Archive of Our Own ^beta

    “I’m going to need you to talk to me.”

    Gregory glared at the floor, his hand balling into a fist. He had already spoken too much in this session. Now that she pressed for things he couldn’t (and didn’t) want to talk about, he had to hold his tongue. He couldn’t let himself slip. Besides, he couldn’t trust this person; he couldn’t trust anybody, and yet, here he was. Being forced to open up.

    But I won’t, he thought stubbornly, avoiding eye contact while the therapist gazed at him in a concerned manner. Either that concern was faked, or her need to help would just screw him over. More than likely, the latter of the two. This was her job, anyway. She had to reach out to him.

    “If you’re trying to sit in silence for the rest of our session just to get out of it,” she said, “it won’t work.”

    Gregory shrugged. “It’s not like you can make it last longer than our forty-five minutes, right?”

    “Hmm.” She hummed and nodded. “You know this is for your own good, and everything you say here is confidential.” She sent him a smile. “I want nothing more than to help you, Gregory.”

    He returned her smile with a snarky one. “Okay, then help me. Get me back to my proper home.”

    “Ah,” she said, “and what would this proper home be?”

    He dropped the smile and once again avoided her probing eyes.

    “You obviously have something specific in mind,” she went on. “Is it the man who helped you? Can you tell me about him?”

    He gulped, his thoughts drifting towards Mike. He didn’t entirely mind this; he loved thinking of his dad, of their time together and how kind and caring he had always been towards Gregory. But it also held the unavoidable truth that they wouldn’t see each other again for a while, if ever. Gregory was alone. He had to look out for himself, and that did not include blabbering about his trauma to a stranger. In fact, that was one of the last things on his list.

    “I heard he took you in for a bit,” the therapist said, “after you were alone. You were missing for about two years, you know. How did you manage that?”

    Gregory scowled at the floor, shifting around his chair. He hated this room; he hated the bleak walls, and the supposedly cheery decorations. He would rather focus on that, though, than the uncomfortable questions. The carpet beneath him blurred and wobbled as he tried to examine the woven patterns.

    A pause followed his mute response. “This is our second session, and I feel like we’ve gotten nowhere. I understand, really. It’s hard to open up.” She tilted her head, trying to draw his gaze. He didn’t give in. “You ran away for a reason, and I might have an idea of what it is.”

    Gregory’s fist clenched tighter. “Don’t try to analyze me,” he said, dismayed that his voice sounded vaguely choked up, “and don’t act like you care about me. You’re just doing your job. I see straight through you.” He fell silent, though he wanted to go on. Warning bells went off in his head, urging him to shut up. He shouldn’t stand up to people right now. There was too much on the line, and besides, he knew what could happen if he pushed it too far, from the various situations he’d been forced into.

    “I see,” the therapist said, her voice lacking any hint of anger, which he certainly didn’t expect. “You’ve been mistreated in the past, haven’t you?” He sank farther into his seat. “It’s alright.” Gregory could hear the smile in her voice, probably a faked one, one of pity and false comfort. “Unfortunately, lots of children have been put it in your position. It can be hard to open up and trust again.” Stop telling me things I already know, he thought, focusing on the colorful carpet so much his eyes began to burn. Stop trying to get me to tell you things that I can’t. She took a breath to go on but broke off. Lifting his head, he risked a glance at her. Her focus wasn’t on him, rather the clock on the far wall. A new sense of hope awoke in him, beginning to relieve the pressure weighing on his mind and body.

    “Looks like our time is up.” She tapped her pen against her clipboard as her attention shifted back to him. He met her gaze with a neutral look, struggling to hide the unwanted thoughts swarming his head. She smiled yet again. Was that all she ever did? Gregory couldn’t help but frown as she went on, “Well, at least you were a bit more vocal today. Care to tell me how you’ve been feeling in this new situation?”

    “How do you think?” He narrowed his eyes.

    Her pleasant expression wavered. “I see.” She let out a quick exhale. “This is a safe place, Gregory. I hope you know that.” She cleared her throat, rising and going for the door. “Next time, I hope you’re comfortable enough to open up a bit more. I’d like to get to know you.”

    “Sure, you would,” Gregory muttered under his breath and headed out of the room, entering into the waiting room. One of the social workers rose from where she sat. She also smiled. The expression made him want to puke, because he knew none of these actions were genuine. They were just going through the motions of looking out for a so-called troubled kid. To them, he was just another foster child with issues, who needed special treatment and attention, which he did not want. They weren’t like Michael. No one was like him.

    The two adults exchanged a few words, which Gregory tuned out. He knew when he had to start listening, though, and snapped back to attention once the social worker looked down at him. “You ready to go?”

    “Yeah,” he replied automatically, saying a snarkier reply in his head. With a nod, the worker bid farewell to the therapist and went to the nearby secretary. Gregory listened to her confirm his next appointment, sighing deeply. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor while they left the building. Thankfully, this particular service worker didn’t make him hold her hand, like some did. He couldn’t help but shudder and cringe though at the hand she kept resting on his shoulder, probably to keep him from running away. He wasn’t even in a proper foster home yet, most likely because he was a runaway. A lot of precautions and steps had been taken, in order to ensure he was alright and would be ready for new foster parents. His missing arm only added to these complications. To think this had been going on for almost two months.

    Somehow, it felt even longer than that…

    “So,” the worker said as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, “your therapist told me you were a bit sullen and rude again.”

    Gregory didn’t say anything, watching the buildings blur past from the back seat of the car.

    She drummed her fingers on the wheel. “Tell you what…next time, if you’re at least a little more vocal, I’ll get you a special treat. How does that sound?”

    So now you’re bribing me? he replied silently.

    “I know you haven’t had much freedom,” she said, “but if you continue to improve, things will start looking out for you. Especially now that your arm is basically healed.”

    He shuddered and instinctively tried to hide the stump of his right arm from view.

    The social worker glanced at him in the rearview mirror, then back ahead. Gregory expected her to keep speaking, but she did not. Some workers made more of an attempt to strike up conversation. If he was being honest, he much preferred the silence. Minus the thought that they were silently judging him and coming up with ways to get rid of him faster, that is. That’s what they wanted to do, right? Toss him to the first pair of foster parents that came knocking on their door. It’s what it felt like, anyway. How else had he ended up with cruel people so many times, or at least people who didn’t care enough?

    He sighed, his eyes fixed on the hospital as it passed in the distance. Just keep waiting it out, Gregory, he said to himself. This won’t last forever. But the pressure and horrid emotions of being back in a situation like this practically drove him mad, not even counting the trauma of everything that had happened recently. He didn’t even know if Mike was alright, nor what was happening to him.

    These thoughts drifted through his head till the familiar center he was staying at came into view. It was a care center of sorts, a place Gregory never remembered staying in before. He hated it, though. It was too noisy, and despite being one of the only people without a roommate currently, there were always too many people. The food sucked, too. It was difficult to eat, anyway. He couldn’t properly cut his food, not without both hands. Gregory despised feeling helpless and surrounded, and here, that’s almost all he felt. Trying to shake off the downer side of his usual thoughts and emotions, he unbuckled and opened the door as his social worker did the same. They entered the building in complete silence, but when they headed for the stairs, which led to Gregory’s floor, she stopped and turned to him. He also halted, raising an eyebrow.

    “You want some time in the backyard?” she said. “I know they don’t let you out much.”

    He blinked in surprise. “What?”

    She cleared her throat, shooing him away from the stairs. He walked with her as she headed for a room off to the side, where a few people conversed. “I think someone decided to have a barbecue in the back. Maybe you could join, socialize a bit.” Gregory automatically touched his missing arm, fiddling with the bandage on it. Truth be told, he shouldn’t have the bandage anymore, but he kept it there sometimes anyway. He hated having it uncovered; made him feel more vulnerable. Socializing with people? He definitely didn’t want that. Being outside in the fresh air? Now that he would like. The care center had a fenced-in backyard, which kids like him were occasionally allowed to roam, as long as they had supervision. He’d never heard of them having a barbecue or anything, though.

    He wondered over this as he lurked near the worker, who spoke with the others. He startled out of it when a hand touched his shoulder. Instinctively cringing away, he looked up at the woman, who winced at the action. The expression vanished. “I was right,” she said with yet another smile. “One of the kids is getting a home, and a few are celebrating in the back, if you would like to join.”

    Gregory hesitated, his eyes trailing away.

    “And if you respond a bit more in your sessions,” she went on, “things like this would probably be more frequent.”

    He couldn’t help but grimace at these words. Of course, he had to earn stuff like this. Typical.

    “I guess I’ll go,” he mumbled, rubbing at his missing arm. At least maybe I can just enjoy sitting in the grass by myself or something, he thought. Better than my dumb old room. With a nod, she started to guide him away. He followed reluctantly, examining the stark halls around him. The distant voices of the many inhabitants were somehow deafening in his ears and caused his heart rate to pick up. Just keep going. He swallowed thickly. You’ve made it this far. Don’t break down again. He had already done that enough. Every time he did, it rather felt like he was failing Mike, breaking his promise that he would be strong in this situation.

    Gregory battled these thoughts till he and the social worker exited into the enclosed backyard. He immediately examined it, on the lookout for any suspicious people. After eying the few adults in the area, he watched the children. The backyard was decent sized, with a tree near the back. A small patio attached to the building, where someone currently grilled. A sandbox stood near it, and a few children dashed to and fro, playing a game of tag. Others, though, lurked closer to the fence, mostly by themselves. Probably in similar states of mind to Gregory.

    “Go on,” his social worker whispered, urging him in the direction of the children. He locked up, unwanted memories creeping into his mind, like a horrid parasite. How many children had he tried to befriend in his old foster situations, and how many had either bullied or ignored him? He stopped near them, glancing over his shoulder at his worker, who sent him an encouraging smile. He kept back a scoff and the slight lessening of reluctance. He was just trying to get through this; there was no way he could like anybody here.

    To get her off his back, he went to the sandbox and plunked down. Another child played near him, trying and failing to build a sandcastle. He almost told her that she needed water if she wanted to do that but held his tongue and kept examining everything around him. The adult at the grill was uncomfortably close by. He eyed them for a while, till he became aware of an odd scraping sound near him. His eyes snapped to the side, and he nearly choked on a gasp. That kid sitting in the sandbox—who looked quite young—currently tried to light a match, miraculously holding a box of them.

    “Hey!” Without thinking, he snatched it from her grasp. “Are you crazy? Don’t play with that!”

    The girl looked up, big blue eyes growing wider.

    He tensed and fumbled for words as he shoved the box in his pocket. Truthfully, he hadn’t properly spoken to any of the other children there. To his alarm, her eyes began to fill. “Crap,” he said. “I mean, um, dang it. Hey, uh…” He trailed off when she began to cry, wailing and rubbing at her eyes. He cringed and reached towards her, at a loss as to what to do. “Hey, um, don’t…don’t do that. Just keep building your sandcastle.” His eyes flicked around rapidly, already noticing the other kids beginning to stare and whisper. A few critical gazes from the small number of adults almost made him break right then and there. This was all too familiar. As a social worker approached, his arms crossing, Gregory scrambled to his feet and tried to leave.

    “Hey.” A hand touched his arm.

    With a scream, Gregory threw himself onto the ground and curled up, instinctively guarding his severed arm. “Don’t touch me,” he rushed out. “Don’t touch me, please. I didn’t do anything, I…I was just trying to help, I swear.” He clamped his eyes shut, trying to block out the buzzing in his ears and the suffocating rush of his breath. People were talking around him. He bet the kids were snickering or gossiping. That always happened. Of course, he had to go and freak out. It had felt too similar to happenings in the past. He couldn’t take it; of course, he couldn’t.

    He remained where he was for a bit, and when he finally managed to uncurl from his fetal position, the social worker who first brought him was there. She looked on with a worried expression, mingling with another emotion he couldn’t pin down. “Maybe it’s best you return to your room.” She spoke cautiously and calmly. “You can calm down a bit, and then come back if you like. How does that sound?”

    “Fine,” he said automatically, his tone dull and lacking any hint of his emotional turmoil. Anything to get out of there. He didn’t even have to look to know he was being stared at, for he could already feel their eyes burning into his skull. With a half-hearted smile, she held out a hand. He ignored it and struggled to his feet. Sometimes, getting up was difficult without two hands. He managed to anyway, then kept his head low as they headed back inside and to his bedroom.

    “You’re gonna report this, aren’t you?” he said when he stepped in, looking over his shoulder. “Just…just another thing to get me more therapy, right?”

    She paused, her hand on the knob. “Of course, it won’t affect that. Many kids have…breakdowns frequently. I shouldn’t have pushed you to—” And then Gregory blocked out the rest of her words, settling on the edge of his bed and keeping his eyes glued to the floor. She stayed for longer than he would have liked, occasionally getting a word out of him, but ultimately, he kept silent. He figured she was just keeping an eye on him, since she was supposed to. He hated being surveyed, and simply waited for it to be over. When he was finally left to himself, he went to the small desk in the bedroom and started scribbling his horrid thoughts into his worn notebook. There wasn’t much in his room. A closet, two beds, nightstands, miniature dressers, and one desk. It didn’t have many personal touches yet, minus his desk which was cluttered with little things he’d found outside and endless sloppy drawings, mostly of Lefty or him and Michael.

    Muttering under his breath, Gregory kept scrawling down words, one after the other. It felt horrid at first, but usually helped ease the storm raging in his head eventually. Unfortunately, it was a suggestion by his therapist. He’d been advised to test it, and once it worked, he begrudgingly kept doing it. He wasn’t about to admit it to her, though.

    The tension in his shoulders eased, and his hand slowed. He pressed his lips tightly together, flipping the notebook shut and moving onto his other notepad. This one was a little bigger, and he’d used for drawing mostly. All the ones he liked, though, he had torn out so he could see them better. Now all that was left in the notebook were rushed doodles and scribbles, left in the middle of his breakdowns. He much preferred to look at his normal doodles. When he was drawing, sometimes, it felt like he was closer to Michael. Gregory relaxed as his gaze shifted to a drawing that he’d tacked up of him and Michael with Lefty. It didn't look of very good quality to him, but he savored it anyway, seeing as he didn’t have any of Mike’s doodles from the house. He brushed his fingers over it, then let his eyes trail back to his open notebook. Every muscle locked up. Of course, it had to be open on a messy drawing of a certain yellow rabbit.

    Slamming his fist onto the desk, Gregory gritted his teeth. Too much trauma; too many days stuck here. On an instinct, he yanked out the box of matches he’d taken and retrieved one. He shoved off all the drawings he liked, then lit the match. He didn’t stop to think, dropping it on the notepad, already lighting the picture of William. Paper blackened and curled. Gregory flinched and covered his face as the faint sensation of heat reached him. The crackling sound of fire grew, followed by the sting of smoke. Peeking between his fingers, Gregory watched the notebook of trauma-induced drawings begin to burn up before his very eyes. The satisfaction only lasted for a moment, vanishing into the horrid embrace of fear and panic.

    He had just lit a fire, right on top of his wooden desk.

    Shoving back his chair, he jumped to his feet and looked around frantically. His breaths hitched and his stomach flipped. Hand trembling, he did the first thing he thought of: he grabbed a blanket off his bed, then threw it onto the miniature fire. He proceeded to smack it and occasionally lift it up to fan the flames. His usual survival instincts kept kicking in, urging him to run, telling him he was making a mistake. Luckily, the fire wasn’t that big. The risky action worked, despite it being obviously a bad idea. He was lucky it hadn’t spread.

    Dropping to his knees, Gregory put his face in his hand and pressed the nub of his arm against his stomach. A storm of tears followed, released from the depths of him. Part of him had hoped this wouldn’t last so long, yet here he was. It was too familiar, too terrible. He had to keep being strong for Michael, but he wasn’t sure if he could. Being watched, trapped, and forced to open up to people he couldn’t trust, well, he couldn’t stand for that. Yet he had to. All he could do was wait, with the overwhelming memories of his past, and the constant worry over his father—if he was alright, if he was alive, or if they would ever see each other again, for that matter.

    Ignoring the mess he’d left on his desk, Gregory sprinted to his bed and dove under it. The carpet burned against his skin, but he didn’t care, immediately curling up as tightly as he could. He buried his face in his knees and let the tears keep flowing. He couldn’t stop them, a mess of sobs and whispered words, begging for relief, begging for his dad. But that wasn’t possible. There was no way out. He was alone, in a situation too familiar and horrid. Even now, it felt like he was right back in one of the many, unwanted foster homes. Hiding under the bed, for even an ounce of privacy or freedom...and sometimes, hiding from those who wanted to hurt him.

    He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, choking on dust and his own tears, till he had none left to shed. He just lay there, a trembling kid huddled beneath a bed. Pathetic…lost…alone…

    Unwanted.

~Several months earlier~

    Gregory drew his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Rocking back and forth, he let his eyes roam his darkened bedroom. As a boy who had spent most of his life neglected and hurting, then on his own and hardened against others, the practice of dealing with nights like this alone was quite familiar to him. It felt worse now, though. Terrible nightmares, images of cruel people, of a man in a rabbit suit, of leering animatronics; of one wearing the body of someone he loved. Constantly. He buried his face in his knees. The trauma never stopped from both his past life and…more recent events. It was already difficult to handle, but with the added nightmares, he almost couldn’t. He hated the memories, but he had to cover up how little sleep he received. There were more important things to worry about. Specifically, Mike’s condition. Gregory couldn’t bother him with this. He was barely hanging on himself, after all.

    Gregory shuddered violently. Those images never left. The blood, the horror; the hours of struggling to keep back a monster, a monstrosity wearing the face of someone he never thought he’d be with again. The determination and the need for survival, yet the hopelessness and defeat. It was almost as bad as the prior years of struggling on his own. The lonely child…the overlooked kid who was against the world…

    Not anymore.

    So things should be completely okay now, right? They had to be. He had his happy ending. Well, more-or-less. Perhaps being a hidden child with a father figure who consistently collapsed and just barely hung on with each day wasn’t ideal. Every day was a struggle, but completely worth it. A better life. Yes, this truly was better. Mike already had enough on his hands; Gregory couldn’t let him see the cracks, the doubt. Even if Gregory knew the true danger was over, and finally the life he wanted was in his reach, things weren’t nearly as perfect as he would have hoped. Or perhaps they were, they just weren’t quite…there yet. But at least Michael could finally get up and walk around. He’d finally made it to his room, to sleep properly in his actual bed, rather than staying crashed on the couch since the moment they’d struggled back into the house.

    “Ugh,” Gregory whispered. “Stupid idiot. Just sleep already.” He rubbed at his aching eyes. “Or at least, just…just try not to think about all that.” However, as he sat there agonizing over every little detail of his dream, he was struck with the undeniable urge to at least check on Michael. He always feared one day he would find Mike, and he would be…dead. After all, how was even alive? With supposedly no organs, bizarre eyes, a horrid condition, and a strange tint of purple to his skin, he was a mystery. And it was painful for Gregory to see. The first person to care for him; the man who had given up his life for him, and who Gregory had fought for...could still die, was practically dead. That was something he could never let happen.

    Opening his door a crack, he peeked out into the shadowy hall. With a gulp, he crept down it, past the bathroom and opening of the living room, all the way to Michael’s door. It was open a crack, most likely so he could get out easily or if he needed help, he could be heard. That thought, though, awakened a horrid stirring of Gregory’s gut. He wrapped an arm around his waist, using his other hand to push open the door and poke his head in. Darkness greeted him, the outlines of furniture just barely visible in the dim light seeping through the cracks in the window curtains. From the streetlights, no doubt. It was still late, and Gregory knew this. Silently reminding himself not to wake Michael, he crept closer to the bed. He didn’t have to get too near to see the blankets shifting. What alarmed him, though, was it didn’t seem to be normal sleep movement. Michael was trembling, and quite hard too.

    With a new surge of panic, Gregory dashed to the bed and jumped on. “Mike?” He put his hands on his arm, for Mike lay on his side, faced away from him. “Are you okay?” Gregory gently shook him, the sensation of Michael’s quivering running through his palms. “Mike?” Michael gasped, his entire body jolting. Gregory flinched away and smacked a hand over his mouth as Mike gave a loud cry, followed by several soft groans and wheezes.

    “Crap,” he whispered. “Gregory, what are—” His words dissolved into a longer sound of pain, somewhere between a groan and a whine.

    “I’m sorry,” Gregory said, the words tumbling out of him. “I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t mean to wake you up. I mean, I did, but you were shaking really hard, and I get so worried about you, and…” He trailed off, watching Michael roll onto his back slowly. The lights of his eyes flickered and met Gregory’s gaze.

    “Hey,” he said, speaking gently. Too gently. Why did he always have to that tone with Gregory? He didn’t deserve it. “It’s alright, I…I’m alright.” Michael reached over with a quivery hand, briefly brushing it against Gregory’s cheek.

    “You’re not though,” he whispered. He swallowed hard, trying to fight the pressure closing around his throat and weighing on his eyes. He couldn’t cry. “You’re not at all. Are you sure you’re feeling okay right now? You sounded like you were in pain, and—”

    “It’s alright,” Mike repeated, causing a faint twinge of frustration for Gregory, because it clearly wasn’t. “I’m getting through it, things are just…a little rough. Moving around again probably flared up the injury more.” He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hurts like no tomorrow, but we checked it before I went to bed. I’m healing…more-or-less. Things will get better.” He winced. “What are you doing here, anyway? I wasn’t making any noises in my sleep, right? I’d hate to worry you like that.”

    Gregory paused, glancing towards the door he’d left ajar. Giving a withering sigh, he reached for Michael’s hand. Gregory’s found only blanket, but within a moment, he felt a weak but warm hand close around his. Just recently, that hand had felt cold. He’s not dead, Gregory thought, and tightened his grasp. Things’ll get better. Even if we can’t go to a hospital, he’s getting better. Everything’s gonna turn out. Now if only those nightmares would stop…

    “Sorry,” he said, looking at Michael who now lay on his other side, facing Gregory fully. “I’m being kinda stupid. Just, um, got worried about you and decided to check on you.”

    “Aw.” Michael smiled faintly, lighting up his weary face. “There’s nothing wrong with you being worried. I would…prefer if I didn’t cause you so much worry, but it’s valid. I appreciate you checking on me.” His smile fell away quickly. “Tonight’s definitely more difficult. Unfortunately…”

    “At least you’re admitting it.” Gregory huffed. “Every time you try to do stuff on your own, you just make it worse.”

    “Ouch.” Mike gave a bitter laugh. “But true, I suppose. I just hate burdening you.”

    “I don’t care. Really,” Gregory said, the very words wanting to make him hug Michael as tightly as he could. How could the person who’d saved him be a burden? Never. Gregory owed everything to him.

    Michael paused, his focus on their folded hands. Brushing his thumb against Gregory’s skin comfortingly, he murmured, “I know, kiddo. I just feel…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Well, it doesn’t matter how I feel. Are you alright?” Gregory tensed, surprised by the question. This only grew when Mike gently brushed one of his fingers beneath Gregory’s right eye, near the scar on his cheek. “The shadows under your eyes are getting deeper.” Oh, of course Mike had noticed.

    “I’m fine,” Gregory lied, anyway. The moment the words left his mouth, the pressure grew, and he choked. He couldn’t stop the tears from flooding his eyes, and though he tried to blink them away, they spilled over anyway. He clamped his eyelids shut, taking a trembly breath as another pathetic sound escaped him. “I-I’m just so tired of…of thinking you’re gonna die, and…and every time I sleep, seeing what happened. To you, and…and to me. Everything.” The hand holding his tightened, and another touched his cheek. Gregory reopened his eyes, gazing down into Michael’s. He was sitting up slightly, his body strained with the obvious effort it took him. “Was that just nonsense?” Gregory asked, unable to talk much louder than a whisper. His throat tightened, and he let out a small gasp in the middle of his tears. “Am I being stupid?”

    “I know what you mean,” Mike whispered back. “It’ll be alright.” He lied back down, releasing Gregory’s hand and patting the mattress beside him. After a brief hesitation, Gregory shrank under the covers and snuggled close. Immediately, a pair of weak arms were around him. He shut his eyes again, hugging right back, clinging to Michael like his lifeline. It almost brought him straight back to Circus Baby’s. Hugging a lifeless corpse on the floor, a final goodbye…

    Except it hadn’t been. He still remembered the sensation of two arms hugging him back, just like now. He tried to smile at the warmth it brought him, but it faded when he choked out another sob.

    “You’re not stupid, Gregory,” Michael whispered into his hair. “A lot of horrible things have happened, recently and in the past. You have trauma; it takes a long time to get over stuff like that. Sometimes, you never do entirely.” He let out a deep sigh. “And I know that better than anyone.”

    Gregory swallowed, then took a shaky breath. “But I’m still being stupid, right? They’re just dreams.” His voice became so soft he could barely hear it, the tears driving away any volume he had. “But they’re also not. It’s stuff that actually happened, a-and I don’t know what to do. I hate my dumb mind, I hate sleeping, I hate having to be separated from you, and…and thinking you could be dying, and I can’t do anything, because I—” He tensed and broke off, realizing just how much he was blabbering. His muscles grew less stiff as Michael began to rub his back.

    “I know,” he murmured. Gregory relaxed even more to the soft, comforting rumble of Mike’s voice. “I know it hurts. I wish I could make everything better; I wish I could take away your nightmares and…and carry you away into a better situation than this. But I swear, I'm getting better; I won't die." He sighed deeply. "You deserved better than you’ve had so far. Whoever treated you wrongly back then, I’ll…I’ll personally see to it that they have a bloody nose.” Gregory gave a faint laugh, listening while Mike went on, “I can’t take away how much it hurts, but I’ll be here for you, alright? I’m glad you woke me up, even if it was because I was acting a little…concerning in my sleep. I hope you know you can always come to me.” He moved away a little, drawing Gregory’s gaze up to him. Michael smiled gently and brushed away the boy’s falling tears. “I know what it’s like to go through stuff like this and have no one to go. You can always come to me, Gregory.” Gregory gulped and went closer again, burying his face in Michael’s shirt, feeling those faint breaths he’d never thought he would hear again. “You’ll never be alone again,” Michael whispered, the words setting Gregory free all over again. Not alone…safe…wanted…

    Loved.

    Gregory wanted to express the sudden relief and compassion he felt. Lost in tears and Michael’s arms, he couldn’t utter a word. It all just got stuck in his throat, but it didn’t matter. Neither spoke another word to each other, simply a pair of broken people, cuddled together as they looked forward to a hopefully bright future together. When finally Gregory drifted to sleep, still snuggled up to the person he most cared for…he slept peacefully, knowing he wasn’t alone in this. And he never would be again.

    Gregory grunted and shifted around. It took him a while of feeling the surface beneath him and puzzling through his muddled mind to realize he was still under the bed. He sneezed, jolting against the bottom of his bed. With a small cry, he stilled. The haze of sleep began to roll away, leaving him staring at the mess he’d left beyond his bed. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them the best he could, considering one was quite…short. How long had it been? What mess had he left out there? Could they tell he had lit a fire? He gritted his teeth as the overwhelming pressure of consuming, terrible emotions returned full swing. Trapped. He was trapped here.

    He refused to leave the bed, breathing heavily. In and out, in and out…while slowly his thoughts sorted themselves out.

    He released himself, letting a small breath gust out of him. “Stop breaking down so much,” he whispered. “I can’t afford to make mistakes like this.” One bad enough slip up, and he could lose his chance to be with Michael again forever. “You’ve made it this far, just…just keep going. Do your part.” He edged his way out from under the bed, then straightened. He hastily examined the notepad he’d burned and the desk beneath it. Thankfully, the fire hadn’t spread over the desk, but it left a few scorch marks on the blanket he used. At least it was dark. Not noticeable. As for the notebook he’d burned…

    Gregory sat down on the floor cross-legged, surrounded by the drawings he had shoved off his desk. He flipped through the charred notebook in his lap. Ashes came off of it as he took in just how much had burned. All those drawings he’d scribbled and drove into the pages were gone, nothing but black and crinkled, burnt paper. Ashes, almost.

    “Why did I do that?” he said to himself. Resting his chin on his wrist, he flicked his eyes over it. “Guess it was kind of relieving.” He put it aside and focused on the other doodles, the ones he’d had on his desk. The good drawings. Retrieving the one of him and Michael, he finally smiled that day, a quavering look that didn’t last long. It vanished when he caught the sound of footsteps approaching. With a gasp, he bundled up everything on the floor and dumped them on his desk. After that, he flung the blanket back on his bed and glanced over everything. He couldn’t see any signs that there had been a fire, and he wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he didn’t smell any smoke. A knock came from his door, and he turned towards it expectantly. “Come in.”

    Just as he expected, the social worker from earlier stepped inside. “Hey.” She sent him a smile, which he did not return. “How are you feeling?”

    “Fine,” he replied, his voice dull, his response automatic. Admittedly, though, he did feel a bit better since his recent breakdown. She looked like she wanted to continue, but he cut her off, retrieving the box of matches from his pocket and holding it out to her. “What happened outside, um…I was just trying to keep this away from a little kid. No one’s mad at me, right?” Everyone gets mad at me, he almost added, but held his tongue.

    “Oh.” She blinked in surprise and came closer to take it from him. “Thank you, Gregory. Um, yeah, I don’t think anyone knew that happened. Thank you.”

    He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away. “Oh. You’re, uh…welcome?”

    “Think you want to go back outside?” she asked.

    Gregory hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the window behind him. He certainly didn’t want to interact with anybody out there again. Despite being surrounded by others, he was…alone. But, then again, was staying in his room any better? Taking a breath, Gregory looked up at her and nodded. He wanted to prove to himself that he could at least go out there and not freak out all over again. He had to be strong for Michael.

    She smiled and held out her hand. When he tensed and fell back a step, she apologized, drawing it back. With a faint nod, he simply followed her out of the room and towards the stairs. He once again kept his head down, now-and-then examining his surroundings. When they finally exited, he lifted it higher and watched everyone with a critical eye. It seemed the food was done, the few adults eating and conversing. Some children did too, while others still played with each other. Gregory left the worker without her shooing him away, treading towards the kids, mostly to get her from following him. Once he neared them, he veered in the direction of the tree. The moment he reached it, he sat down and leaned against the trunk. His eyes focused on the bright blue sky, and he breathed in deeply, savoring the fresh air that blew through the backyard.

    He had made it this far; he could keep going. Just have to keep reminding myself I’m not alone, he thought, even when Dad isn’t here, he’s planning how to get me back. I'm not alone. He took a breath, then slowly let it out. Despite the horridness of this, perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it could be. Now that one of his worst fears had come true—he was back where he’d been before running away—it almost felt…less scary. With someone out there actively working to get him back, Gregory didn’t feel alone. Not as much as he used to, anyway. He smiled faintly, imagining the day when he could finally be in his father’s arms again. Now that, well, it made everything worth it. He could take all the breakdowns and therapy sessions for that...

    ...for the moment he could return home.