Nicholas: Ooo, this...was inspired by another one of Brumeier's songfics. But I didn't put it in "Yes, Your Majesty" because it isn't in that universe. This one actually should be a sequel to another fic that I haven't finished writing yet. This is the aftermath of the fire that killed Hatter's parents and cost him his arm. It should make sense. If it doesn't then...just shoot me, I guess. I'm on pain meds right now. Coherence isn't gonna happen.

Also, they curse a lot in this...a lot more than I had intended. ^_^ My bad.

Disclaimer: I'm not that crazy. I'm only this crazy. That? That's all them.

Rating: M...cursing, some disturbing imagery, implied homosexual goings on, some violence, angst, angst, angst, and some angst. Oh and angst out the wazoo!

Act of Remembrance, by The Proclaimers

Arms of steel, hair of gold

Royal blue eyes, with a rebel's soul

You scared me, you still do

But I loved you more than you ever knew

This is my act of remembrance

My act of remembrance

Ooooo, ooooo

Doctor's face said the time had come

I stood up and began to run

My boy's voice called your name

You wrote back and silence came

This my act of remembrance

My act of remembrance

Ooooo, ooooo

Drove my car to your street

Hoped a ghost I would meet

Well that ghost, he's moved on, yeah

But his anger died years ago

Is the pain gone? Is it all gone?

This is my act of remembrance

My act of remembrance

Oooooo, ooooo

This is my act of remembrance

Oh, yeah

Woah, yeah

Words.

They were stupid words. Unimportant. Just names etched into a stone wall. Two stupid names among a multitude of others. Other people that had lived and died in retaliation of the complete idiocy that was the Queen of Hearts and her empire. The names were arranged in bunches, blocks bordered by a deep crease in the rock. Hatter had to sit on his knees to be eye level with his parents' square.

For a good part of the morning and even some of the night before, he'd been sitting, unmoving, with a knife clenched in his right hand. Only…it wasn't his hand. He could still feel the black burn of smoke in his lungs, the heat from the fire stinging his flesh. He would have died. When that metal cabinet had fallen on him, pinned his damned right arm down, he would have died—should have. There were only vague memories after that, as he'd teetered on the edge of consciousness. So much pain, someone talking to him, then he was being carried out into the fresh night air while his entire world suffocated, shriveled up and died in the flames…like a fly into the damn candle.

March had saved him. Apparently, the psychopath had run after him, intent on fucking everything up. Hatter remembered the pain, it still throbbed like a phantom ache in his shoulder. He could almost bring to mind the look on March's face as that crazy bastard cut off his damned right arm. It was the fastest way to get you out of there, he'd said, before the entire building went down on our heads.

"No one asked you to follow me," Hatter muttered, voice dry and hoarse.

"Stop your whinin' already," came a voice from behind. "They fixed ya."

Absently, Hatter looked down at his right hand—clutched tight around the knife. It was several shades darker than the rest of his body. Because it wasn't his arm. It wasn't his fucking arm. Raising his eyes, he looked up at the name just above his father's. Gryphon—his arm donor—had tried so hard to keep Hatter from running in, had practically wrestled him down. He probably could have saved him…But Gryphon didn't run in after him—March did.

Raising his knife, Hatter pressed the tip into the first letter of his Mother's name. "Fuck you, March," he hissed. With that eerie, freakish strength that the Carpenter had injected into his damned right arm, he dragged the blade through the solid stone over and over again until the words were completely gone.

"You're so emotional." There was disgust in March's voice.

"Fuck you, March," he repeated. The tip of the knife broke off, but Hatter just dug the ragged metal into his father's name and dragged. He punctuated his words with harsh strokes. "Fuck. You. March."

"Why you doin' that?"

"Fuck you…"

"Hatter, just—"

"Fuck. You."

"Damn it, Hatter, stop it!"

The same split second that March reached down to grab Hatter's shoulder, he almost got knifed in the neck with a broken blade. Instinct had him stumbling back at the last minute; he fell onto his ass and just sat there staring uncertainly at his friend. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"How can you work for her!" Hatter demanded vehemently. He was on his feet like quick silver, slamming a foot into March's chest and point the ragged tip of his knife at him. "How can you go back and grovel to that evil bitch every day! I hate you! I hate you, you stupid, cowardly, son of a—" His back hit the wall and his head smacked the stone with a sharp pain before he registered what happened. March had hit him.

As the knife clattered away into the distance, March dragged his friend down to the ground and pinned him, arms and legs. Almost immediately, Hatter started screaming and squirming despite the pain in his head. He called March every name in the book and accused him of everything he could. All of the pain and the stress and absolute terror was all March's fault. "You killed them, didn't you, you bastard! Psychotic, unfeeling, raving teahead. I hope she cuts your goddamned, stupid, fucking head off!" and things to that effect. At length, March got fed up; he growled and leaned down and bit Hatter on the neck to shut him the hell up.

Everything stopped.

Hatter went completely limp.

Silence filled the space around them, the chilled breeze of morning dissipated, and March just tightened his jaw to make sure his message was clear. With a quiet, pained whimper, Hatter finally surrendered, laying still, silent, glistening tears painting his face. He felt so much pain, so much loss and fear and hopelessness. Somehow, it had all slipped through his fingers—like the finest grains of sand in a sieve—and he didn't know what to do. So he just lay there and cried and cried and cried. "I'm sorry," he sobbed eventually.

"Ya should be." But March's tone was soft. He ran his tongue gently over the reddening bite mark on Hatter's throat. "All that's happened, ya damn well should be sorry. Sorry for fuckin' up, sorry for yourself, sorry for Gryphon. But damn it, Hatter, no one in Wonderland gets quite as sorry as you do. So just stop it already."

This said, he released the Hatter's wrists and instead ran his fingers through the unruly hair, slipping under and knocking off the man's trademark hat. "You're crazy," he stated flatly.

"Thanks." Sniffling lightly, Hatter managed a mockery of a smile.

March looked down, straight down and down and down, into the hallow, shattered depths of Hatter's chocolate brown eyes. There used to be so much life there, a twinkle and a wink. Now…March felt a very unfamiliar twinge in his chest. He didn't know what it was, but it gave him a dire urge to just…so he did. He leaned down over Hatter and pressed their lips together, trying to draw all of that bitterness and pain out with a kiss.

It didn't work.

"Let's get home," he moaned quietly when he felt Hatter's warm hands wrap around his shoulders.

Awkwardly, Hatter turned his head and looked up the wall—at the scratches he'd created over his parents' names. They were deep and white and he was certain that no one could fix it. No one could go back and make them another couple of names on a wall again. They were his now. He had no doubt that by this time tomorrow he would be the only one to remember their names. That was good, that was right. They were his and now he would keep them for the rest of his short life.

He nodded slowly and March got up. "Home," he repeated oddly as he stood.

"You're stayin' with me, of course," March stated, leaving no room for argument, "So try to keep up." With that, he walked off toward the city, sparing no second look back to make sure Hatter was following.

Hatter just smiled a ghost of a smile and went after him.