AN: I am SO sorry it took this long. So so sorry. I've hit a rough patch lately and for some reason I really couldn't write. I'm not even sure why.

This chapter is to remind all of us that sometimes children see things far more clearly than adults. And sometimes what we need to do is to just listen to them.

Chapter 7

London, UK, 1988

So he experimented.

That night he remained by the hotel. During that day he stayed in the same place, doing what he could to get something both from the hotel and the café. There were several other homeless children around as well, but he was small and quick, and somehow, he managed to get enough food to almost feel full that day.

When the night fell and the café closed, he moved closer to the front of the hotel, preparing for the night. He debated whether to find another building and try his luck or to just stay by the hotel and get some sleep before settling on staying by the hotel. He had a couple of long nights, and he could use some proper sleep. Well, as proper as could be while he was still sleeping in the street.

He must've slept well that night, because he woke up with new energies – and, just as important, a renewed sense of purpose. He'd survive. Even if just to show his parents. They left him, but he didn't need them. He could do on his own.

He made sure he still had all his belongings and then walked towards his next destination. He was getting surprisingly good in finding small restaurants and tiny motels where nobody else seemed to be lurking, waiting for food. And maybe it was his age, or the areas in which he stayed, but somehow, it seemed to him that he was getting more food now than he did when he first started. Whatever it was, it seemed he was doing something right.

He also got surprisingly good at thinking while watching out for changes around him. When he'd just started, he had to remain focused, keep his eyes and mind on the restaurant or hotel by which he was standing. Now, he seemed to be processing everything subconsciously, thus allowing his conscious mind to focus on the more important questions.

The most important question was, of course, how to get the most food and money.

When walking, he could spot the different types of homeless men and women. The ones who sat on the sidewalk, a small box or a hat in front of them, trying to make themselves as pathetic-looking as they could; the ones who waited by restaurants and hotels, desperate for something edible; the ones who had some sort of a talent and attempted to display it and earn some extra cash. Some men even walked amongst the crowd, begging for money from the people sitting outside the cafes and from those who clearly weren't in a hurry.

He had no talent, not that he knew of. He thought he could probably try to beg for money; most people had a soft spot for a child, once they knew he wasn't going to steal from them. He was ten, but he knew he looked younger, something that could only help him. He didn't want to just sit somewhere and hope for the best; somewhere deep down, he felt a constant need to keep moving, from one place to another. Minutes, hours, days – it didn't matter how long he stayed put, so long as he knew he'd keep going at some point soon.

Of course, unlike standing by restaurants and waiting for leftovers, walking amongst people and asking for food or money could actually be dangerous. People could mistake his intentions and assume he's trying to rob them – just as he'd seen them do so far. He could accidentally trespass into someone else's area – he'd seen the homeless men fight over alleged trespasses. But where there was more danger, there was also more to gain.

Besides, he reasoned, it would be good for his experiments. So far he had no luck recreating what happened with Lesley and Greg. Maybe he was going the wrong way all along.

The only way to find out was by reaching more people.

He could do it. He knew he could. After all, he still had to prove his parents that he didn't need them. He could survive on his own, whether anyone believed it or not.

As soon as he made the decision to change his tactics, he stopped moving and found a place where he could change his clothes. It was uncomfortable, changing in the restrooms of a small café, but he was growing used to it.

He found the most raggedy looking clothes he had and put them on, stashing everything else inside the backpack. He didn't have to worry about it; after the weeks he's gone through, the backpack looked at least a decade old. At least, he thought it did. Not that it mattered; the only thing that mattered was that it didn't look new.

Leaving the stall, he stopped in front of the sinks to wash his hands and caught a glance of himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. It was the first time he'd seen himself in days, and only now that he did he began to realise why people pitied him as much as they did. There were clear dark circles around his eyes; his hair was a mess; his face was dirty with dust and sand. He looked worse than he'd ever looked in his entire life.

"Good," He said to himself quietly, still looking at the mirror. The worse he looked, the easier it will be for him to draw attention and get some money. He hated being pitied, but at this point, he had no other choice. He had to survive.

And like his parents used to tell him, sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do.

He nodded to himself, still looking at the mirror, and then left the café, determined to survive.

"Please." He croaked, reaching out to the people sitting outside the restaurant in front of him. It hurt his throat, having to speak in that voice, but he did it anyway, knowing it would make more impression. "Just… something…"

So far, he categorised people into four groups: the ones who helped willingly, the ones who gave him something just to make him go away, the ones who ignored him, and the ones who got angry. The last group included all the shopkeepers who yelled at him when he came in looking for a job, all the people who thought he was a thief, and all the ones who threatened to beat him if he comes any closer. Depressingly, the last group was the largest.

Still, he didn't give up.

"Food," He begged, looking at a small, happy family sitting outside together, eating and chatting happily. It almost reminded him of his parents – but he shoved the memory away immediately, ignoring the painful similarities. He couldn't think about them. Not now. "Please… hungry…"

The father started getting up – and judging by the anger on his face, Kevin assumed he wasn't about to help him – but one of the two girls stopped him. She looked at Kevin with such sadness and pity, as though it hurt her to see him like that, and then handed him a piece of the chicken she was eating.

"Marilyn," Her father scolded, stopping mid-movement. He looked ridiculous, half-standing-and-half-sitting, glaring at his daughter. "What are you doing?"

The girl turned to look at her father, seemingly surprised by his reaction. "He's hungry," She said, as though it was enough of an explanation. When her father didn't respond, she added, "Look, dad. I don't think he can buy it."

"I bet he can," The father growled, still eyeing him suspiciously. Still, there was no real anger in his voice.

"He has nothing." The girl shook her head and then, seeing that he finished eating, cut another piece of her chicken and gave it to him. "You said we should help people who can't help themselves."

"I'm sorry to disturb," Kevin managed, speaking with his mouth full and making it hard to understand what he was saying. He couldn't help it; the chicken was so tasty he didn't want to stop eating. "I haven't eaten in so long…"

Around them, more people seemed to be noticing him. Slowly, a bubble formed around him, both inside the restaurant and on the street outside. Kevin could hear people mumbling to one another, talking about how bad he looked, or about the things the girl said, but he ignored them. He just kept looking at the girl.

She looked a little older than he was, although he couldn't tell how much older. Seeing him looking at her, eating the chicken like it's the first thing he'd ever eaten, she smiled at him, her brown eyes warm and kind. He returned her a shaky smile, hoping it wasn't just a streak of luck.

Then someone tapped his shoulder, and he whirled around, feeling fear filling him.

But it was just a young man, who reached out a hand full of coins. Glancing back at the girl, he could see her nodding in encouragement. He took a deep breath and took the money, shoving it into his backpack.

"Thank you," He whispered, his voice choked.

One by one, the people around him left, each turning their own way. Kevin hesitantly smiled at the girl again, and she smiled and waved at him before returning to her meal. On shaky legs, Kevin quickly walked away, hoping no one would suddenly realise what happened and come after him to demand their money back.

Not that anyone came after him. But after those days and weeks living on the streets, he couldn't help but fear anything he may have gotten would be taken away from him.

"Please…" He begged, standing against the wall outside an underground station. The Tube, he'd heard people call it. "Something… anything…"

Most of the people kept walking, hurrying to and from the station, not even sparing him a glance. It was getting late, and he assumed most of them were on their way home. He thought that perhaps it wasn't a good time to interrupt them, but it was either then or in the morning, when they hurried to work, and that seemed to him like an even worse idea.

Still, several people stopped by and gave him whatever change they had left. One women even ruffled his hair, and he smiled as she did, even though he hated it. It was all about survival, he kept reminding himself. That's all that mattered.

Looking at the people hurrying out, he suddenly spotted a man eating a large sandwich. He took a bite, grimaced at it, and then reached out to throw it into the nearest trash can.

Acting on pure instinct, Kevin was moving before he even knew what he was doing. "Stop!" He cried out, reaching out to the man, even though he was still too far away to touch him.

All around him, everybody stopped. He pushed his way to the man, who was staring at him in complete shock, still clutching the sandwich over the trash. He reached out a shaking hand, looking at the man with the most pleading look he could master.

"If you're not eating it… can I?" He asked, dimly aware of the sudden halt of the entire area around him. He couldn't care less at that moment. His eyes were set on the sandwich; there was nothing else he cared about in that moment.

Slowly, still looking shocked, the man handed it to him. He was more than just shocked; it was like he was moving, but he had no idea why. As soon as the sandwich was within Kevin's reach, he grabbed it and pressed it to his chest, not wanting the man to change his mind. The man still didn't move, though; he just kept staring at him.

Unable to take the stare anymore, Kevin turned around to find a dozen people staring at him the exact same way, all frozen in their places. Their looks ranged from shock to anger to horror, and without even knowing why, he could feel tears filling his eyes. Why were they all looking at him like that? What did he do? It's not like he stole it; the man wasn't going to eat it anyway! They had to have known it, right?

"Sorry," He whispered shakily, his voice barely audible, before running away, still clutching the sandwich to his chest.

PS: I'm not sure what gave me the drive I needed to get to back to this fanfic today. Possibly my anger at the JJ writers, who completely screwed up series 2. That's how you tell a character's psychological story - not the way they did in the new series.