Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes.

--

Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life,
their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star,
and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.

— John Muir

--

He acts an angel, smiling warmly at his mother and trying his best to do everything that he's told. He's only ten years old but the tragedy his family has known—if it can be considered tragedy and just not living—has prematurely aged him. Without his sister or his brother to protect him, he's no longer the baby. He's quickly, and maybe unwillingly, becoming a man.

There's no Sarah, there's no David, there's no Jack but, yet, he still wears a smile. There are tears in his eyes, running down a dirt-stained cheek, but he smiles because his mother needs it. Wordlessly, she asks him for it, pleads with him for it.

It's too much for him.

He's still a child at heart and he doesn't understand why everyone is leaving him. He tried to ask his mother once, shortly after David took his leave at the end of the harsh, cruel winter, but his words did nothing but return the tears to Esther's once bright blue eyes as the woman embraced her youngest son.

Don't leave me, she murmured and he, held too tight to answer her, only nodded into her soft, reassuring bosom.

But a boy can not remain locked up in an apartment forever so, when she finally lets him get out to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather, he promises in that earnest, innocent way of the child that he will return. He loves his mama, he loves his papa. He doesn't want to leave—what else is left for him out there, now that his siblings and his hero are gone?

He's a good boy, but he is too trusting. On his first outing, he tried to find his brother, to ask him to come home. And, when David only sends his brother away, he holds to the belief that David must have a reason to remain at the lodging house, without him, far from his family.

Perhaps he's holding on to Jack's place until he returns, he believes, or maybe he's trying to earn enough money that it's easier to stay with the newsboys rather than live at home.

Innocence can be a blinder and, as he does what his brother says and leaves him be, it can also be a burden.

Beyond anything else, it can be dangerous.

The air is hot and sticky but the youth doesn't feel it. The sweat collects on his brow but an absent-minded hand wipes at it as he makes his way down the street. It's an awkward step, a half run, half walk kind of gait that helps him amble his way through the afternoon crowds.

There's a new, shiny red marble clutched happily between his fingers and a peaceful, innocent smile on his face as he heads towards Duane Street. He knows that David has warned him to stay away but Tumbler wants to play marbles so he goes.

And, if he happens to catch a glimpse of his brother in the meantime, that's all the better for him. His father has been imploring him to repeat his request to David; his parents want their eldest boy home, so he won't stop trying.

He's ten years old, with the weight of the world resting on his shoulders—and, because he can't do anything else, he smiles about it.

He's still smiling when two large boys confront him, appearing out of nowhere, and striking just as quickly.

--

Their intent had been to send a simple message, to right the wrong that had occurred when Jack Kelly left and David Jacobs tried to fill his shoes.

But a message can sometime be lost in translation, and this simple message turned into a dire warning with one altogether too rough push.

In the end, it's jealousy and blame that are contagious and revenge that can be all consuming.

Consuming…

At least, when Les's small crumpled body hits the street with a thud, an angel dressed all in white is there to welcome him with open arms and a safe and loving smile.

Author's Note: Well, that's that. It started out as a way for me to express my own personal grief and, after six quick chapters and the month it took to write it, Consumption is complete. It was an excercise, definitely unlike most of the fiction in this section, and something that even I can't explain. To be honest, most of this short ficlet was written in a fog, done in short spurts on creative whims, and it doesn't make much sense to me -- and I wrote it. But it started with a cough and it ended with a death, and now the story is done.

I would like to offer my deepest thanks to anyone who read this. It's always such a pleasure to receive feedback on my writing, especially when it's something that I was very hesitant to show anyone. All I can ask is that any one reading it enjoyed it.