Authors Notes – Chapter 5 is finally here! I said one week, it's been two. That's the best you can expect out of me. Anyhoo, this chapter is the grand finale to it all. In the first flashback, you'll notice that there are a lot of similarities between Pietro and…a certain other character? In fact, they even have some of the same lines! Lol, so watch out for that and just so you know, I did do that on purpose. Also, look at the dates. The flashbacks in this chapter occur before the ones in chapter four. I'm probably confusing you, because I confused myself a lot with the dates, but it'll make sense once you read this. There's also some mad symbolism and freaky obscurity…so uhhh yeah. I think that's it. ENJOY!

Chapter Five ~ The World is Just a Mirrorball

It's not worth it anymore. He'd told himself that so many times, and he'd believed himself, too. But if it was really true, than why had everything turned out all right? Why had he turned out all right? Perhaps it was the inner discernment that there were people out there that loved him…that believed that something out there was worth it. But if that was so – but it couldn't be. At the time, in all of his shattered notions, he hadn't believed that there were people like that out there. People that wanted him, that needed him to survive. Sure, there was Ellen, who'd taken him under her wing for an unaccountable period of time and provided retreat on those deathly silent days, but even she had forsaken him in the end. And he hadn't even considered Lance at the time – Lance had hated him. Lance had wanted him to die, to suffer, to burn in hell. Lance hadn't wanted him to survive. But if that was all true…well, then what? Lance hadn't ever loved him? Lance had truly, honestly, wanted him to die? But dying was just an escape…

A faint smile tugged at Pietro's lips as he remembered that timeless Hollywood cliché, 'dying is the easy way out…it's living that's the hard part.' God, that didn't make sense right now. How could it possibly be true, if…if…there were so many flip sides to every possibility on earth? How could it mean something when everything was nothing, yet something made sense?

Almost a year ago, his car had broken down and he'd been forced to take a shortcut through an alley to wait for a taxi. Embodied by a pool of wet gray slush and freckled with flakes of new white snow, a young girl, about thirteen or fourteen, had been lying, spread-eagled, in the center of the alley, cold and unmoving in a meadow of white. She was obviously one of the many homeless drug addicts that littered the city sectors near Bayville, lost on a trip and apathetic to the fact that she looked ridiculous. He'd sidestepped her, but after a moment's hesitation, he'd stopped and tossed her a second glance. A veil of whitish mist had floated from between her thin blue lips, and he'd felt his heart drop to the floor as he watched her; so cold, so detached from a cold detached world and cold detached people. She'd blinked twice, wet flakes of snow tangling with her eyelashes and melting against her warm skin, and he'd taken a cautious step forward, suddenly so intent on being the good Samaritan. "Are you all right, kiddo?" He'd called hoarsely, kneeling beside her thin frame. "Do you need some help?" Obviously she wasn't all right and obviously she'd needed help, but the lump in his throat had forced those words from his lips. She'd blinked in reply; not shifting her gaze to him or even making any motion to show that she recognized his presence. He'd stared at her for a moment, then reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone. At the shrill beeping that emanated from the small receiver, the girl had shivered and shot straight up, thick clumps of dirty slush stuck to her hair and back. "Hash for fifty dollars!" She'd shrieked hysterically, tugging at her coat. "I won't sell it to you, Dad! No – I don't want your help, Mom! Were you ever there when I needed you?! Don't patronize me, you bitch!" Then she'd bolted.

Long after, he'd stood there and stupidly wondered what was wrong with her.

~Fifteen Years Before~

Pietro drummed his fingers against the arms of his chair, boredly taking in his surroundings. It was a small, square office room, with generic beige curtains thrown across the windows and several uninteresting still-life portraits speckling the walls. At the desk before him sat a stern-looking black woman in her late fifties, a pair of steel-rimmed glasses fixed precisely upon her nose and a disdainful frown resting on her lips.

"So you must be the Pietro Maximoff that I've heard so much about," she said sharply, staring at him. "Tell me, why do you have to cause so much trouble around here?"

Pietro shrugged and gazed out the window, not bothering to answer. This was the third psychiatrist he'd met with in the past two weeks.

"Look at me when I talk to you."

At this impatient command, Pietro scowled and turned back to the heavyset woman before him. "I was just wondering if it was gonna snow." He said, leaning back in his chair and studying his hands.

"It shouldn't matter, because you won't be leaving for another four months," the woman replied lightly. Pietro glowered at her, but she ignored him and continued. "My name's Ellen Kinyon, but we should probably get to know each other on a first name basis. You'll be around for a while."

"Unfortunately," Pietro remarked rudely, swinging his feet right on to her desk and disregarding her aggravated expression. "Hurry up and get this over with."

Ellen smiled sweetly in reply. "I'm afraid we can't do that until you get your feet off my desk."

Pietro glanced over in feigned surprise. "Did I? Whoops, sorry about that." He grinned apologetically and dragged his feet off the wood, leaving behind a trail of dirt. "So lets get started."

Ellen nodded and wiped the grime away with a tissue. "Thank you. Why don't we start with the basics, Pietro?"

"Great," Pietro agreed.

"I understand that you're here for grand auto theft," Ellen said smoothly, eyeing the unconcerned boy in front of her through steel-rimmed glasses.

Pietro didn't look up. "That's right."

"If you don't mind my asking, why on earth would you steal a car?" Ellen asked. "Don't you have one?"

Pietro blinked and turned on the African-American woman, a slight frown suspended on his lips. "If you don't mind my asking, what the hell kinda stupid question is that? Don't you have a fuckin' brain?"

Ellen looked furious, but Pietro pretended not to notice; instead, he turned back to the window and started to whistle loudly.

"You listen here, young man," Ellen said in strained calm after a frenetic silence. "I won't tolerate your bad-mouthing in here while you're with me. Maybe all the other psychiatrists put up with it, but I tell you, I have had it up to here with all you disrespectful teenag – "

"Like I haven't heard that fuckin' line before!" Pietro exclaimed to the window. He turned back to Ellen, a cynical sneer playing on his lips. "Don't tell me, Mrs. oh-I'm-different-than-the-rest-I-want-to-help-severely-disturbed-teenagers-like-you-but-until-you-train-that-potty-mouth-of-yours-to-stay-shut-I'm-not-gonna-help-shit, you just hate blasphemy!" When Ellen opened her mouth to retort, Pietro added cheerfully, "Sorry about that, I meant shoot. What has gotten into teenagers these days, huh?"

Shaking with anger, Ellen glowered across the desk at Pietro, completely lost for words in all of her rage. "You – you learn some respect, young man – " she sputtered, her dark face reddening.

"Or what? You'll banish me from the sanctity that is your office?" Pietro laughed out loud. "That's funny. Please do. I've had it up to here with all of you cracked-up fuckholes that wouldn't recognize reality unless someone fuckin' crammed it up your ass. Oh wait – " He slapped himself on the forehead in feigned comprehension, "you can't! You can't tell me to fuck off and kick my ungrateful ass to the street! It's your job to help poor misled delinquents to find the guiding light! You understand my sarcasm because you just want to help! Gosh, I'm so not perceptive…" He clucked his tongue against the side of his mouth. "No offense or anything, but you should learn to keep your fuckin' cool. The other pussies did a better job than you. Maybe then, your crack delinquents will appreciate you more." He shrugged innocently and gestured toward the window. "It looks like snow, don't it?"

Ellen glared at him for a minute and pursed her lips, clearly searching for an appropriate reply. "Let's move on," she said finally through clenched teeth.

"Okay."

"I understand that you're living with two other teenage boys. One is a year older than you, and the other is in rehab, I believe?"

"You got it."

"How's life with them?" Ellen asked, by now regaining some of her professional composure.

Pietro looked annoyed. "Shit and giggles, fuckass."

Ellen fidgeted in her chair angrily, obviously yearning to tell him off again. "Thank you. I meant, any financial problems I should know about? Emotional? Physical?"

"Well, besides that time that Lance tied me down and raped me, nothing," Pietro said thoughtfully. Ellen smiled sarcastically in reply and scribbled something on her notepad before looking up again. "What about Frederick Dukes? Are you okay with what happened to him?"

"With what?" Pietro asked in blank pretentiousness. "What do you mean, with what happened to him?"

Ellen frowned and looked nervous, obviously not realizing that Pietro knew perfectly well what she was talking about. "You know…how he passed…?"

"Oh! You mean how he died?" Pietro practically yelled, his eyes widening. "I don't know, Ellen. That's a touchy subject. I'd rather not…I'd rather not go there, if you know what I mean."

The older woman's eyes narrowed angrily, and she slammed his folder onto her desk, sending a scattering of papers across the floor. "How do you feel about it, Pietro?" She demanded.

Pietro shrugged. "I dunno. Am I supposed to feel? What if I'm still in shock?"

Ellen sighed. "What about Lance Alvers and Todd Tolensky? How do you think they felt?"

Pietro shrugged again. "Lance was a hitman in his previous life, and Todd's part frog. How do you think they felt?" He laughed roughly. "I'll give you a hint. They didn't give a shit."

"Don't lie to me, young man," Ellen said cuttingly, "everyone at this clinic knows the reason that Todd Tolensky went to rehabilitation was because he couldn't deal with Mr. Dukes' death. He got addicted to heroin and was going through withdrawal when you and Mr. Alvers decided to lock him up. He'll remain there for another year, and doctors are tight-lipped about his progress. Now how do you think he felt?" She looked up to smirk triumphantly at Pietro, but was shocked to see his face as white as a mask and his pale eyes smoldering with barely suppressed choleric.

"Fuck – you," he spat, gripping the sides of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Don't fuckin' sit there and gossip my fuckin' life away. You don't know fuckin' shit – you don't know what the hell I've been through and you don't know a motherfuckin' shit about my family. If you say one more word about them, I'm gonna fuckin' go over there and kill you."

There was a temporary silence; Pietro seething in soundless rage and Ellen frozen in shock.

"Get on with it," Pietro said finally, his voice still quivering. "And not one more word."

Ellen nodded wordlessly and cleared her throat, pretending to study her pad of notes for a moment. "Um…are you having any problems here? With the other – boys?"

Pietro shook his head.

Ellen nodded and stared at her notes again. "Um – " she opened her mouth to ask another pointless question, but something entirely different came out from between her lips. "I'm sorry," she blurted out, and immediately cringed, half-expecting Pietro to whip a pistol out of his pocket and start shooting wildly. He didn't, though, and she peered up fearfully.

Pietro stared at her, his fists clenched and his breath coming in gasps. "Don't…fuckin' go there."

"I mean, I'm sorry for my insensitivity," Ellen rambled on nervously, ignoring his warning. "I didn't realize that your family was…that important to you, and I know I should have, being your psychiatrist. But…but I'm glad to see it, because most – most kids that come in here don't care about anything…or anyone, and that's really sad to me – I'm glad to see someone different. Um…" She trailed off anxiously, waiting for his response. When nothing came, though, she started up again, her apprehensive voice thudding heavily upon the air. "Um…I'm truly sorry about what happened to Mr. Dukes, I didn't mean to be so rude – but I'm glad that you still care – like I said, there's so many indifferent kids here, it's a little terrifying…what I mean is, there's hope for you yet…" She smiled uneasily at Pietro, searching his eyes for some sort of gratitude, or at least a response.

He shook his head and stared at his hands, not meeting her inquiring gaze. "There's hope for you, too," he whispered hoarsely.

~Present Time~

Bright circles of twin yellow light swung across Pietro's line of vision, temporarily blinding him as a boxy car sped past him, pelting him with moist slush. He ignored it and walked on, kicking a rock with the toe of his shoe. He was nearing the local road; he could make out the faintly glowing streetlights of his apartment complex about a half mile away. He'd been walking for about three hours, and his cheeks and fingers had long since numbed with cold. Part of him yearned for the comforting warmth of the indoors, while another wanted to walk forever, through miles upon miles of frigid white snow and ice, until his shoes would wear away and his bare feet would bleed crimson fingers into the immaculate powder beneath them. He wanted to walk and walk and walk, regardless of every vestige that composed his life into what it had now become: a bare, robotic realm of bittersweet memories sugar-coated in hills of sticky paperwork. He wanted the memories back, because as long as he had pushed them away and even forgotten about them, he couldn't help but realize, now, how exquisite they truly were. They provided something for him that banks stuffed with money nor hours brimming with savory workloads ever would – they provided an inner knowledge that somewhere, sometime in his life (or had it been someone else's?) he'd felt something for the people around him. Did he miss the feeling? Did he truly, deep-down, want that back? Emotions were irresolute, inconstant, yet unchangeable once struck hard enough. Did he really want the unpredictability, along with the joy and pleasure and happiness, back in his life? Even now, he wasn't sure.

A faint kiss of airiness caressed his cheek, and he glanced up, surprised, to see the navy sky suddenly dotted with lightly descending white snowflakes. They were the kind that felt like cotton candy in your mouth, lacking the sugariness of the former but sweetly dipping onto your tongue and melting like the saccharine virginity that they were. He slowly turned his face heavenwards and opened his mouth, letting the featherweight fine grains dangle tantalizingly between his lips, then slowly drift down onto his warm tongue. They felt cool and refreshing against his face, and he reveled in the tiny relics of a memory that were carved in his mind as each delicate snowflake airbrushed his skin. It had been a time so long ago, even longer than Ellen, or rehab, or drugs, or the mindbending stress that had turned each day into a living hell. It had been another lifetime, when things were lighter and colors were brighter.

It had been beautiful.

And it had been snowing.

~Sixteen Years Ago~

Pietro sighed loudly and pressed his nose up against the window, moodily taking in the thick swirling snow that clouded the air outside. The dizzying white maelstrom made visibility completely nonexistent, and it was thanks to the stupid blizzard that he couldn't go anywhere. Stupid snow…

He glowered at his faint reflection in the window and made a face. He was completely wired from the two triple mocha cappucinos he'd swilled down nearly an hour ago, and all of the excess energy and lack of anything to do was making him incredibly jumpy. Lance was busy arguing with some tax jerk on the phone, Todd was fixated in a zombie-like trance in front of the television, and Fred was busy fixing himself a double-decker ham sandwich.

Which all in turn left he, Pietro Maximoff, extremely bored. He sighed again and turned to stare at Todd on the couch. The younger boy had been watching some lame-ass talk shows for the past two hours and refused to speak to anybody, let alone let them change the channel. Pietro sighed again, louder this time, and glared pointedly at him. Todd ignored him for a few minutes until a commercial came on; then frostily addressed the speed demon. "Stop groaning, yo! You're giving me a headache." And with those simple words of wisdom, he glued his eyes back on the television. Pietro gritted his teeth and turned back to the window, drumming his thin fingers against the ledge rapidly. He'd already made (and downed) two triple mocha cappucinos, prank-called the X-freaks twice, run around the house screaming at the top of his lungs forty-nine times, played with Todd's hair, reorganized the fridge twice, reorganized the living room twice, reorganized his room twice, and sang 'ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall' over twenty times. The latter had oddly given him motion sickness after the twenty-third round, so he was forced to desist, much to Todd's relief.

He glared at the tassels of snow being tossed around by the wind. If it weren't for them, he would have been able to go somewhere…Lance's angry voice rose above the sound of the television, and he winced inwardly, wondering just what the hell the tax-loser had done wrong now. Lance could be exceedingly nasty when he got worked up, and nowadays, he was always worked up. Pietro wasn't completely positive, because Lance refused to tell him anything, but he was pretty sure that the older boy was damn in over his head with things most eighteen-year olds should never be.

Whatever…Pietro sighed and turned back to the window. Damn snow…He was furiously glaring at the white powder when a lightbulb went off in his ever-vigorous head. Snow…Todd…snow…Todd…snow and Todd…Todd and snow…He grinned to himself and reached for the window latch. As soon as he opened the window, a tremendous gust of icy wind nearly knocked him to the floor. Todd stared incredulously at him and let loose a string of obscenities when he saw what Pietro was doing. "Shut the window, yo! I'm gonna freeze to death!"

"And wouldn't that be a shame," Pietro replied sarcastically, feeling a brief flicker of excitement dart through his system as he casually made a snowball from the snow on the ledge. He smiled again and turned on Todd, who was swearing loudly at him but was too lazy to actually get up and stop him. "You throw that at me, yo, and I swear – " Thwap. Pietro couldn't help but utter the tiniest of giggles as the snowball met Todd square in the face. The younger boy started to sputter incoherently as he clawed the snow out of his eyes, and Pietro laughed wickedly in reply and started pelting him with snowballs. Thwap thwap thwap thwap thwap!

Todd soon gave up his efforts to wipe his face off and instead, elicited a girlish shriek and leaped in Pietro's general direction. The older boy easily dodged him and, laughing maniacally, he sped into the kitchen, where Lance was cussing his heart out on the phone and Fred was wolfing down his towering sandwich. Pietro quickly opened the back door and armed himself with ten snowballs just as Todd wheeled into the kitchen, skidding slightly on the linoleum. "Get ready to – "

" – die?" Pietro offered politely, nailing Todd with all ten snowballs, one after the other.

"What're you doing?" Fred asked, looking politely confused through a mouthful of ham and lettuce.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Lance yelled at the same time as the snowballs went flying over his head. "Shut the – I'm not talking to you – no, this isn't a bad time! No, you won't call me back – hang up and I'll go over there and kick your ass – "

Todd was temporarily distracted by Lance's purpling face, and Pietro took advantage of the moment to dart forward…and fall flat on his ass, owing to the large amount of melted snow that splattered the floor. "Damn!" He squealed, immediately rubbing his tender backside. "Damn, my beautiful ass! I think it's bruising!"

"Ha!" Todd crowed evilly, planting his hands on his hips. "Serves you right, yo."

"Serves no one right," Pietro snapped, gingerly getting to his feet. "Ofcoursedamagingyourswoulddefinitelyservetheworldgreatly." He grinned craftily and, before Todd could decipher his rapid speech, he had grabbed the younger boy by the collar and tossed him out the open back door and into two feet of very cold snow. Just like in the movies…Pietro gaped at his perfectly executed pitch, thoroughly amazed by his good aim. Whoops. He smiled again as Todd started to sputter furiously, his words muffled by the snow. He hadn't actually meant to throw Todd outside…he'd sort of figured that the guy would stop himself, or at least maintain his balance instead of crashing face-first into the snow.

"Pietro, you idiot!" Lance bellowed, dropping the phone.

"Man, you's gonna pay for that, yo!" Todd yelled, pulling himself to his feet. His reddened face was spotted with clumps of snow and so was his hair, along with a big chunk of peculiarly yellow snow. "Come out and fight me like a man!" He shouted furiously, completely oblivious to what was on his head.

At this, Pietro burst into a fit of hysterical giggles, Fred chuckled, and even Lance cracked a grin. Angry shouting emanated from the receiver on the floor, but they all ignored it.

"Todd, sweetheart," Pietro said kindly, "you're going wee-wee the wrong way again." Lance burst out laughing, and Todd looked dementedly confused.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He demanded suspiciously, eyeing the three smiling older boys.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Pietro said mildly, while at the same time Fred blurted out, "there's dog piss on your head!"

Todd's face paled slightly, and his hand went up to investigate. "Ew…yo!" He screeched upon locating the yellowed snow and hurriedly brushing it off of his head. "That's not funny!"

"For your confused lower privities, it most certainly is not," Pietro replied gravely, shaking his head.

"You – you…" Todd shook his fist angrily and actually stomped his foot, causing Lance and Pietro to laugh even harder.

"Is anyone else wondering why the hell a dog's peeing in our backyard?" Lance choked out, his face painted in all different shades of purple and red.

"Lighten up, Todd," Fred said soothingly, shooting the other boys a reproachful look, even as his own lips twitched with harnessed laughter. "It's just a little bit of snow."

"Just a – just a little bit of snow?" Todd repeated furiously. "Just a little bit of snow? I'll show you a little bit of snow, yo!" For from being grateful for the large boy's defense, he bent over and hurled the chunk of yellow snow at him, but luckily, (or unluckily) his aim was more than a little off, and it plopped harmlessly on the linoleum.

Pietro found this hilarious and Freddy finally broke down and let out a snicker, but there was one person in the kitchen that was not at all happy.

"Todd, you retard!" Lance roared, his expression going from chortling to rabidly psychotic in about a quarter of a millisecond. "Not in the house!"

"Yeah Todd, not in the house!" Pietro echoed, waggling his finger annoyingly. He cackled delightedly, and this seemed to strike a nerve with Lance. The next thing he knew, he was lying face-down in a heap of shockingly cold snow. "Oh my God," he whined, tugging his face out of the snow. "Lance! Why'd you do tha – " He was abruptly cut off by someone (most probably Todd) sitting on his head. He gagged on a mouthful of snow and tried to speak, but all he got was more snow. In the distance, he could hear Todd, Fred, and Lance's muffled laughter.

"You're gonna die," he huffed, but it probably sounded more like, 'moo-gun-mie' to anyone that may have heard him. He tried to continue, but a chunk of snow got caught in his throat, and he started having difficulty breathing. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Todd got off of him and he wrenched his face out of the snow and sucked in several mouthfuls of much-beloved oxygen. It was oddly silent, and he frowned mid-gulp and looked around suspiciously. Just as he had predicted, Lance and Todd were poised behind him, snowballs in hand and ready to fly. Fred, oddly, was off in the distance, making a snowman. Pietro grinned at the latter observation and ducked right before the snowballs could hit, and, before Todd and Lance had time to wonder where he had gone, they were both gagging on snow.

"Muhahahaha!" Pietro yelled evilly, dashing up behind them and starting to circle them in mad figure-eights.

"No fair!" Lance sputtered furiously, vainly attempting to defend himself from Pietro's wrath. The ground started to tremble beneath them, and in the background, Fred let out a cry of frustration. "Lance! You wrecked it!" The older boy turned and stared at the forlorn boy to see him standing next to a pile of snow nearly as tall as him. "You're gonna get it!" He started running toward Lance, who immediately panicked and let loose another huge tremor. Pietro wobbled unsteadily in his path of destruction, and fell to the ground. He was immediately bombarded by a torrent of snowballs and sinister laughter. "You're gonna die for that!" He announced threateningly, only to be answered by more laughter and a bunch of snowballs hitting the back of his neck. He could hear Freddy's thundering footsteps approaching, and, sure enough, Lance's alarmed cries came soon after. Some more snowballs hit the back of his neck, the cold bits of ice sliding under the collar of his shirt and down his back. He looked down, mildly surprised, to realize for the first time that he was wearing a cotton T-shirt, a pair of sweatpants with holes in the knees, and no socks in the middle of winter. Better yet, in the middle of winter and in the midst of an evil snowstorm when the temperature was easily five below.

"Hey guys," he started, turning to the other three, "do you – " He didn't get to finish, because he was immediately besieged by a throng of green snowballs, specially slimed by Todd's good taste, and he was too busy dodging about and chucking snowballs for the rest of the evening to remember the utter absurdity of the whole situation. Or the utter brilliance. He had yet to decide.

~Present Time~

Jagged shadows of eerie blackness sliced through the street, giving it a strange broken glass appearance with the slivers of lamplight slashed by angular claws of ebony. Pietro's plodding footsteps echoed along the silent street, only occasionally interrupted by a passing car, while a fuzzy splattering of stars glowed blearily in the distance, having overtaken the ephemeral fall of snow. His apartment complex stood about a block away, and for reasons he found difficult to explain to himself, he'd taken every side street and alleyway that he could. Perhaps he'd wanted this epiphany to last a little longer than the snowfall had – and create a more lasting impression. For the snow would eventually melt away with the passing sun, leaving behind nothing on the barren concrete sidewalks. But this epiphany – was that the right word? – maybe it would create a permanent set of footprints somewhere in his hardened insides and – and what? Just stay there? Change him into the better man that he wasn't sure that he wanted to be? Give him the emotion that he so desired – and so despised?

Pietro shrugged to himself and turned sharply into an alley between two apartment buildings, his shoes clicking assuredly against the lightly powdered concrete. A streetlight sent weak rays of sickly yellow light across the opening to the other side, somehow uncannily looking like a gateway to heaven in the midst of an acidulous hell. Pietro glanced at his feet, and when he looked up again, the light flickered. He blinked, and stopped. Did streetlights flicker…? He squinted into the empty egress, vainly attempting to locate the cause of the disturbance. Seeing nothing, he shrugged and moved on until he stood in the faint luminescence of the light. To his left, there was a sudden flash of movement, and he whipped around in time to see a filthy young man with longish hair and an apparent slouch, his hands outstretched towards Pietro's coat. "Hey!" Pietro yelled, violently swinging around and giving the man a hard shove, easily sending him sprawling onto the concrete. A little too easily…most muggers weren't that delicate, were they?

Grunting loudly as he hit the sidewalk, the man rolled over and sprinted around the corner and out of sight. Pietro stood there for a moment, his heart pounding loudly into the sudden silence. Instinctively, he reached into his coat pockets and was relieved, but not overly so, to find that his wallet and cell phone were still there. He didn't think the man had taken anything, but it never hurt to be careful. He scratched his head, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events that had taken place in less than ten seconds. He'd never heard of muggers in this part of the city…sure, there was the occasional robbery and pickpocket, but this definitely wasn't some inner-city high-crime concentration place. Pietro shrugged again and wiped at his coat where the man had touched him, inwardly disgusted by the dirt-streaks that had been left behind. That guy had most definitely been a homeless, and not a physically strong one at that, either. Why, the last time he could remember knocking someone down that easily had been…well, it hadn't been anytime recently. In fact, it had been…

Pietro frowned, groping into the darkened corners of his brain. Why did that man remind him of a certain someone? Someone…someone who had been so easy to push around – both physically and emotionally? Who had that been…?

"Todd!" Pietro yelled, taking off in a sudden sprint around the corner and into the direction that the man had gone. "Todd!" He yelled again, reaching a fork in the alleys and wheeling into the one on the left. That had to have been Todd…it had been so many years, but it was him…he knew it. The thin frame, the wildly frantic eyes, the slouched figure, the quick discouragement…it was Todd. Todd – Todd of nearly twenty years ago! Todd had lived! Todd was alive!

"Todd!" Pietro shouted again, agitated, reaching an empty and unfamiliar street. "Todd! It's me! Pietro Maximoff! Remember –?" He skidded to a stop in the middle of the street, realizing full well the hopelessness of the situation. For God's sake, Todd had run away almost five minutes ago, and he wouldn't be hanging around the close streets. And if he was, well – he could be a drug-crazed addict gone insane – he probably wouldn't remember a boy of nearly two decades ago. How could he? It had been so long…

Pietro sighed loudly into the silence, the volume of his heartbeat slowly diminishing in his ears. Of course it hadn't been Todd. He was just fooling himself. The boy had run away from rehab at the age of fifteen – sixteen? Pietro couldn't even remember anymore. In any case, he had been a boy then – he'd left a place that seemed hateful to his inexperienced eyes and returned home to love – or to a poor imitation. For decayed alleys crusted over in mildew and death could never be considered home…a trip spurred by deceitful sensuality in the form of white grains couldn't truly be considered love, could it? But then, if it was not so, what was it? Lust? Greed? Corruption? Beguiling crystals that kissed the insides of one who had been burned, only wanting to provide some consolation?

Pietro shook his head resignedly, and walked on. He didn't know the answers. He didn't want the answers. He didn't want to know if Todd had rotted away in a dumpster two days after he'd run away; he didn't want to know if Todd was still out there, breathing crystals and living another realm. He didn't want to know if Lance had truly hated him and wanted to kill him; he didn't want to know if Fred had died to faded lights and screaming voices…he didn't want to know. Anything. All he wanted was a paycheck and a nice apartment and a time-consuming occupation – he didn't want a family, or happiness, or a little bit of feeling, or something besides a black and white existence. He didn't want. He just didn't.

He reached a familiar street and found himself standing before his own apartment complex. The parking lot was silent and deserted, void of movement or life. A deep sigh escaped his lips, half in relief, half in remorse. Well, this was what he wanted. This was what he needed. To step into a warm apartment room and flick on the television, then melt into someone else's problems – someone else's emotion. He started moving quickly toward his own building and hurried up the steps and through the heavy aluminum door. He was immediately encompassed by a sauna of warm air blowing on his face from the radiator and immense relief in his heart that he had made it this far. He had made it. He had defeated them. Of course, what "them" was, he wasn't quite sure…he moved towards his door, the one with the numbers two-five-three etched into the brass plate. His hand slowly reached out to rest upon a greasy doorknob, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the curve. He had made it. He had made it. He was where he wanted to be.

A sheen of perspiration cloaked his pale skin, and he was faintly surprised to hear blood throbbing in his ears. Could he really do this? If he walked into that room, then everything – the memories, the discomfort, the trickle of something distinctly hot and scorching in his system – it would all fall away. But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? To be unfettered, to be freed.

Or to be enslaved.

"Fuck!" Pietro yelled, slamming a fist into the door. Swinging angrily on his heel, he tore out of the building. It was silent for days after that.

End of Story

Authors Notes – Yayyy!!! It's all done! It's over! This fic is history! ^_^ I hope you enjoyed! I realize the ending was weirdly obscure, and somewhat morbid-seeming, but in all honesty, it really wasn't. It's open for interpretation, although I do have my own meaning in mind. Did Pietro leave to die because he couldn't handle it? Or did he leave to get it all back…? Personally, I'm leaning toward the latter, but you can think what you want. Anyway, if you want an explanation or don't understand something (I probably messed something up along the way) then feel free to tell me about it in reviews or email me at [email protected] and I'll de-confuse you. Or I'll confuse you even more. I confuse myself sometimes. Er…oh, and WATCH OUT for my soon-to-come fic Footprints in the Sky! It's Evo, of course, and BH ANGSTY yumminess! I love the Brotherhood! It'll be a chapter fic, and I've gotten part of it written already so it should be out in a week (knowing me, probably two) and it's less freaky scary druggie angst and more…sad teenager drama angst. Like, it's about how the BH came together starting with the second episode of X-Men: Evo…okay, never mind, you'll see soon enough. SO WATCH OUT THAT…please. AND REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!