Well, I suck at the updating stuff. But at least this is better than last time. Good news is that I'm pretty much on summer vacation on. My aim is to get a chapter typed up each week.

Chapter title from the Passenger song by the same name.

Chapter 9

Sven turned the page of the simple picture book. He looked down at the bright picture of a swine and frowned at the word below it. That didn't look right. He tried sounding it out under his breath. "P…I…G. P-I-G…Pig!" It seemed right.

This is how he had passed the last three days. The first day he had simply looked at the pictures, puzzling out the stories and creating his own. The next, he had found the most wonderful book. It had all the letters that Sven had seen with pictures of things that started with that letter, the word written underneath. Suddenly, with a single book, he felt doors and possibilities opening to him. He examined the book, every page, letter, picture and word until he was certain he knew all the sounds that the letters made by heart. Yesterday, he started by refreshing his memory and then tried to put what he had learned into practice. Just pictures paired with words. It was hard at times, : he didn't understand why letters occasionally made different sounds but he was sure they did because he knew what the pictures were. He tried to learn from it. As the world outside grew darker, his pile of books grew taller. He read about colours, animals, flowers, numbers, food, drinks and all other manner of things and with it came the thrill of discovering and learning. Today he tried again.

He liked the library. Liked it enough that he had managed to persuade Sam to move closer to it. They had to move anyway, after the men had turned up to question Old Sam and he didn't think the beggar really cared where they went. He could leave Old Sam down the road to beg so that he could come and read books. He returned when his belly began to rumble and he would sit with Sam while he ate but he would quickly flee back to the books when he was done. It was warm, comfortable and most importantly, not boring. How could anyone grow bored with so much knowledge and tales within easy reach?

"Aalreet, Love."

Sven looked up in surprise at the woman crouched down in front of him. An older woman with a few streaks of grey hair. He looked at a plastic rectangle attached to her shirt which read, 'Kelly'. He blinked back up at her.

"Aalreet," he repeated the greeting, imitating her accent though it sat ill on his tongue. Maybe he wouldn't try that again.

"Weren't yee here all of yesterday?"

He shrunk back a little. "Am I not allowed?" He had assumed that he was but perhaps he had broken an unknown rule.

"Course yee are. Just wanna know if yer ma and dad roond here?"

"…No," he replied, uncertain where this was leading.

The woman glanced to the side. Sven followed her gaze and landed on a young man and woman. As soon as he looked at them they started putting books back on the shelves.

"Where are they?"

He looked back at the woman, unsure how to answer. The only person who had ever asked him was the kind lady at the bakery and she hadn't seem happy with his answer. If this woman didn't like his answer, would she throw him out? His grip tightened on the book. The kind lady seemed happier after he mentioned Old Sam…

"Sam's…close."

"Who's Sam?"

"He looks after me."

The woman seemed happier…or more upset…or both. He wasn't very good at this, he was forced to admit. He didn't think she could be feeling both, could she? He didn't understand how, so which was it?

"He shouldn't leave yee alane fe so long."

"He has to make money."

She took in a small gasp of breath. "Aah, he works upstairs!?"

He knew he shouldn't, but he nodded. It wasn't really true, Sam wasn't even in the building, however the belief that his minder was close by seemed to make her happy. If she was happy then maybe she would leave him be, let him stay and read.

'Read' you mean, a small whisper in his mind corrected him.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Ah swear, some fowk use us as a babysitter during harf-term. Leaving poor little yee all on yer aan own all dayh."

"I want to be here?"

She looked surprise. "Yee want te be here?" He nodded. "All dayh?" He nodded again, he could think of nowhere else he would rather be.

"Leave him," the man by the shelves said. "He's happy. I'd hev preferred bein dumped at the library than deein those stupid harf-term activities."

The woman didn't look convinced. "Hev yee had lunch, it's past one." He shook his head. "Why not? How ye gunna grow up an git big an strong? Hoo aboot Ah tyek ye up te the staffroom-"

"Yee sure that's a canny idea?" The man asked again.

"Ah canna let him stave. This Sam is lucky Ah divvent caal Sershal Services te tyek him away."

Sven leap to his feet. Sam had warned him about Faceless Men coming to take him away. He didn't know what 'Serchal Services' were, but if they were going to steal him away they'd probably take him to the Faceless Men. Where else would they take him to? Maybe they snatched unwanted children and stole their faces, but if that was the case then why had Sam's little girl been taken? She hadn't been unwanted.

"It is fine," he rushed out, dodging past the woman. "I am sure Sam has food for me now."

"See, he's fine," the man by the shelves said as he rushed past. Sven didn't stop, he wanted to be away from the uncomfortable situation and back outside. He tried to fight the tremble of his lower lip. He couldn't come here again, not if the woman was going to be there watching him. Asking him questions and ready to call the Faceless Men to come and get him. He had loved it in there and now it had been snatched away. No more books for Sven, and that hurt.

(&)

Sven was thirsty. Really, really thirsty. He was so thirsty he swore he could drink an entire river. They hadn't made a lot of money that day. He had only had a small drink and a small packet of crispy food since being forced to leave the library and it hadn't helped that much. He had been yearning for a drink for most of the afternoon and evening, however, even with Sven locked in Sam's lap, preventing him from exploring more, few people seemed willing to part with their cash. Apparently he hadn't been very lucky today.

Sven followed Sam into a small shop, much like all the others they went to in the evenings. As always Sam headed straight to his booze with Sven on his heels, but this time the little boy stopped at another chilled cabinet. Inside were all kinds of delicious drinks, even the one he liked from the bakery. Maybe if he asked really nicely...

"Ol' Sam..." He tried to say 'Pa', but the words lodged in his throat and refused to make a sound. "Can I have a drink? Please?"

"No drin' fa boi. Ma Drin'," the mendicant snapped.

"Not one of your drinks, but may I have one of these?"

"No mone'."

"But I am thirsty. Please, just a small one."

"No mone'. Boi wen't 'way. No mone', no Drin'." As he reached inside for one of his cylinders Sven grabbed his coat and looked up pleadingly.

"But I am thirsty, very thirsty. My throat hurts."

The harsh expression melted a little. He looked down at Sven, then to his booze and then to the other drinks. He looked between the three and Sven didn't think he had even seen the man so torn before. The old beggar was going to give in, Sven realised. He was going to take pity on him and give him the drink that he so desperately wanted. Sven couldn't help but feel the stirrings of victory as Sam looked down at his boy with the most peculiar expression, both pained and sour. Finally the internal fight was over and the old man patted his head.

"No mone'. Ol' Sam nee's 'is drin'."

Sven felt his hopes crash down on him, crushing him under a weight that shouldn't exist. He continued to look up at the beggar while he paid, eyes wide and pleadingly but neither he nor the shop worker paid him any mind. But... But... he was so thirsty. Just one small drink. Surely Sam would be fine with just one can of booze. Maybe Sven simply didn't understand. He just didn't see how Sam could need his booze more than he needed his drink. Was it really that important? It must be, if Sam needed his own personal drinks every night. Sam got the money everyday, gave him some to buy lunch, so he was entitled to spend it how he wanted. He just couldn't shake the feeling as he left the shop as drinkless as when he entered, that it was wrong.

Perhaps he was just a foul child. He cringed at that thought. He wasn't sure where that had come from, he didn't think he was asking too much, though perhaps that just made it worse. He didn't want to be wicked and horrid but when he thought more on it, after everything that Old Sam had done for him, looking after him and keeping him safe from the Faceless Men, it did seem a little selfish of Sven. He sniffed. It was just one drink though. Watching Sam open his cylinder and gulp it down did little to ease his mind. All in all this was turning out to be a pretty rotten day.

Then it started to rain.

A little drizzle at first, and then it grew heavier. Sam cursed the sky with a range of new and interesting words while Sven trotted closer to him, pulling his hood up to try and keep himself a little more dry. He hugged his body as he became horribly aware of his lack of shoes. The water quickly seeped through the socks, setting into his skin quicker than the rest of his body. It felt nasty. The material sagging and growing heavier, sticking and rubbing against his skin in a most unpleasant way. He was almost sure that he would be better off completely barefoot.

He jumped when Old Sam let out a particularly loud shout. "Cun's! Piss on Ol' Sam! Piss on 'im an' 'is boi."

At the mention of Sven, the beggar looked down at the boy pulling his clothes tighter. The old man grumbled and fumbled around with his bag until he pulled out the large shirt that Sven used to wear and dropped it on him. Sven gratefully rearranged it, holding over him as flimsy shelter.

"Com' boi," but rather than taking him the route they had walked since their last move, he lead them in a completely different direction.

Sven picked up the pace, not wanting to loose sight of Old Sam if he was taking them somewhere new. They walked back past the library and down a major road. He continually had to hide behind Sam to avoid being drenched in waves of dirty rainwater from passing cars while the old beggar cursed loudly. By the time they turned off onto a smaller road, Sven felt as if the rain was seeping into his skin and flesh. They walked down smaller streets, Sven's feet were sore and he started to fear that Old Sam would simply wander the whole night. Then they reached a park, a neatly trimmed park surrounded by houses and his carer walked straight towards a building. This one was slightly different to the other, set slightly aside from the rest, but wooden planks covered all the windows and both the doors in the front. The vagabond shuffled through the broken gate, through the grass that had grown to half Sven's height and round to the side of the house. Sam pulled back a board from the wall and shoved it to the side to reveal a door that he pushed open. Sven wasted no time in rushing inside, keeping close to the older man.

It smelled foul inside, a strong hit of booze mixed with scents he never wanted to know the origin of, but at least it was dry and warmer though not enough to chase the chill from his bones. He lowered the shirt from over his head and wrapped it round him. It didn't help. Something in the back of his head told him that he needed to take his wet clothes off which seemed so counter-intuitive...whatever that meant.

"Fuck me dayh, it's Sam." Whoever it was didn't sound happy. He shrank behind his protector's legs, trying not to let his teeth chatter.

"Bas'ard cun'," Sam barked back.

"What yee doin here? Came crawling in frem the rain, did yee?"Another voice said.

"Who sez you're welcome here?" a new voice added. Sven's stomach dropped, he didn't want to go out into the rain again. He was already oh so cold. The mere thought had him rubbing his arms. "Ah sayh we throw him oot affta last time."

"'iss off," Sam's reply came as he shuffled further into the room. Sven scurried after him, eager to stay close enough to use his carer as a shield against the men he could now see. There were five of them, all gathered round a small bucket with a fire blazing merrily inside. All of them were as messy and grimy as Sam, though none seemed as old. Three of them stood while the others crouched down but they all looked at the older vagabond and most seemed distinctly unhappy. Sven shifted and rubbed his arms a little harder. One stranger's eyes snapped to him freezing his limbs in place. The stranger's expression shifted to a frown while the other men argued on.

"Leave it," the staring stranger said, "Sam's little marra is cold."

Suddenly Sven found himself at the center of attention. Sam snapped the little boy back into his arms.

"Ma boi. Foun' 'im. 'e's ma boi."

A man snorted, perhaps the first who had spoken, and took a swig from his bottle. "He's lost it. Divvnae think yee could get madder, but noo yer kidnapping."

Sam's grip tightened as he shouted at the other men. "Ma boi!"

One of the crouched man raked his over Sven in a way that made the boy clutch at Sam. There was something scary in that look, something...hungry. "D'ya think there's a reward if wi tyek him back?"

That prospect terrified him more than spending all night in the rain. To go back, to wherever that was, made him want to run away. Yet another feeling he didn't understand rose up. He was becoming used to that. He had emotions that he didn't understand, so he tried to push them aside and not think about them. He understood very little and this was just another one of those things.

"Mine!" Sam yelled again.

"Divvent look leik he wants te ga back," the staring man said, turning back to the fire as if he was already losing interest. "Maybe he's a runaway."

"He can stay," the man on the far left's voice was gruff, his eyes raking up and down like the boy was his next meal. For once he was glad that he was secure in Old Sam's arms.

"He should go te the polliss," the now not staring man replied, not looking up. "He's tee young te be on the streets."

"Ma Boi," Sam growled, repeating himself as he shuffled towards a door that lead further into the house. "No faceless men ge' ma Sven." He started backing out of the room, shuffling away while mumbling under his breath. "No' 'gain. Won' ge' ma boi. No' gonna 'ake ma boi. Tear ya face 'way."

Sven rubbed his face nervously, imaging someone digging their nails into his chin and ripping off his face. He could almost imagine the feel of his skin being peeled away and wondered if it would take all his features as well. He scrubbed his face to lose that feeling and wash away the sensation but the reality wasn't much better. A dark world, the walls damp and people they passed were either asleep or sat with empty eyes. A couple of people looked up at them as they passed but most paid them no mind as they stumbled through the building. Sam looked in each room, one after the other, all occupied by men except for one with a scared looking woman inside who glared until Sam went away. Two doors down was a small room with a single sleeping man inside. Sven was put down at the side, along with Sam's huge bag. His carer then walked to the sleeping man and kicked him out, literally. A hefty kick to the ribs woke the poor stranger and another had him scrambling to his feet. He shouted at Sam, who gave him a rough shove, pushing and kicking the stranger until the door slammed in his face. Sven remained shivering at the side of the room, the rain pondering harder than ever on the window glass. No wood covered this window, letting the moonlight stream in. A thin rug covered the floor but other than that, the room was empty.

Sam looked down at him. "Ma boi col'."

Sven nodded, his clothes felt worse in the house than outside in the rain. They were heavy, plastered against his skin. Maybe it would be better if he took his jumper off. Maybe if he tried to dry it he could wear it again tomorrow. Sam's face brightened and he started babbling again. The old man scurried back to his bag and dug through it. Losing interest, Sven turned back to his clothes deciding that he didn't like this at all. He wanted to just make them dry. He laid his hands on the material as if he could do so through sheer will, as if he expected it would really work. Nothing happened, of course. He sighed, he would have to do it another way. He removed the jumper. That felt a little better. He wrung it out as best he could, watching a little water trickle to the rug.

"'Ere. 'Ere." He looked up at Sam. In the beggars hands was a...parcel, he supposed. A shop bag wrapped around a object, a squishy one from the way Sam's fingers dug into it. "Go' ya blan'it." Sven blinked up at confused as Sam shuffled forward. The boy had just enough time to dropped his sweater before the 'parcel' was shoved into his arms. It was definitely soft. "Kep' i' all nic' an' clean fa ma Sven. Ya lov' ya blan'it. All nic' an' warm fa 'is boi. Wra' up all tigh' wiv lit'al Gemma."

He looked down at the bundle. This couldn't actually be his. No, this was the other Sven's. Sam's Sven. He looked up to see that the old man seemed to expect him to open it still. So, not wanting to make him angry, he did. A big, thick blanket lay inside and unlike the rest of the mendicant's things it was spotless. Except for looking a little worn it seemed as good as new. It was dark blue with dozens of little stars, moons and planets that he somehow knew was completely wrong. He could imagine how warm it would be to bundle himself inside it and feel the fluffy material all over him, but a flutter in his belly told him it was wrong. This didn't belong to him and Sam must treasure this above all his possessions, perhaps above himself. Sven bit his lip. He could always just use it for one night and give it back in the morning. It seemed so warm.

"Thank you."

Sam beamed like he had been given the world. He shuffled off, sliding down to sit with his back against the door. "Sven lov' 'is blan'it. Old Sam keep i' warm fa 'im. Wra' u' all nic..." he carried on, increasingly to himself, opening a new drink.

Sven turned back to his new belonging. He briefly wondered why Sam had never brought it out before now, dismissing it with a shrug. He would never understand Sam. He carefully placed the blanket onto of the bag, keeping it from getting dirty or wet, and proceeded to quickly remove the rest of his clothes and change into his spare undergarments. He made an effort to squeeze out the rainwater, not that it did much good, before he spread them out on the floor. He hoped they would be dry by morning, at least enough so that he could wear them. Snatching up the quilt he threw it round his shoulders and snuggled deep inside. He rubbed his cheek against the soft fabric, unable to stop himself from caressing the material. He sighed contently. It was so warm, felt like the finest fur. It didn't quite reach the floor, not when he had it looped over his head like a hood but he could curl up underneath it. He did, next to Old Sam as he drank until he snored, more comfortable than he had ever been at night.

It was a shame that his sleep was not as pleasant.

He had the most horrible dreams. He dreamed of his skin being stripped away by demons whose faces were all shadow, their long fingers sliding under the surface to rip it off. He was sure it must hurt but all he felt was the rising panic and utter terror inside of him. He could feel his face leave him, being stolen away while a hand pressed down on his throat to hold him in place. He woke roughly to a still dark room. There was a rattling over the sound of his rough breaths and sobs. He snapped his eyes to the door, resisting to urge to crawl until the blanket and hide. The handle was jiggling. He watched wide eyed, his heart thumping against his rib cage. His night terrors bled into his waking world. The handle turned and the door was pushed. Sam snorted at the jostle but remained steadfast and asleep, his back keeping the door shut. Sven didn't dare move. He scarcely breathed. He watched the door. It shook against and then went still. Sven remained rooted, even when he heard faint grumbling from the other side and the sound of footsteps leading away.

Who had that been? What had it been? A dreadful thought popped into his head, what if it was a Faceless Man? They could have seen him around Newcastle and come to peel his face off and turn him into one of them. He could be trying to find a new way into the room, maybe through the window. The thoughts sent him scrambling into Old Sam's lap again. He tugged the blanket over his head, hoping it would hide him from prying eyes. His nightmare was still vivid in his mind: he could imagine those faceless demons trying to get into the room to peel off his face. He sat there, hand in Sam's shirt, listening for any sound. Every creak of the house and every knock against the window sent his fear spiking. He couldn't fall back asleep, he was too scared of nightmares and what waiting for him to sleep again...

Harf/Half-term: For all non-brits out there, most schools in England (and I think Britain) in the middle of each school term have a week holiday. So they start the school year, have 6/7 weeks at school, take a week holiday (no tests or anything), go back for another 6/7 weeks until the Christmas holiday. Repeat for the Spring and Summer terms.

Carer: Someone who cares for you. Often used in the sense of someone who looks after someone incapable of doing so themselves.

So, I've had a few people asking me if Sven is going to run into Avengers soon. I'm afraid not, it's gonna be quite a while and Sven is going to do quite a bit of growing and developing without them which in turn will influence how he reacts to them. Part of what pushed me into writing this was that i wanted to do a story in which KidLoki doesn't end up on the Avengers doorstep and immediately taken in which seemed more interesting to me (not to mention making a little more sense). So the two halves meeting is a ways off. To have them meet now would be...anticlimactic. Sorry to anyone this disappoints, but it seemed fair to let you know now.

The new beta reader for this fanfic is amokeh. My up-most thanks to her. :D

Review Replies:

Lyra Endless: Thank you so much for the lovely comment. It's great to hear that you think I've created something original here :D It was kinda what I was hoping to achieve with this. I will definitely continue with this. Old Sam is a genuine person, though I guess that's partly because I don't think he's really together enough to be anything else. He's had a hard life. Haha, Sven is a little ahead of you on the learning to read front, though he still isn't very good at it. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter as well.