The new ones always cry. They don't for long, but they always cry those first days and this new girl was no exception. Mihael wanted to feel sorry for her, hell, he remembered those first nights too; but damn, he was just getting so annoyed. It was the first time he had a whole day to sleep in weeks and he just wanted to fucking sleep. The girl on the other side of the dirty blanket that served as his wall, however, gave no sign she was stopping anytime soon. He sighed, resigning himself that he probably wasn't sleeping today, and broke his own cardinal rule. 'Never talk to the new kids'.

"Hey." He paused, waited, tried again.

"Hey you, girl," Still nothing. He moved the blanket aside enough to see her on the mattress that served as her bed/chair/room in general. "Last chance, then I'm stuffing my sock in your mouth and going to sleep."

She looked toward him at that. She was older than him, but he couldn't tell how much. She was ridiculously clean, so she must have just been brought here. Her face was still full of uncorrupted innocence and hope. He frowned, knowing that it wouldn't last long. "Shit." He thought, "This is why I don't talk to the new ones." He softened his look as much as he could and lowered his voice.

"Privet." He gently greeted her, "ty v poryadke?"

She looked back at him, for a moment making no recognition of having heard him speak. Then she sniffled loudly and shook her head.

"Nyet. No. No I'm not okay. I want to go home." She hiccupped and he groaned inwardly. Something about her eyes kept him from rolling over and trying that sleep thing he was quickly wishing he'd chosen first. He got up, pulling the blanket curtain aside, and went over to her. She had her feet tucked up under her, but Mihael noticed she had a pristine pair of Mary Jane-type shoes on her feet. He figured this one was a 'grab-off-the-street' as opposed to 'your-father-owes-me-money' situation like the one that landed him in this lovely slice of purgatory. He folded his dirty, bare, feet under him and began the same welcome speech he was given when he was first dragged down the stairs, sobbing and screaming, into this place.

"The faster you stop thinking that, the easier it's gonna be on you. You're not getting out of here. Better than you have tried. The lucky ones get shot when they're running and die in the alley. The less lucky get dragged back here and punished. The real unlucky ones get sold to the freaks that like to cut you up for fun."
She stared back at him, horrified. He knew he was scaring her, but he knew he had to if she had any chance here.
"Look, the first day here is horrible. The first week here is hell, and I mean that, hell. A few weeks from now though, you'll know how to turn yourself off and just sort of…deal. There are people here that will help you sometimes, but there are people here that will cut off your hair while you sleep and steal those pretty shoes you got. Learn fast how to tell the difference. Everything that you are, every thought that's yours, take it, lock it in a box, and never let anyone else see it." He looked at her sadly. "…or they'll break it."

She wiped her nose on her sleeve, then reached across and grabbed his hand. A small gesture, an attempt to comfort herself, maybe create a bond, but he flinched automatically before he caught himself. He allowed the small touch, for her sake this time.

"My name is Katya." She gave a small smile and he groaned. This one was already too trusting.

"If you're smart you'll keep that to yourself. Names are the only thing we have here that belong to us."

She looked at him puzzled. "Then what do I call you?"

He shrugged. "I go by a lot of things here. Call me whatever you want."

She smiled her first genuine smile. "Viktor? No. Yuri? Stefan?" He rolled his eyes at her as she shook her head. "You look like…a Michael. I'll call you Mischa."

He shrugged again, never giving any indication at how close she came to his own given name. "Whatever shuts you up."

He didn't lie to her. That first week was hell. The first time they were called upstairs and lined up for the normal array of sickos, psychos, and freaks he knew she'd be the first one picked. Her pink cheeks and bright eyes might as well have been a target. He stood as close as he could, whispering to her when to cross her eyes, when to limp, when to scratch at herself and mumble. When the more persistent and less choosy ones looked her over, he would bat his eyes innocently at them, stepping forward and offering himself in her place. Those few days became another moment in time for him, moments he was far too used to, moments spent counting the threads in the sheets or the tiles in the ceiling while the weird ones tried to talk after and the sickest ones called him by their children's names.

He knew he couldn't save her forever though, and eventually he heard her crying as he found his way to his makeshift bed one morning. He said nothing, knowing nothing could be said. He reached his hand under his blanket wall and touched the mattress, knowing not to touch her first, knowing now she'd startle. A few heartbeats later a shaking hand grabbed his own and they both lay there waiting for the sleep that would give them a few blessed hours anywhere but there.

The plane hit turbulence then, bringing him momentarily out of his thoughts. Remembering that time wasn't fun by any stretch of the imagination, but there were times that stood out bolder than others. The time they stole apples together, the day he "graduated" to pick pocketing, the first time they ever tasted chocolate, the word games they made up lying in their beds to keep their minds sharp, he thought of them all. Then he thought of the last time he saw her, her face in sad disbelief through a pane of dirty glass.

She came to him excitedly, waking him up mid morning by jumping on him, startling him halfway to the homemade knife in the mattress before he realized it was her. She told him a weird man paid her just to talk. He wanted to know about the kids here, if anybody had special talent, said he would pay to get them out of here and into a special school. He brushed her off as being too trusting yet again, but for once she was actually right. When the weird man made a request for him a few days later, he had questions and tests. Tests he apparently passed, because it wasn't more than a day after that the man was speaking to his handlers arranging a price to take him off their hands. He said he'd take him to a place called Whammy House. Figuring it could be a pretty word for a place just like where he already was; Mihael didn't trust a word of it. Katya, however, was ecstatic.

"I'm not going without you."

"He only wants you, Mischa." She smiled, putting her rosary around his neck. "I never was as smart as you. Go on, he's waiting in that pretty black car to make you a prince or something." Her eyes were wet and glassy, but much to his pride, she didn't cry.

"No Katusha." He frowned, using her pet name for emphasis. "I'm telling him he has to take us both or I'm not going."

"Now don't Katusha me." She gave an almost hopeful smile. "You think we really could both go?"

"I promise." He fingered the beaded string hanging down his shirt, "It's both of us or nothing."

He ran past his handlers as they counted their filthy money and through the metal door to the street. The black car was there all right, ludicrously shiny against the filth of the alley. The door opened. The weird man stepped out, holding the door and motioning Mihael to get in. He introduced himself as Roger. Mihael stopped, planting his feet and giving the man his most serious look.

"Katya…she has to come with me. You have to take her too."

Roger sighed deeply at the boy. "I'm sorry. I tried to get her too, but she seems to be the favorite of the local crime boss here and even my methods of…persuasion couldn't change his mind."

Mihael looked worried. "Well…then…I'm not going either. She needs me here.

Roger looked sadly at the child with the world-weary eyes. "And how can you help her here? How long can you defend her? I couldn't save her but I could save you. Now you have a choice. You can come with me and learn the skills it takes to fight these kind of people for real or you can go back in there and give up all hope of any kind of life for either of you that doesn't end when you're sixteen and used up."

And that was pretty much that. He got in the car, his broken promise over his head. Turning to look out the back window as they drove away, he saw her face at one of the basement windows. Even though no more words could pass between them, the hurt in her eyes said all he needed to hear.

A.N. This story had every intention of being lighthearted, but as I started writing I realized there was no story here without some history to back it. That said, this chapter was a bit grim, but necessary. Mello's story has never been about sunshine and this story stays true to that. However, things will brighten for our boys, wait and see.