AN: I may or may not have lost track of time... Sorry about that. Really really really sorry.

London, UK, December 1988

For a long, hazy moment, he expected to see his parents when he woke up. He expected to be in his bed in his room in Manchester, with his parents standing by the bed, watching him. He expected everything to be back to normal.

Slowly, the residues of the dream faded. Recent memories filled his head. Living with Christie and her family. Coming to London. Begging for money in the streets. A lonely Christmas. Lying down in the lot full of trees, doubting he would ever wake up again.

He was alive.

He sat up, still not opening his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, feeling around with his hands to find his backpack. It was right next to him, where he must have left it the night before. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. A part of him wanted to hold on to the dreams, where his home and his parents waited for him.

"Is that a kid?" He heard a voice calling somewhere in front of him.

In an instant, his eyes flew open. Whether he wanted to or not, he had to get up now. He moved purely on instincts, the only thought in his head being that he has to get out of there. Whoever it was who spoke, he was almost certain the very fact he was spotted meant danger to him.

He was still in the same lot in which he fell asleep. It seemed strange, but there were people around, walking down the streets, seemingly to their jobs and schools. It didn't make sense. Unless he was asleep for longer than he thought.

There's time to think about that later, his mind urged him, and he nodded to himself as he hurried to get up. In front of him, a man and a woman were walking in his direction, all the while looking at him, as though they were trying to make sure he doesn't run away. They both seemed to be in good shape, but after living in the streets for several weeks, he doubted they could catch up with him if he started running.

He took a deep breath and raised his hand, beginning to wave at them. They stopped, looking at him in surprise mixed with suspicion, and he took one step in their direction before quickly turning around and running the other way around.

"Hey, kid!" The man called out, and before long he could hear their footsteps on the cold, frozen ground behind him. He kept running, ignoring them, and looked around for a way out. As far as he saw that night, there was only one entrance to the lot, but maybe if he ran a circle, he could get back to it without getting caught.

Luckily, some of the trees were small, and he could easily slide underneath the lowest branches, even where the two chasing him couldn't. Before long, he reached the gate through which he entered, and with a relieved sigh, he reached out to open it.

A hand grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"I've got him!" The woman called out next to him.

He turned his head to look at her. She seemed young and had short black hair and inquisitive brown eyes. She was looking back at him with a frown, but he thought she must've looked better if she smiled. Not that it mattered to him or helped him in any way.

"Please let me go," He managed, his voice hoarse. Was it the illness or the amount of time he slept? He wasn't sure.

Her face turned surprised as released his arm. He wasn't sure whether she was surprised at the fact she let him go or she let him go because he surprised her, but it didn't matter. He took a shaky breath and hurried to leave.

"He didn't take anything-" He heard the man's voice say, but he kept moving quickly, and soon enough he couldn't hear either of them. They were both gone.

He let the crowd carry him as he tried to put the latest events into an order that made some sort of sense. Obviously, he fell asleep in that lot. Also obviously, he slept for a very long time. It wasn't Christmas Day, and it clearly wasn't Boxing Day, either. Did he sleep for two days straight?

No, he didn't. He shook his head slightly as he vaguely remembered waking up. He woke up several times – some of the times he could feel the sun against his skin, but in the others he could only feel the cold. Days and nights? Probably.

First thing's first, he needed to find somewhere to drink. He felt so thirsty – he could've sworn he'd never been this thirsty. He needed water, and he needed something to eat. No wonder he was feeling so weak; if he hadn't drunk or eaten in two days, it was a wonder he could get up on his feet at all. Perhaps it was the adrenaline and the sense of danger. In that case, he had no doubt it would soon fade.

As he crossed another street, he remembered he still had food and some water in his backpack. He ate most of what he had in his Christmas dinner, but he did leave something for later, exactly because he knew that if he does wake up, he'd wake up hungry. Sudden relief filling him, he sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, as far away from people as he could, and started rummaging through his backpack.

He began panicking when he couldn't find anything edible. He was certain he'd left something for the next morning – where was it? It couldn't just disappear. Did someone sneak up on him while he was asleep and stole it? It had to have been it.

A relieved breath escaped his lips as he found the bottle he'd left there. But even before it was completely out of the backpack he knew there was nothing in it. It was too light. It could only mean it was empty.

He dropped it back into the backpack, thinking. It was still possible that someone saw his backpack and took his food and water, but then, why would they leave the bottle to him? They wouldn't. Not when he could wake up any moment. Even if someone tried to steal from him, they wouldn't have stayed near him long enough to be caught. Not if they've got any sense of self-preservation.

Did he drink everything?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the times he woke up. There was one time he vaguely remembered feeling thirsty. Didn't his mother bring him something to drink? No, that had to have been a dream. Or possibly an hallucination. If it was an hallucination, it made sense that he drank his own water. More sense than his mother bringing him water, anyway.

That had to have been it. He remembered his parents telling him once that a human couldn't survive without water for more than three days. And he was sick; he doubted he had any chance of survival if he went through those days asleep without drinking at all.

It was a wonder he survived, really. He was sick, suffering from severe malnutrition and somewhat dehydrated; he couldn't possibly understand how he survived. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that he survived – beating all the odds. He survived.

A smile slowly spread over his lips. He survived. If that doesn't show his parents, he didn't know what will.

After he filled his bottle in the restroom of a café and ate some bread he bought, he wondered whether he should try and find a free clinic, like he'd seen on telly. It would be good to be checked by a doctor, and being used to treat the poor, they rarely asked questions. That's what they always said on telly, anyway. He'd never seen one in real life, but they had to exist somewhere, didn't they?

He no longer felt sick, but there was still a chance the illness could return, particularly with the freezing cold outside. He had to remind himself that it was still the middle of the winter – the flus were the most common at that time of the year.

Yes, he decided. He would find one of these free clinics. But that could wait for later. As long as he was still standing and there were still people outside, he had more important things to do. He needed to get more food and money.

The money was a particularly pressing issue. He needed to eat well now, at least until he's completely well. He was still feeling ill and his nose was still running, but it seemed the worst of the flu was behind him. He knew, however, that if he doesn't take care of himself now, it will return. He couldn't count on the same miracle to happen twice; it was amazing enough that he survived, but there was no way he could do it again.

What he really needed, though, was a plan. A new and better plan. Of course, it wasn't the plan's fault that he became sick, but perhaps if he had a better plan, it wouldn't have happened in the first place. He had to admit the thought was a bit of a stretch, but it was technically possible.

Perhaps he could join one of the groups he's seen. There were children – and occasionally adults – who teamed up; perhaps there was safety in numbers. They must have had somewhere to sleep, because he hardly ever saw them sleeping anywhere in the street. That would certainly protect him from the cold, at least to some extent.

It had to be worth a shot.

When the night began falling over London, Kevin began to follow a group of small, skinny children.

At first he was careful to walk far enough behind them and hide away as soon as someone turned in his direction, but after a while, he realised they didn't really care. Oddly enough, they seemed to be celebrating.

What could they be celebrating? He wondered. Was it New Year's Eve already? No, the city was too quiet for another night of celebrations. Maybe they just had a really good day – a lot of food and money gained certainly was a cause for celebration. Maybe they were just happy.

He wondered what that felt like.

"How long d'you think he's gonna follow us?" One of the kids asked, loud enough for Kevin to hear him.

He froze, even as others quickly shushed the boy who spoke. Of course they noticed him. It was naïve of him to think they wouldn't; he certainly learned to notice everything around him since he left Manchester. It was too dangerous not to be aware of your surrounding when you're living in the streets.

Realising he'd heard them, the children slowly came to a halt. There was a quick argument between a few of them, and then two of the older boys left the group and started walking in his direction.

He briefly considered giving it up and running away, but he knew they wouldn't let him get away before they found what he wanted from them. He was both outnumbered and weaker than they were – they would catch up with him, no matter what he tries.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do it. He knew he could.

"You don't see Eric cry when he goes in the sin bin, do you?" His mother's voice came to him. "Be a good, brave boy for mummy and daddy."

He straightened up. No, Eric never cried in the sin bin. He was strong. And if he was strong, Kevin could be strong, too. He'd survived his parents' torture; he could talk to these children about joining their group. He was small and skinny and good at getting people to pity him – he could certainly be useful to them.

When he opened his eyes, the boys stopped in front of him, looking at him silently. One of them seemed suspicious; the other thoughtful. Instinctively, he knew the thoughtful one had to have been the leader. There was something more calculated about him, whereas the other boy seemed to look for a fight.

He barely stopped himself before laughing out loud. As if he was a realistic opponent for a fight. As if he had anything worthy of a fight. They'd gain more by fighting a brick wall.

The thoughtful boy tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for Kevin to speak. They didn't even have to ask him anything; the question was obvious.

He cleared his throat. "I was wondering," He started, his voice still somewhat hoarse, "If perhaps…" No, that's a stupid way to say it. "I was thinking that maybe you could use an extra hand." Not good, but better.

Suspicious narrowed his eyes, but Thoughtful seemed somewhat amused. He once again raised his eyebrows as he studied Kevin, taking in his still-sickly appearance and ragged clothes. When his eyes reached Kevin's backpack, a smile hovered over his lips. Kevin instinctively took a step back, eyes focused on Thoughtful's face. He did not like that smile.

"An extra hand equals an extra mouth," Thoughtful said eventually, still studying Kevin. "We can't afford another mouth at this time of the year."

He tried not to shiver as he looked back at Thoughtful, trying to pretend he wasn't scared. "I can help," He said, as boldly as he dared.

Thoughtful's eyes darted back to Kevin's backpack before meeting his eyes. "What's in the backpack?" He asked quietly.

Kevin hesitated. He couldn't tell him about the video tapes. He certainly couldn't tell him about what little money he still had left. "My things," He said eventually. "Some personal things."

"Clothes?" Thoughtful raised his eyebrows again. "Money? Food?"

Suspicious was far easier to read than Thoughtful. A greedy look appeared on his face as he studied Kevin's backpack, clearly wondering about the "personal things" he had. Every cell in Kevin's body cried out for him to run away, but he ignored it, focusing on all he could gain from joining the group.

"Barely," He lied. "They're tapes and photos. Things from home."

Thoughtful nodded slowly, clearly not believing him. "Well," He said, "Everyone is, of course, allowed to have personal belongings. But clothes and money are everyone's. So's the food." He reached out to Kevin, who immediately took another step back. "If you want in, we need to go over that backpack."

"I…" He made the mistake of glancing at Suspicious, who was looking at him viciously. "I don't think so."

Thoughtful snorted and then smiled, but his eyes remained cold as ice. "I thought so," He said, his voice soft but with a clear sense of steel underneath. "Run along now."

He took a few steps backwards, but when neither of the boys followed him, he simply turned around and ran away, trying desperately to forget those stone-cold eyes.