AN: So I wasn't really planning to have this next chapter up quite this quickly, buuut... that's what lots of awsome reviews can do to me (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). Oh, I am so stealth, lol. Anyway hope you all like this chapter, I tried to add a couple of random back story stuff into it for you guys :)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own Camp Rock or the characters... which is actually pretty fortunate for smitchie fans... because even though I love smitchie... nitchie all the way!!! :D

Chapter Four:

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It was strangely darker than usual for some reason, and so eerily still, except for that of the chilling breeze blowing in through the open window. I shivered and slipped out from under Nate's covers, walking as slowly as I could up to the window, trying to place my feet so that the floor boards wouldn't creek from underneath me.

The trees were swaying around in the wind outside, making soft 'cracking' noises and those freaky shaped shadows against the side of my house like they do in horror movies. But that wasn't what had caught my eye. I could see a dull, flickering light coming from my window, very similar in comparison to that of the light a candle or small lit flame creates. I tried squinting my eyes to see through my window. There was someone in there, I was sure; I could feel it. I waited in the dark silence, hearing the occasional soft 'cracckk' or 'swisshh', and watching the dim light flicker back and forth, back and forth... and... nothing. There was nobody there. I let out a silent breath of relief, and pulled the window shut, feeling the icy-breeze cease at once. I shook my head, internally chuckling at myself and turning around.

A pair of familiar hallowed eyes stared back at me.

"Think you could hide from me?"

My eyes shot open, my chest almost exploding as I gasped in shaky breaths. My eyes darted around the room, searching, but nobody was there. I tried to calm myself, but my heart was still racing. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream...

I slowly sat up, still reluctant to let go of the blanket clasped tightly in one hand, and Stevie, who I'm sure I was currently choking under the other arm. I realised I was beaded in cold sweat and my body was trembling a little. I tried to focus on my breathing. He wouldn't just come here, just barge into someone else's home. Wait... would he? No, of course not, there could be other people around, so even if he did, he wouldn't dare... would he? I shook my head. No, even he wouldn't. My breaths were more steady now, but that didn't stop me from being completely aware of the fact that he would most likely know exactly where I was.

I stood up out of bed, my legs feeling a little weak beneath me, and made my way to the window. It was comforting to remember that Nate's floor never creaked, which made it clear that the dream had belonged to a different world. The light was shining in through the window also, so it didn't feel like a creepy sort of deja vu. But still, you couldn't be too careful. I closed the window shut and turned back around.

Nothing.

Nobody.

I let out another breath of relief and then stared around the room for a moment. My eyes fell upon Nate's desk, and I walked towards it.

Books and papers were scattered in a disarray all over it, which was unusual for Nate. I had seen enough of his room to know that it was usually more tidy than any other teenager's on the planet. Running my fingers over a page of his scribbled writing, I wondered how he had time for all of this. For work, for school, for looking after Mikey, for looking after his mom... for looking after me. He had the world on his shoulders, and I knew it. No wonder he had looked so warn out lately.

And then the familiar hate started to bubble up in my stomach. Hate for his mother - if you could call her that. She was the one who was supposed to be working and looking after Mikey, not Nate. She was supposed to be looking after Nate. So why was it the other way around? Why couldn't she see how much weight she alone was putting on Nate's shoulders? Why couldn't she see how tired he was? Didn't she even feel one ounce of guilt for what she was doing to her own son?

I sighed, shaking my head. I had to stop getting myself so worked up about Nate's situation, or one day, it wouldn't just be myself I was asking those questions to.

Still, I wished there was something, anything, I could do to help him. And I wondered to myself suddenly, why he was still here. Why he hadn't taken Mikey and run.

Though, as selfish as it might be, I was glad he hadn't. I didn't even want to imagine what life would be like without him here.

I turned away, now wandering around his room and vaguely wondering what I was supposed to do until he got home. And then I stopped dead.

I hadn't showered.

I hadn't showered since... since...

At once I both felt the sadness tugging painfully at my insides at the memory, and the urge to vomit right there on the floor.

I couldn't believe I was still in the very same clothes.

I had to change.

I looked over towards my window and shuddered. I couldn't go back there; not even for clothes. So instead I hastily made my way to Nate's closet and pulled out one of his old band tees and a pair of old grey sweatpants. I was about to run to the bathroom, when I saw the sheets on Nate's bed. I had slept on those sheets in these clothes. Repelling the urge to vomit again, I dropped Nate's clothes to the floor and stormed over to his bed, ripping them off and scrunching them to the floor. I felt so frustrated for some reason. So frustrated I felt like I might cry. And I froze, feeling the tears brimming in my eyes. Was this it? Was I going to cry finally?

Cry, please cry. C'mon, please cry. Dammit, Mitchie! Why won't you cry!!

Frustration boiled up inside of me again. I felt so worthless that I couldn't even do something so simple as crying. I gritted my teeth and snatched up the sheets, and then sighed when I noticed Stevie on the floor too.

"I'm sorry Stevie..." I mumbled, picking him up too.

I found the laundry easily enough, remembering the time I had found Nate hiding in the laundry basket when we had played hide-and-go-seek all those years ago. Such an innocent game seemed so far away now. Then I rushed upstairs, snatched the clothes up off of Nate's floor and ran straight to the shower, not wanting to stop until I got the stench of this horrid memory off of me.

And that was the longest I had ever spent in a shower. I had scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin was raw, the heat of the water stinging.

I had to roll Nate's pants up a little, and tighten the drawstring so they would stay up, but once I was in his clothes, I was surprised to realise that I felt a little safer.

I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen, my hair still damp. I opened the fridge and my stomach gave a painful growl. I cringed, holding my hand to my stomach. I hadn't even eaten anything since-

I slammed the fridge door closed again, trying to ignore the sickening squirming in my stomach.

I made my way into the living room, needing something to take my mind off of everything. And I jumped back when I saw Nate's dead mother on the couch.

I was about to scream, when she stirred a little. I was still frozen, eyes wide, but my pounding heart was starting to slow a little. She wasn't dead. Just passed out. There was a bottle of pills on the coffee table beside her, the lid opened and lying beside it. And I brought my hand to my mouth. Because I had never seen anything like this before; something so... sad.

It was the first time I had seen her in years, but I could still recogniser her. Through the dark, bruise-like circles under her eyes, her pale, sweat-beaded skin and almost blue lips. I could still remember the gentle smile that had graced her features when she would play with Mikey in her arms, the light-hearted chuckle as Nate and I rushed passed her excitedly, to do whatever crazed thing we were doing at the time. The way she would tap Nate's nose with the tip of her finger after she kissed him, and the way she would look at him like he was the most blessed gift she had ever been given.

I felt my heart throb for her, for Nate, even for Mikey. And I realised then, that Nate still loved her. That through everything she had put him through, he still loved her. Because she was still his mom.

I bit my lip, thinking I was going to cry. But of course, that wasn't even humanly possible for me anymore.

I noticed then a book lying open on the table beside the small orange lid. I took a quiet step forward, and saw it was an old photo album. It was open to a picture of Nate's family: Nate's dad was smiling happily at the camera, and his arm was wrapped gently around Nate's mom's waist, who was laughing brightly at the face Mikey was making in her arms. His dad's other arm was resting on Nate's shoulder proudly, and Nate was smiling. Actually smiling. One of his teeth just off to the side were missing. I could feel myself smile a little at the picture, and glancing at Nate's mom to make sure she was still asleep, I grabbed the photo album and took it with me upstairs to Nate's room.

---

A lot of things I had realised when looking through the old photo album.

One: I had forgotten how happy it was possible for Nate to be. That made me sad. Because he hadn't been happy in years.

Two: Apparently Nate and I had dressed up in wedding clothes once. I'm guessing his mom had thought it was cute, because there were about a million pictures. My favourite was the one where Nate was smiling at me with his arms held out, and I was turned away with my arms crossed in front of my chest. That had made me laugh. We looked pretty young and I had no memory of it whatsoever.

Three: How much I missed Nate's dad. I never truly realised it before. But looking back on photos with me and Nate on his shoulders, him taking us fishing and us standing next to him as he barbecued, both wearing mini 'chef 1' and 'chef 2' aprons and holding mini spatulas, I realised he had almost been like a second father to me.

Four: How devistatingly much I missed my own parents.

Five: How faraway these memories seemed now. How different both of our lives had become.

Six: That I really missed Nate, so much it almost hurt. Which was weird. I had seen him only hours ago. Maybe, I thought, I missed the old Nate, the eleven-year-old Nate staring back at me from the photos with a huge grin plastered on his face. But a nagging feeling kept telling me that wasn't it at all.

But the thing that had struck me the most: Nate's dad wasn't in a lot of the pictures before he had died. And thinking back really hard, I realised he hadn't been there at all that much in his final year or so. 'Not feeling up to it' or 'a little under the weather' were some of the things I recalled his mom saying when my parents had asked. And was it me or did Nate and his mom look a little sadder than they used to?

I sighed, closing the album and laying down so I was resting my head beside it on the floor.

---

I felt something lightly shaking me. "Mitchie? Mitchie, wake up."

My eyes shot open, and I sat up so quickly I almost knocked someone to the ground. My eyes darted around the room, but he wasn't there. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream...

"Mitch, are you okay?"

I turned to see Nate kneeling beside me. I nodded at his question, trying to catch my breath.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

I nodded again, tears brimming in my eyes but not falling. And then, without any warning, I threw my arms around his middle, leaning into his chest. He froze for a moment, and then hesitantly pat my back a little. I pulled back and he was looking at me worriedly.

"Mitch... is there something you want to tell me? You seem so... different."

I could tell he really was worried about me.

I just shook my head, managing to find my voice, "I'm fine."

He didn't buy it. But he either decided to let it go, or was waiting for another time.

"So I see you got sick of your own clothes."

I bit my lip, blushing, and tried to hide my body behind my knees.

He chuckled a little. "And I see the sheet bandit stopped by, also."

He was trying to cheer me up. And it was such a lame joke that I was almost embarrassed for him.

But it worked. I couldn't hold back the small smile that crept up on my lips.

"I think they kidnapped Stevie," I added.

Nate grimaced, but then shrugged, "He wasn't that cool anyway."

"Hey!" I frowned.

He just laughed.

"So where's Mikey?" I asked.

"Eating. That's why I came up, I made some for you as well. It's downstairs. I think Mikey's excited to tell you about something, so..."

I laughed a little, "Okay, I'll go down now." I noticed a plate of food on the floor beside Nate. "Aren't you eating with us?" I asked.

"This is... for my mom," he mumbled, and I felt sad again as I remembered what I had seen this morning.

"Okay..." I said, looking down. I got up slowly, and so did he. And I looked back up at him before I walked away. "Thanks, Nate... I'm sure everyone appreciates what you do for them, even if they don't say it," I added in, hoping he would understand.

He stared at me for a moment, and then nodded sadly. And I turned to make my way downstairs to find Mikey.

AN: Soooo? Did you guys like it? And I just randomly wanted to ask something cuz I'm just generally curious what would be the majority answer, but who do you guys feel more sorry for? Mitchie or Nate? I kinda have my own oppinion, but I'm just really interested to know what you guys think.