Attack of the killer allergies strikes again! This time, they've hit sel_barton! *Gasp*

I must fight against the onslaught with fic!

I give you... Orphanage Duo? O.o;

ANGSTY? Post Solo's death, at the church, no pairings to speak of, sick child!Duo
G rating

I... have no idea where this came from. I thought, I did sick!Heero last time, so Duo... *Kid Duo appears and demands screen time* O.o;

Solo's Rules

"Duo!" Sister Helen called, her voice echoing through the church corridors.

Duo closed his eyes tightly, pulling his knobby knees in closer to his chest. He couldn't let the other kids see him like this.

"I've got some medicine that will make you feel better," she said, her melodious voice promising things Duo refused to believe.

He wiped at his nose with his sleeve, all too cautious of the noise a sniffle would make. Sister Helen couldn't understand why he was hiding, but he knew all too well that it was necessary.

All it had taken was a pinking of his nose for Sister Helen to ask kindly, "Are you sick?" for him to bolt from the room. She was used to taking care of children, but escaping was Duo's specialty - a trait he'd had from his earliest memories. For all he knew, he'd been born fast, and even the diligent Sister couldn't catch him if he truly wanted to escape.

His eyes were watering, and it firmed his resolve that he'd made the right decision. Any hindered sight was a detriment to him.

"If you come out, I'll give you something special to eat," she tried again. It sounded so good - he was still getting used to always eating fresh food, and treats like candy and ice cream were almost entirely new to him. But he didn't need them. He'd lived several years of life to prove it.

"I'll even let you help me with the donations," she coaxed, and Duo held back the small sound trying to come out of his throat. All the kids knew that helping with the donations meant first dibs on the nicer stuff. And nicer stuff was yet another thing Duo was just getting used to.

He shook his head, his overgrown bangs covering his eyes. His eyes watered further and there was a lump in his throat that he chalked up to being from his sickness.

"No one is going to hurt you, Duo."

It was such a pretty lie.

He fisted his hands in his hair and tried to curl in on himself even more. Sister Helen meant well, he knew, because you don't spend your whole life on the streets without being able to figure out people's intentions, but she was wrong. So very wrong. He'd lived more than enough to know that anyone and everyone was a threat, and pretty words never stopped the kind of suffering he'd learned about firsthand.

"I don't understand," Sister was saying in hushed tones. "Why would he hide from us? We're only trying to help..."

There was a murmured sound of comfort, only audible by Duo because heightened senses meant staying alive, and Father Maxwell's solemn voice intoned, "Just give him time. God will help him find his way. We just have to support him and let God do the rest."

Duo rubbed at his eyes as some of the sickness-induced water leaked from his eyes. It wasn't crying. Boys didn't cry.

He didn't believe in the God they spoke of. If he existed, he ignored the street rats as much as the rest of L2. He believed in Solo and nothing else. It was Solo who had taken him in and taught him the rules to stay alive, not God.

He did believe in spirits, though. And since Solo had died in the plague, Duo thought it was good enough to pray to Solo's spirit. At least when he'd asked Solo questions, he'd gotten answers. Now all he had to do was remember Solo's laws. After all, he had only recently became Duo - it was his promise to keep Solo with him always.

Solo had taught him that sickness was a weakness. Whenever you discover a weakness, you do whatever you can to run and hide. Never show your weakness. It's how fools on the streets got themselves killed.

He'd been Solo's number two, and Solo didn't teach him to be a fool.

When the two caretakers finally found him several hours later, he was curled into a tiny ball in the rafters, a seemingly impossible place to get to, with tear stains down his face. Someone had been in the church the whole time, but they'd never heard him cry.

Solo would have been proud.