" he asked through his teeth.
"I don't know," Tatiana said. "I know I shouldn't have kept it. I already destroyed any other copies I could find."
"Good."
"Why do they hate us?" she asked, though she knew Dmitry couldn't give her a real answer. For the first time that Dmitry could remember, Tatiana looked completely vulnerable. She was not a grand duchess concerned about her appearance, but simply a daughter worried about her family.
"I wish I knew."
1916
Anastasia couldn't remember the palace ever being this dark and gloomy ever before, even counting the times they thought Alexei might die. This darkness was oppressive and all-encompassing. She didn't know how their family would get through this.
They had gotten word a few days ago that Rasputin, Uncle Grigory to the girls, had gone missing. She remembered the worry that had gripped her and her sisters by the throats. With Papa and Alexei almost always at the front lines of the war, it was important that Rasputin could be called upon in the case of an emergency. And now, finally, they had learned of his fate.
Mama had written to Papa right away, demanding that Alexei be brought back home where they all could keep a close watch over him.
Anastasia sat by one of the front windows, her eyes glued on the gate. She, like her mother and sisters, would feel much better once their family was all together again. It truly felt like one of their relatives had died, and she was sure that once she could see that her immediate family was alright she wouldn't feel so anxious. Plus she hadn't seen Papa or Alexei for months, now, and she couldn't wait to be reunited with her brother.
Finally, after hours of waiting by the window, she saw their carriage make its way up to the palace. Anastasia was up and running in a flash, shouting for her sisters. She ran out of the palace as that carriage door opened and her father stepped out. She flung herself into his arms, not unlike the way she used to in her younger years, and hugged him tight.
"Welcome home, Papa," she said into his coat. "I'm forbidding you to ever leave again." Her Papa chuckled and kissed her head, then pulled back as her sisters ran out to greet him. Behind him, Alexei hopped down from the carriage.
"Alyosha!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her brother. "You've gotten taller!"
"I have?" he said, looking a bit bewildered.
"A few inches, at least," she said, nodding.
"What about me?" Dmitry asked, hopping down after Alexei, a bag slung over his shoulder. After months of not seeing her best friend, it was like she was seeing him for the first time. At seventeen he had grown tall and had lost what little puppy fat he'd had left. Even Anastasia had to admit he was growing to be quite handsome, and she was sure he'd have his pick of women if he ever decided to show an interest in romance.
"Oh no," Anastasia insisted. "If anything, I think you've gotten shorter."
"Please," Dmitry said, rolling his eyes. "You just want everyone to be as short as you." She stuck her tongue out at him as they were all herded back indoors.
Tea was prepared for them as they sat in the dining room and caught up with one another. As much as they were all glad to be reunited once again, the gloomy mood never lifted. The war, the unrest in the streets and now the death of Rasputin had everyone worried. After tea Dmitry walked with Alexei up to his room, carrying both of their bags.
"I'm worried about what will happen now," Alexei admitted to Dmitry. "What happens if I get hurt again? Our friend won't be there to help me."
"I guess that's what you've got me for," Dmitry said. "I know I can't exactly heal people, but I can make sure you don't get hurt in the first place." Alexei frowned and shook his head.
"It would have been better if I'd never been born," he said bitterly, his eyebrows furrowed. "Everyone's lives would be easier. Mama and Papa wouldn't have to worry so much."
"Hey," Dmitry said, grabbing Alexei's arm. "Don't say that. Don't even think it."
"Well it's true," the younger boy said. Dmitry shook his head.
"If you hadn't been born, I would have still been living on the streets," he reminded him. "Maybe I'd even be dead. I know it's not a lot, but my life is better because you're here, and don't you forget it."
