AN – If you're offended by detailed drug use, you may want to skip this chapter. You have been warned.

Okay, also, since today is my birthday, I decided to get you all a gift (wait…that's not how it works!) and post a new chapter, which is decently long. Spot fans-Spot will be in the next chapter much more than this one, I promise!!! OH and note that this chapter jumped ahead 3 years.

1894

"T'ank ya, miss," Skittery mumbled, waiting for the lady who bought the paper to walk away before he shoved his cap back on his head. His eyes searched the street, finally seeking out Spot on the other side. Spot glanced up and over at him, giving him a smile that meant he'd just conned someone into buying a paper. Skittery shook his head grinning back, and motioned that he was moving farther down the street. Spot shrugged back unconcerned, and turned away ready to scam the next person who walked by him.

Searching his pockets, Skittery dug a crumpled up cigarette out of his pants, cursing when he realized he had no matches. He saw Chance down the street and debated asking him for some, but wasn't sure he was in the mood for the lecture that would precede the handing over of a match. Weighing his options he finally gave in, and jogged over to Chance.

"Gotta light?"

Chance raised his eyebrows, "Don't smoke on da job, kid."

"Don't lecture me, old man," Skittery retorted, holding out a hand and tapping his foot impatiently.

Chance tried to appear insulted, but let out a chuckle, digging a pack of matches out of his shirt pocket and dropping them into Skittery's open palm. It'd been three years since the two boys had joined them at the lodging house, and he barely recognized them anymore. They certainly weren't the same two quiet and scared boys he'd met back then. Both boys actually ended up having a mouth on them, and they loved to torment him and talk back. They were also the only ones who could get away with it towards Chance.

It had taken Spot a few months to forgive his cousin, but now they were back to being best friends. Skittery had never mentioned what he'd done that night. Chance didn't know if he just refused to admit it out loud, or if he'd never even managed to admit it to himself. Skittery had allowed himself to break down in front of Chance that one time, and afterwards he'd gotten up washed his face and pretended like everything was normal. Sweets had brought home a paper that day with an article about it, and their mothers had said that it had been a nameless break in the middle of the night. Last Chance had heard, their mothers left New York all together, but he still kept an ear out in case they ever returned.

Chance turned to say something to Skittery, but found he'd already scampered off somewhere. He never stayed in one place very long unless he was asleep. Chance sold his last paper, and checked his pocket watch, glad the day was almost over. He picked his way through the crowded streets, sidestepping the playing children and street vendors in the middle of packing up their carts, finally arriving at the diner and throwing himself into a booth, exhausted. He dropped his head on the table with a bang, refusing to pick it up when he heard someone slide into the seat across from him.

"Long day?" The voice of Spades questioned.

Chance grunted a reply and mumbled something about a beer, refusing to pick his head up until he heard a satisfying clunk on the table which meant a mug of beer had been delivered.

Spades smirked at him when he raised his head ever so slightly attempting to slurp some beer out without having to go to the added hassle of actually picking up the glass. He glared at Spades over top of the mug. "I need a new job," he muttered.

"Yeah who 'ere don't?" Spades replied.

"I figure I got a year left 'ere, tops," Chance continued, glancing at Spades over top of his mug.

"You an' me both," Sweets joined the conversation, and Spades scooted over allowing the other boy to slide in next to him. "Well would ya look at dat. Don't see dat every day," Sweets interrupted himself to motion towards the door with his beer.

Spades glanced up and Chance turned around, scanning the room until he realized what Sweets was talking about. Spot was coming in the door of the diner, but he was alone, Skittery nowhere in sight.

Sweets noticed the muscles in Chance's jaw working overtime, and the way he was suddenly on edge, his eyes flitting back and forth rapidly. "He's thirteen now, Chance. You's can't go runnin' ta find 'im every time he ain't where you's want 'im ta be."

Chance shot Sweets a look, but stayed in his seat, jiggling his leg impatiently until Spot finally wandered over, and sat next to him.

"Where's Skitts?" Chance greeted him.

Spot shrugged. "I dunno, he ain't me damn dog, I don't keep tabs on 'im every second a da day."

Spades snorted into his hand trying to cover it with a cough, and Sweets elbowed him even though he was trying to conceal his laughter too. This time they were both treated to one of Chance's looks, and they quickly wiped the smiles off their faces.

"All right, first off what's wit da attitude, little man? An' second off, bull shit ya know where he is." Chance stated matter-of-factly, staring Spot down.

Spot, however, wasn't easily intimidated, and he shrugged for the second time, and refused to reply.

"For Chrissakes. Move," Chance told Spot. Spot sneered at him, but moved nonetheless, allowing Chance to unfold his tall frame from the booth.

"Chance where ya goin'? He's plenty old enough ta take care a himself!" Spades yelled out after him.

Chance waved him off over his shoulder, muttering under his breath that that's what he was afraid of. Shoving open the door he stepped on the sidewalk, and started searching the city over, looking for any sign of the boy, growing more frustrated with each place that he didn't find him at.

He was about to give up and head back to the lodging house when he spied a familiar figure sitting on the edge of the pier. He strolled over to join him, and was about to sit down when he noticed Skittery tipping a bottle filled with amber colored liquid into his mouth.

"Are ya fuckin' kidding me!" He yelled, wincing at his own words. He swore plenty, but rarely did he swear at people.

Skittery seemed entirely unimpressed, and didn't even hesitate, as he continued to drain most of the bottle into his mouth before handing the almost empty bottle up towards Chance. "Sorry, didja want some?" He slurred.

Chance reached down, yanking the bottle away from him and throwing it into the water below. "What the hell do ya t'ink you's doin'!"

Skittery glared up at him, his eyes filled with hatred, and a mocking smile on his face as he stood up, pointing accusingly at Chance. "How old was you when you's first started ta drink?"

"Dat ain't here nor now," Chance avoided the question, knowing the kid had him backed into a corner.

Skittery shook his head, laughing a dry, sardonic laugh as he fumbled with a match trying to get his cigarette lit. He finally succeeded, and he looked up, meeting Chance's stare. "You's owe me half a bottle a whiskey," He told him, and turned to leave.

Chance reached out, grasping the boy's thin wrist, and yanking him back, and Skittery whirled around, the angry look back on his face. "Getcha damn hands offa me!"

"Where da hell ya t'ink you's goin'?" Chance asked, letting his wrist drop.

"Dat ain't none a ya damn business," Skittery snarled.

Before Chance could stop himself, he reached out, smacking the boy across the face.

Skittery stood stock still, shaking ever so slightly.

"Shit, kid, I's sorry," Chance began, only to stop when he saw the look in the boy's eye.

In a cold, emotionless voice, Skittery told him, "You's no better dan me fadder," and turned, breaking into a run. Chance knew better than to chase after him. Silently, Chance cursed himself for losing his temper. He rarely let his emotions get the best of him, and he'd never raised a hand at someone younger than himself. And of all people to do it to, that certainly was one of the worst picks.

He considered diving in the water and finding the bottle of whiskey. Shaking his head in disgust at himself, he kicked at a rock, and headed back towards the lodging house.

Skittery ran until he was completely out of breath, and finally collapsed onto some steps leading up towards an apartment. He tried to figure out where he was, but he didn't recognize anything. He knew he wasn't in Brooklyn anymore, since there wasn't an inch of land over there he hadn't familiarized himself with. He sat on the steps, feeling numb, and wishing he had more to drink. With shaking hands, he struggled to light another cigarette, ignoring the group of men walking by and hollering insults him. Yeah, he was a street rat, and a waste of space. Tell him something he didn't know

He could still feel the sting on his cheek where Chance had hit him, and he resolved to not go back to the lodging house that night. He watched the homeless man across the street, throwing looks over his shoulder as he climbed into an old building, and Skittery's curiosity got the best of him, so he snuck over, peering in the window where the man had disappeared.

He saw a ragged, mismatched group of boy and girls, men and women, sitting or laying in a chaotic circle, passing something around, each holding it over the fire in the middle in the group before bringing it to their lips, and then passing it on. He realized what they were doing; since he'd seen his parents do it when he was younger.

"Hey, kid, ya need help in, or what?" Skittery spun around to see a tall, creepy looking guy in his mid twenties or so.

He stuttered for a second, and finally nodded his head resolutely, climbing in the broken window, and joining the small group of people. He took the pipe and the small black chunk that was handed to him, dropping it in the long, thin pipe, and held it over the open flame until it began to bubble. Bringing it to his lips, he sucked the thick, sweet smoke deep into his lungs until none of the vaporized contents were left in the bowl, and handed the pipe to the creepy guy who'd come in behind him. He held the smoke in for a minute, before slowly exhaling, and trying to figure out what the big deal about this was.

He sat there for a few minutes, in a darkened room full of strangers, the humid air filled with smoke. By the time the pipe was handed back to him, he was eager for more, as he felt all of his worries easing out of his soul with each exhale. His body took on an odd, pleasant feeling, and by his fifth intake his eyelids were so heavy he left the circle, joining the other people who were in various stages of being passed out in the corners of the rooms.

Relaxing onto a dirty, stained couch cushion he lit a cigarette, realizing they had never tasted so wonderful before this point. He sucked at the cigarette, until he felt his fingertips burning on it, and then he dropped it on the concrete floor, smashing it with the heel of his boot. Lying all the way down, he gave into the darkness that was overcoming him, and fell into the wonderful dreamland brought on by the drug.

With a worried eye, Lawrence watched Chance pace the floor of the common room. "C'mon, buddy. You's gonna wear a hole in me carpet," He complained, trying to elicit a smile from the typically cheerful teen.

Chance either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. Lawrence would place his bet on the latter, and he eventually came around the desk, stopping Chance in his tracks. "It's da middle a da night. If he ain't 'ere by now, he ain't comin' back tonight. Go to bed. Worryin' ain't gonna fix noin'."

Spot was asleep on the couch, he'd refused to go to sleep until Skittery came home, but by one thirty his body had deceived him, no matter how hard he'd struggled to stay awake. Sweets was sitting on the other end of the couch, his head kept dropping before he'd snap it back up, trying to stay awake also. Spades had Razz and Bull playing a hand of cards with him, as they attempted to stay awake as well.

Lawrence glanced around the room, wondering if the missing boy even realized how many people would actually miss him and notice when he didn't come home. "All right!" He clapped his hands together. The boys at the table all turned to look at him, and Sweets snapped his head up again, and Spot sat up, confused, and rubbing his eyes. "Everyone up ta bed. Now."

Lawrence rarely told them all what to do, but when he did they listened, so everyone filed up the stairs, Sweets lifting up a half asleep Spot and carrying him, protesting all the way, up the steps. Chance still ignored Lawrence, though,

"Dat included you's," Lawrence informed him.

"How could I a been so damn stupid!" Chance finally exploded, punching the wall behind him, and instantly regretting it.

"Ya made a mistake. People make mistakes, Chance. Don't be so hard on yaself."

"I hit a kid! I hit a kid who spent his whole damned childhood getting' beat up by his parents! Dat ain't a mistake, dat's unforgiveable."

"Oh, c'mon. No it ain't. Dem boys both got such mouths on dem I t'ink we've all wanted ta smack 'em at one point or another," Lawrence tried to lighten the mood.

Chance shot him a look so venomous that it actually caused Lawrence to take a step back and hold his hands up. "All right, I'm gonna go ta sleep. Let me know if you's need anythin'. An' maybe consider goin' ta sleep you's self." He couldn't help but add over his shoulder as he headed towards his room, shutting the door.

Chance made a slightly unnecessary gesture at his back, and went back to his pacing, worrying, and cursing of his self.

Skittery startled awake an unknown amount of hours later, dazed and having no clue where he was. The previous night slowly trickled back into his brain, but it was a foggy, surreal memory, nowhere near as vivid as the dreams he'd fallen into. His head was pounding and he felt sick to his stomach. He made an effort to stand up, and was hit with a wave of dizziness, immediately sitting back down.

He let his eyes wander the room, as he tried to gather himself together. Most people were asleep, lying in various positions alone or on top of each other. There were still a few people in the middle of the room awake and continuing to chase the dragon. The creepy guy from before being one of them. He noticed Skittery awake, and held up the pipe, the unasked question on his face.

"Only way ta make da sick feelin' go away is ta 'ave some more," He mumbled through a stoned grin.

With a mental shrug, Skittery rose, and with much difficulty managed to drag himself over there, reminding himself it was one foot in front of the other. Creepy Guy handed him the pipe with the boiling drug, and Skittery took it gratefully, once again inhaling deeply, and passing it along. As the smoke filled his lungs, it chased away his nausea and headache, and the tension crept out of his body once again.

Skittery glanced towards the small window with the jagged edges of broken glass, and saw it was still dark out. He told himself he'd only take a few more hits, and then he'd head back to the lodging house. With any luck everyone would be asleep. He took the pipe as it came back around, going through the motions almost robotically after only one night. For another hour he sat there, smoking pipeful after pipeful of the black drug, until he remembered he was supposed to leave.

Unsteadily, he rose to his feet, stumbling towards the window. He stood on the rickety chair below it, and heaved himself out and back onto the dark, deserted streets. That was when he realized he had no idea where he was. And he really wanted to sleep. He turned around, considering going back in the building to sleep, but it seemed like a lot of work to climb back in the window.

He walked about half a block before he tripped over his feet, and fell onto the middle of the street. He sighed, not even knowing if he was heading the right direction, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He found the matches he'd acquired earlier, and struck one on his boot, attempting to light the end of the cigarette. All he succeeded in doing was singing his hair and eyelashes. He shook out the match, and tried three times more before he finally got the cigarette lit.

He sat in the middle of the street, looking left to right and wondering which way to head to get back to Brooklyn. It might help if he even knew what borough he was in, but he had no clue. He'd only left Brooklyn twice before in his life. Nothing was familiar, and he grew frustrated. All he wanted was to be home in bed. Sleep sounded really good right now, and the cobblestones were looking pretty comfortable. He gave up, and gave in to the seductive call of sleep, laying down on his back, and taking a long, leisurely draw off his cigarette, before he flicked it away, and put his hands under his head. Staring up at the sky his eyelids lowered, and he was almost asleep when a shadow was cast in the low glow of the streetlight.

Skittery blinked his eyesight back into focus, and recognized Creepy Guy standing over him and staring down at him. "Hey kid, dis ain't a good place ta be sleepin'. You's gonna get run over by a horse or soin' come morin'."

"Yeah, well, I dunno which way me home is," He explained rationally. The guy shook his head, muttering something, and bent over, yanking Skittery to his feet.

"Where ya live?"

"Brooklyn."

"Shit. All right, c'mon," He started to walk off in the direction of Brooklyn, assuming the boy would follow.

Skittery stared after him, slightly confused at first, before he finally hurried after him, and hoped the guy knew where he was going. After a long walk, in which Skittery fell over more times than he cared to remember, they arrived at the Brooklyn Bridge.

Creepy Guy turned to Skittery, finally saying something. "Can you's get yaself home from 'ere?"

Skittery nodded, thanking him, and wondering if he'd be able to make it the short walk to the lodging house without falling asleep halfway there.

Chance shot a dirty look at the clock on the wall, which was ticking scornfully with each passing second. It was four in the morning. He had to be up in two hours, and Skittery had never showed. He was about to give in and head up to bed, when the doorknob on the front door turned, and the door opened. He sighed in relief, as Skittery came edging through the door, trying to sneak in.

He shut the door slowly, wincing at the click which reverberated through the entire lodging house in his mind sounding louder than the bell at the distribution center. Turning around, he jumped back, startled to find Chance standing there.

"Um, hi," he gave a small wave, wondering what his chances were of getting past Chance and up the stairs without a confrontation and without Chance realizing how messed up he was. Actually, now that he thought about it, he wondered what the chances were of him even making it up the steps without falling back down. His feet felt like lead and he really wanted to sleep. The room was spinning, and the shadows dancing around the room were taking on forms and shapes that were too human for his tastes. He was beginning to become disoriented again, and was no longer sure if it really was just Chance and him in the room because he could swear he saw half of Brooklyn lurking in the common room.

Chance watched Skittery sway on his feet, and look around the room. He turned around trying to figure out what had the boy's interest, and couldn't see anything, so he turned back around to face him. Something was off. Skittery was mumbling something, but it seemed to be directed at something behind Chance, even though no one was there. He walked slightly towards Chance, tripping over his feet slightly, and Chance cursed realizing he must be drunk. But that didn't add up either. He reached out a hand, steadying Skittery, and crouched down, placing a hand under the boys chin, and forcing his face into the light. He studied him a second, looking in his eyes, and trying to place where he's seen that blank, slightly crazed look before, and the jerky, paranoid movements.

Skittery batted his hand way, but missed terribly, batting at the air instead, as he stared at the couch, wondering how to get there.

The facial expressions, the movement, the mumbling, Chance knew it was familiar, and he racked his brain. When he realized where he'd seen people acting like that before he stood up quickly, swearing, and yelling for Lawrence.

"Dis better be good, Chance," Lawrence muttered through a yawn a minute later coming out from his bedroom. He took one look at Skittery, and copied Chance, swearing out loud. Skittery made another motion, trying to get the point across to them that he wanted to go sleep on the couch, as he took a step towards it.

Chance grabbed him again before he fell, and together he and Lawrence got him to the couch. Skittery mumbled what was supposed to be a thank you, and immediately curled up on the couch, falling back into his new favorite place of opium inspired dreams.

Chance sat on the end of the couch resting his head in his hands, and convinced it was all his fault. Lawrence heaved a sigh, and sat in the chair across from the couch, watching the two boys for a minute.

"If he's doin' drugs, I can't 'ave 'im in da lodgin' house, Chance," Lawrence finally said, even though it pained him to do so.

"Well it's me fault, ain't it?" Chance muttered, not raising his head.

"He's thirteen. He's old enough ta make his own decisions, an' it looks like he made a pretty stupid one tonight," Lawrence corrected him.

Chance finally raised his head, meeting Lawrence's gaze. "So whadda we do?"

"We let 'im sleep it off, an' we pray it's jus' a one time t'ing. Can you's get him up ta you's room? I don't want da other boys ta know 'bout dis."

Chance nodded distractedly, his attention no longer on Lawrence, and instead focused on the sleeping boy lying next to him. Lawrence watched them for a few more seconds, and finally got up, silently heading back into his room.

Chance waited until his door shut before he too stood up, and struggled to pick up the boy, who was no longer the small ten year old boy he'd once been. He finally got him scooped up, and started up the steps, kicking open his door, and practically dropping Skittery in the bed, who didn't even stir through the whole ordeal.

"Christ, kid, I's sorry," he told the sleeping boy, hesitating, before he finally left his room, shutting the door, and deciding to sleep in one of the empty bunk for the couple hours he had before he had to get up.