AN: So since I got some writing done on the flight to London, and since it appears I'll be doing some more writing on the train (the wifi sucks, thanks, Virgin Trains), and to make up for taking such a long time to post chapter 7, here's chapter 8, only five days after chapter 7! This one's for Caroline :)

Chapter 8

London, UK, December 1988

Something very, very weird was happening.

He was certain of it. He didn't know what it was, or why it was happening, but it was. And somehow, he knew that whatever it was, it was crucial to his survival to figure it out.

That night he hid in a dark alley nearby. He cried until he fell asleep, but even that sleep wasn't any use relieving the stress and fear he felt. He dreamed about his parents that night, about awful experiments and being left on his own.

All of which only convinced him that he never wanted to sleep again. He had enough of these in his waking hours; he didn't need more in his dreams.

When he woke up the next morning, he was tired and his entire body ached. Around him he could hear London beginning to wake; the sky was still dark, but there were already people wandering about. The alley in which he was hiding was empty, but he knew it was unlikely to stay that way for much longer.

Grimacing, he got up and caught a glance of himself in a nearby puddle. It must've rained that night; his backpack was moist, as were his socks. His shoes were no longer enough to protect him from the rain; he'd need boots soon.

He might as well wish for a cosy coat and a new family, he thought to himself grimly. The chances of getting any of those were just as low.

What he saw in that puddle scared him more than the thought of the coming winter, though. He looked even worse than he did before. He was getting thinner, which was a bit of a problem considering the fact he was never fat to begin with. Looking at his own face, he could now see what people meant when they said someone was so thin they could see his bones. He was dirty, and there were streaks of tears down his cheeks, but he could practically see his bones nonetheless.

He sighed, shook his head and picked up his backpack. He didn't have the time to worry about that. He had much bigger issues.

He was just walking towards another hotel when he walked past a huge store, all decorated with Christmas lights and trees. It was then that he realised what time of the year it was.

He slowed down until he stopped entirely, standing in front of the window, staring at the toys in the front. They were new and shiny and absolutely perfect. He never realised how perfect his toys were; he only saw it now that he had nothing.

And then he realised another thing. It was Christmas, and he was all on his own.

There were no Christmas presents waiting for him under the tree; no Christmas eve dinner with his parents; no waking up to a decorated house full of glitter and sounds and a family breakfast. No socks above the fireplace. No warmth.

He was all alone.

Tears filled his eyes. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch one of the toys – and instead his fingers met the clear, bright window. He desperately wanted to go inside and touch the toys – that was just about all he'd get to do with them, anyway – but fear stopped him. What if they'd look at him the way everyone else did? What if they'd kick him out?

He thought he'd already reached the loneliness record, but with the holiday season coming, he came to realise he had no idea until that moment.

And the way he knew his new life, it was likely it would only get worse.

Is that what you are? An inner voice asked him suddenly, surprising him. He blinked and looked around him, instinctively making sure it really was an inner voice. It sounded strangely like his father. A loser? You don't see Eric giving up, do you?

"But Eric isn't living on the streets," He whispered, still staring at the toys wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry?"

He whirled around to find himself looking at a young man standing behind him. It seemed as though the man was just walking behind him when he spoke; he must've thought Kevin was talking to him.

He shook his head and sniffed. "Sorry, I wasn't talking to you," He mumbled.

The man looked at him for another moment, then shrugged and walked away. Kevin sighed and kept walking, leaving the magical Christmas store – he could swear it was magical – behind him.

Sitting by the backdoor of a small hotel, he tried to make sense of everything that's happened to him recently.

There were several types of people. There were those who wouldn't help him, those who ignored him or yelled at him. Those were the majority. Then there were the ones who pitied him and helped, even before he had the chance to ask, or giving him far more than he dreamed of asking for. Lesley, the old store clerk, the girl in the restaurant – they were all a part of that group.

And then there were those who did what he said.

He couldn't make sense of it. Not in the slightest. From the moment they stopped experimenting on him, his parents gave him everything he asked for. But that seemed obvious; they were feeling bad for hurting him all those years. Just like he felt bad for hurting his mum the night before they left.

Not that he had any idea why she pressed the iron to her face. It seemed crazy; even considering the fact they did everything he said at the time.

Then there were Christie and her family. They clearly pitied him; he could see it in Christie's eyes the night before he left. It made sense, even though he hated it. He hated being pitied.

Those were the ones whose behaviour he could make sense of. Any sort of sense. But there were also the two cab drivers, who drove him free of charge. And those snobs at the clothing store. And the man with the sandwich the other day, who seemed to freeze completely when he asked him to stop.

Together all of them suddenly seemed like a lot.

It wasn't that he hadn't questioned their behaviour before. Of course he did. But every time, he could find some sort of an explanation, some sort of an excuse. The first cab driver – well, he must've seen Kevin was alone and scared, and so he did a charitable thing. And the second – he didn't see it, but maybe Christie paid him. It seemed likely, even.

And those guys at the clothing shop? An inner voice asked suddenly, bringing up all the doubts he had. And that man? Or all those people around you?

The man must have been shocked by his sudden outburst, he told himself. Yes, of course he was. And the people around, they had to have been shocked too. But they didn't move at all. Like they really were frozen. None of them tried to stop him, or said anything. It was like they were all playing some sort of a game, and nobody told him what game it was.

All he'd said was 'stop'. It couldn't have possibly been because of what he said, could it?

It couldn't. He was in the real world. There was no magic in the real world. There were no superpowers in the real world. There were just humans – regular human beings who did regular human things, lived their lives, and eventually died. That was the world.

And he just happened to get really, really lucky.

Or did he?

He sighed and shook his head. Up until that time, he thought he knew the world. People did certain things, had certain feelings, spent time with certain people. There were families and then there were all the places he'd never been to himself but still knew they existed – like schools, and playgrounds, and theatres and libraries.

Families did certain things together, like fishing and going to rugby games. And grown-ups, like his parents, they went to work, and sometimes, they took their kids with them. Up until he was five he thought children were always with their parents, like he was, but watching the telly, he found that place – school – and realised they went there in the mornings, like his parents went to work.

He asked them once if he could go to school. He remembered that day; he didn't think he could ever forget. His mother turned white and his father hesitated, and they had a hushed argument in the kitchen for a few minutes before coming back and telling him he would go to school when he's well. He couldn't understand what they were talking about – he was perfectly well! Not so much as a cold – but when they brought him back to the University the next day, he understood. Their experiments were more important to them; that was all.

But it didn't matter, not to the world. Children went to school and grown-ups went to work, and later they all got together and did things, like watching telly and going out. And he was a child, which meant his parents were supposed to look after him, like in all the other families.

But then his mother did that stupid thing – why would she press the iron to her face? She knew how hot it is! – and they left, and he walked outside to the world to find that nothing worked the way he thought it did.

He looked at the hotel employees begin to decorate the front and the lobby with tiny, sparkling Christmas trees and sighed. He wanted to have Christmas again. He wanted everything to go back to normal. He just wanted to be home.

He sniffed, swallowed the tears that rose in his throat and got up. With a heavy heart, he walked away, knowing he wouldn't be able to escape Christmas for much longer. But at least for now, he had to.

By the middle of December, every single street in London was decorated for Christmas.

He knew it couldn't be true, but every morning he got up and saw them around, it felt as though it was. As though someone was mocking him by forcing him to see everything he couldn't have. And whoever it was, he did a darn good job; everywhere he looked, all he could see was Christmas.

What would his Christmas dinner look like? He wondered. He didn't think he'd be able to buy himself a present or anything resembling a proper dinner. His money was quickly running out, and even with the money he managed to collect, it wasn't nearly enough for a proper celebration. It seemed likely he'd have to settle for a sandwich or a cold meal thrown out by a restaurant.

It was then that the rain became heavier and more frequent. He could hardly hide from it now; it rained more than it didn't. At night, he ended up cuddling under whatever hideout he could find, although for the most part, it didn't really help. He still woke up shivering and sneezing, his clothes sodden and his body frozen.

Maybe he would get sick and die, and someone would tell his parents, He thought hazily some nights. They'd regret it and curse themselves for not saving him, and his mother would cry and die of a broken heart. He could find some satisfaction in the idea, as though it would be a proper punishment for abandoning him.

Of course, a better punishment would be surviving and hunting them down, but that didn't seem very likely to him. The more he sneezed and coughed, the more he thought about the first plan. The sicker he became, the more likely it seemed it would happen.

It was only when he woke up feeling hot one day that he realised something wasn't right, and it wasn't just a typical cold. Shaking wildly, he walked towards a nearby pharmacy, his arms wrapped around himself and his shoulders hunched against the cold. Stopping by the door, he could see his own reflection in the glass window, a ten-year-old boy looking back at him pathetically. He was so thin, and his face was so white, but his nose stood out, red as a tomato.

Yes, he was definitely sick. Even though he wasn't sure he could afford it.

He sighed and took out what little change he had left. Would it be enough for a medication? He doubted it.

Sighing again, he walked into the store and up to the counter.

"I need-" He sneezed, "-A flu medi-" He sneezed again, "-cation."

The pharmacist looked down at him, barely noticing his existence. "Do you have a prescription?" He asked. He was clearly preoccupied.

"No." He sneezed for the third time.

The pharmacist turned away from the counter. He picked up a few boxes and then returned to Kevin. He handed him a couple of boxes, looking down at him. "I can recommend these, but you'd better see a doctor."

"I can't." He coughed, so hard that he had to stop talking for a long moment. Then, when his fit was finally over, he straightened up and managed, "Which is the cheapest?"

The pharmacist checked them quickly before handing him the cheapest one. Kevin studied it dubiously. He doubted it would be of any use – for something that would certainly help, he needed money and probably a prescription. But he was living on the streets, and there was no way his body could fight it on his own.

Nor was there a chance that he could get a prescription.

He sighed and placed his money and the box back on the counter. He didn't see the look on the pharmacist's face – another coughing fit had just started then, and he nearly folded in two as he coughed – but when he was finally able to look at the counter again, there was a small pharmacy bag placed on it, as well as change.

He looked up to find the pharmacist, but the man was already gone – presumably to help another person. He picked up the back, placed the coins in his pocket – he was shocked there was any change at all – and then left the pharmacy, as quietly and discreetly as he could.

At least, he mused to himself that day, as he struggled to read the instructions for the medication he bought, even if he died, at least he'd die fighting.