Disclaimer: Camp Rock ain't mine. Sue me.

EDIT: I truly am very sorry for not updating this over a year. I also apologize for the crappy quality of writing. I'd lost the notebook I'd written the story down in, and when I went back and read it, I was appalled at how horrible my quality of writing was a year ago. But now I'm back and I'll try to make this suck a little less and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

Also, there's some minor swearing in here, but you'll understand why when you get to the parts.

"Excuse me, maybe you can help me," I said to the young woman behind the desk. I was at the NYPD, hoping to find out anymore information about Joey. Mitchie was waiting in the car, not allowing herself to hope, in case it ended in disappointment. After all, she wasn't even his mother; she was his stepmother, and he was only left in her care because his father was dead, and his mother was insane. Or something.

"Yes, what do you need?"

"Well, um, I was wondering what you could tell me about Joey Torres." The woman eyed me suspiciously, clearly sizing my up.

"Why do you want to know?" I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my anger down. I'd had a hard enough time finding this place, what with Mitchie being convinced that it was down one street, then realizing it wasn't.

"I'm a friend of his mother's" I explained. "I wanted to know more about his case." The woman pursed her lips and seemed to be thinking this over.

"I can't help you," she finally said. When I opened my mouth to protest, she added, "I don't know anything about it either. The file was turned over DYFS."

"To what?" I had never heard of DYFS before.

"The Department of Youth and Family Services." She wrote down an adress on a sticky note. "This is their address. They'll be able to help you more than I can."

"Thank you," I said. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"I'm not guaranteeing they'll tell you anything. I think it's only family," she said.

"Still, thank you." I ducked out the door and ran down the steps to where Mitchie was waiting in my car. As soon as I opened the door, she looked at me, her eyes so full of hope, it hurt me to know I hadn't learned much. I used to think that a broken heart was just some stupid cliche. But now as I looked at her, I felt my heart fracture into a million pieces.

"Did you find out anything?" I shook my head, and my already broken heart splintered again as I watched her face fall.

"They gave me an address," I said. "They said that the Department of Youth and Family Services might be able to tell us more." We drove in silence the entire way. The building wasn't that hard to find.

"You wanna come in?" I asked, cutting the engine. Mitchie shook her head, staring straight ahead of her.

"No," she said. "I don't know If I'd be able to handle it." I quickly pulled her into my embrace, trying to comfort her as best as I could, then I got out of the car. It took 15 minutes, but I was finally brought to the social worker on Joey's case. As he walked down the hall to meet me, I feverently hoped he wouldn't also question me. I'd already harrassed enough people to get here, and I wasn't looking forward to being questioned a thousand times today.

"Where is he? What will happen to him?" There were a million questions I wanted answers to.

"Right now Joey is in the Child Care section of our building," he said. "If Mary can't prove that she has sufficient funding to support both herself and Joey, he will either be moved into foster care, or be put up for adoption."

"Isn't there any way for her to get him back?" I asked desperately. I would not allow Mitchie to lose him. If he was put up for adoption... it would break her. She would never be the same again.

"The only solution I can think of at the time would be for Mary to take a better paying job." I sighed and slumped back in the cahir i was sitting on, running a hand through my hair. Suddenly, I had 2 ideas; I would only ask one, though. The other was up to Mitchie to decide.

"Can I have him record a message for Mary? It would only take a few minutes, and I could record it on my phone. It would mean the world to her, and if I know Joey, I'll bet he's dying to see her again." He though it over for what seemed like a long time, while I waited on edge, anxious for his answer.

"I suppose that would be alright," he said finally. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding as he stood up and led me down a maze of hallways. There were children of all ages in different rooms, no doubt take from their families, just like Joey. Something inside me reminded me that they had probably been taken away for good reason, to protect them, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for them and their families. They weren't sure if they would be able to see them again, and even though Joey wasn't related to me in any way, I still felt outraged at the fact that they took him away.

"This is Joey's room," the social worked said. A window allowed me to see him sitting in the middle of the floor, stacking blocks. He was facing us, but didn't look up. He looked absolutely miserabled, and didn't seem to care when his tower collapsed in a pile on the floor.

"Can he see me?"

"No, it's a one-way mirror. He knocked on the door and Joey slowly looked up at him.

"Hi, Joey," the social worker said softly. "Do you remember who I am?" Joey nodded once, continually staring at him with a blank face. "You have a visitor, today, and I'm sure you'll be happy to see him." I stepped through the door, and Joey's whole face lit up with delight.

"Shane!" he squealed, charging over to me. I knelt down to hug him, and he held onto me as hard as he could. I literally had to pry him off of me.

"Hey, little man," I said, using my name for him. "You doin' okay?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Where's Mama? I miss her lots."

"Mama couldn't come today," I told him. Technically, I wasn't lying. "Do you want to record a message for her?"

"Yeah!" Joey nodded so enthusiastically, his golden curls bounced up and down. I quickly pulled out my phone, turned it to video and pressed record.

"Okay, Joey, what do you want to say to Mama?" I asked as I trained the camera on him.

"Hi Mama!" Joey squealed. "Can you see me? I miss you. I love you, Mama!" He kissed the camera, making me smile.

"Mr. Gray, your time is up," the social worker informed me. I nodded and turned back to Joey.

"I have to go, but I promise that I'll be back again. Is that alright?"

"Yeah," Joey sighed. "Bye Shane! Bye Mama!" I pressed the stop button and hugged Joey again. As soos as I left the room, I looked back in through the window.

"How long doe she have?" He knew exactly what I meant.

"A month. You know, he hasn't spoken a single word since we brought him here. Not till now," the social worker commented. "A caretaker reported that he cries at night, asking for Mary."

"Why not let him see her than?" I asked bitterly. I was positive I looked furious, and he turned to face me.

"I don't like it," he informed me. "I don't like the fact that we're splitting up families, or that the children here are homesick and want their parents. In fact, I hate it. But what I hate more is the conditions that some of these kids come from. Most of them have been abused all their life, and don't know any other way besides that. A lot of them have been neglected and ignored nad cast aside and forgotten. Do you think I like seeing those kids cry and beg for their families? No! But I'd rather see them be homesick than be abuse by their own parents!" By now he was on the verge of shouting.

"Mary never laid a single hand on him!" I roared in fury. "She would never even think about hurting him! So what if she didn't make enough? I was willing to help her out! Lend her money when she needed it, and babysit for her when she needed to go out. Why? Because that's what friends do! But no, you have to go and take him away and break her heart! Do you have any idea what she's been like recently? She's been like a ghost! I can't get her to eat or drink or sleep or anything! He means the world to her, and you took him away!" I grabbed my coat, which I had dropped on the floor and began walking away.

"Where do you think you're going, sir?" she demanded.

"I'm going home," I said, still walking away. "Thanks for being an asshole."

I brought Mitchie back to my apartment. Ever since the police took Joey away, she'd been staying at my place. As soon as we were back, I sat her on the couch.

"What did you want to show me?" she asked. I pulled out my phone, found the video, and handed the phone to her. As the video began, she pressed her fist to her mouth and I could see her tears threatening to overflow. As the video ended, her body began to shake with silent sobs, and I gathered her in my arms.

"I love you," I whispered to her. "I love you so, so much. And Joey too. I promise, I wont let us lose him." I buried my face in her hair and inhaled deeply. Then, the one thing that I wasn't expecting happened: she giggled. I pulled back, trying to figure out what was so funny, but she wouldn't stop laughing.

"What?" I demanded.

"Are you smelling my hair?" she asked incredulously. I began to laugh along with her, and deep in my heart, I knew that we would be okay.

Later that night, I was attempting to cook dinner, and Mitchie was lying on the couch, depressing herself by watching the video over and over again. She'd stopped crying over it about twenty minutes agon, but personally, I thought it was because she'd run out of tears.

"How can they expect me to find a new job in a month?" she asked miserably when I forced her to sit down at the table and eat. "It's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," reminding her what she used to tell me. "What about music? You always to play guitar. Half of the time I was conviced you were going to marry the thing."

"Shane, I haven't played a piano or a guitar in almost ten years," she informed me. "I doubt I even remember how! It's hopeless!"

"Well, what about singing? Anyone can sing. Plus you have an amazing voice. If people heard what you're capable of- truly capable of- you'd have a job in no time."

"Yeah, but this is New York, Shane. No one here sings for a living except the people on Broadway." I took her hand in mine and tracced the lines on it.

"It's useless! There's no was I can do it. A normal persan can't get a new job in a month." I turned her hand over and traced the lines on that side, then looked her straight in the eyes.

"A normal person," I said slowly, "would marry me."