Laces couldn't remember the last time she'd felt even remotely content.

She was starved for sunlight as much as she was for food. The Refuge didn't provide much of either. In her best moments, she stared blankly at the dreary walls, which only stared back. In her worst, she cried silently to herself and tried her hardest to fall back into a pale imitation of sleep.

A sudden clang forced her attention away from the foul smelling walls—today, thankfully, wasn't unbearable. Her head whipped toward the now-locked entrance, where a young girl, bloodied and petrified, stood. New.

She slowly examined her surroundings, tears dripping down her cheeks. No one moved to greet her. Wasn't much point, Laces knew as much. Why should they make such a bleak place appear any more friendly than it clearly was not? Still, new kids were relatively rare, although not as rare as the occasional meal. And of course, by that, she meant leftover scraps thrown in by Snyder for them to fight over like the animals he believed they were.

The little girl soon figured out that she was truly alone in this strange new place. Swiping her dirty sleeves beneath her eyes in an attempt to dry her tears, she slumped and sulked over to the far wall, where she sat and pulled her small knees up to her chin.

Laces tried not to break. She didn't know this girl. The girl didn't know her. She wouldn't be paying her any favours by showing her a bit of hospitality. But seeing her little face, those big, sad eyes...

Laces stood slowly and made her way over, crouching down before the girl. She hoped her wince wasn't apparent to the child. "What's yer name?"

The little girl looked up, hope flooding those poor eyes. Hope for a companion in this lonely place. "Gracie. I'm a factory worker."

"Hi, Gracie, Ise Laces," she replied, smiling slightly, feeling her lips crack as she did so. "A newsie, myself. Well... before now. Where did you come from?"

"Woodside," Gracie mumbled tearfully, looking away.

Feeling faint, Laces sat, pushing herself against the wall next to the small girl. "Woodside's nice. You like it?"

Gracie nodded, suddenly letting out a miserable sob. "But I'll nev-ah see it again."

Laces' chest caved. She wished so desperately to offer reassurance, but she didn't have it in her to lie. Domino's aversion to them seemed to have rubbed off on her. "Well, tha Refuge's no paradise, but we've got each oth-ah in here. So... it really ain't so bad." Gracie didn't seem convinced. "Did ya wanna sleep wit me in my bed tonight?" Laces offered. "Make ya feel bett-ah?"

Gracie looked hopeful once more. "Can I?"

Laces nodded, smiling tightly. Her lips still stung. "Sure. Help ta keep us warm, too. We don't need ya gettin' frostbite on yer foist night he-ah!" She booped her nose. Gracie giggled.

"You ain't doin' her any favors," someone snapped.

Laces turned, eyes alight with a viscous glare, the look softening slightly when she saw that it was the redhead who'd spoken. Albert. She didn't know the exact details of his backstory, but knew that it was the reason he was now so unfailingly surly. Still, Laces wished he would keep his mouth shut at certain moments. Like at present. "Ise doin' more den you, mist-ah heart-'a-coal."

Albert grunted, saying nothing else.

Soon, night fell. They hadn't gotten much of anything to eat that night, either, and Laces tried in vain to quiet her growling stomach, if only for Gracie's sake. Gracie, for her part, said nothing if she'd noticed the telling sounds. Yet when Laces checked, she saw that Gracie was soon sound asleep. Still under the pretence that she was safe. She was glad the girl wasn't fully aware of the horrors of the Refuge.

She hoped it stayed that way.

It was only days later when the next prisoner arrived.

In the time between, Laces had grown very fond of Gracie, and Gracie of her. During their conversations, Laces had learned that the eleven year old girl was afraid of the dark, and spiders, and most other things that eleven year olds were afraid of. Laces, at thirteen, had only recently gotten over some of these fears herself. Although the fear of Snyder still plagued them both.

At present, they were pressed tightly together in the bunk they shared, attempting to get some sleep. However, this was inturupted when they heard the sound of clangs on the other side of the door, and of muffled groans. Clearly, the late hours of the night wasn't enough to make Snyder take a rest.

"Laces?" Gracie whispered, voice wavering.

"Shh," Laces murmured, stroking her hair. "It's okay. Jus don't listen. Yer fine."

After the sounds from the other side had subsided, the door opened, and Laces glanced up to see what all the commotion had been about. There were often kids who got on Snyder's bad side that ended up on the other side of that door, sure, but never so late, and Laces hadn't even remembered any of the kids being taken out.

She soon saw why.

Brock was suddenly shoved into the room, and though he fell hard, he landed on his hands and threw a dirty look at Snyder. Before Laces could fully process his sudden presence, he laughed and wiped a bit of the blood coating his lips. "Did I get ya all riled up? Poor Snyd-ah tha spid-ah. Coulda jus nicely asked me ta leave."

The door slammed shut. Unsurprisingly, no one got up to check on the boy, nor to welcome him. But Laces' gaze remained pinned on him, scanning the lines of his face, taking in all the blood that poured from his wounds onto the ground.

Gracie attempted to also look over, but Laces was quick to blocked the injured boy from the small girl's view. "Don't look, Gracie."

"Who is it?"

Laces grimaced as the words surfaced to her lips. "A boy from Flushin'."

"How do you know?" Gracie paused. "Yer from Flushin'?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Try ta sleep," said Laces. "I'll make sure nothin' bad happens while you do, okay?"

"Okay," Gracie mumbled, and laid down her head. Soon, she was slumbering, and Laces was left laying awake, staring at the bunk above her, doing her best to ignore Brock's movements from beside her as he sought out a corner for himself.

He didn't seem to notice her. She hoped he hadn't.

Brock Ferrings was a boy who weilded his glare like a sword and his broodiness like a shield. It was no wonder he'd been chosen as Trigger's second in command. Laces wasn't sure she agreed with this choice, however. She didn't have anything against Brock, per se, but she didn't necessarily like him, either.

He was a brute, essentially. With dark bear eyes, tussled black hair to match, square jaw and a long, crooked nose, he certainly wasn't what one would call handsome. She supposed his charm lied in his aloof nature, and if not there, then his ambitious one. He had little to no friends, as far as she was aware. She was certainly not his friend.

She avoided him the next day. She had no way of knowing if he'd seen her, as he did the same. In his defence, there were so many Flushing newsies, she found it hard to imagine that he had noticed when she had disappeared.

But still... she knew him. Although they'd only spoken once or twice, he was still from home, and it wasn't like she'd made many any other friends other than Gracie in this place. Yet every time she'd get the urge to confront him, she would remember his unpleasant attitude and rethink it. The last thing she wanted was to end up on his bad side.

However, she was forced to intervene when she noticed him getting acquainted with Gracie. She had no idea what Brock could possibly want with the girl, but Laces wasn't ready to risk anything. Gracie had to be protected at all costs.

"Grace, could I get yer help wit somethin'?"

Both the girl and Brock looked up. Before Gracie could even reply, Brock was already chuckling. "I was startin' ta think you was a ghost."

Laces avoided his gaze and took Gracie's hand, pulling her slightly away from Brock. "Why would you think dat?"

"You haven't said one woid ta me since I've come."

"Why should I?" She finally faced him. "We nev-ah talked in Flushin'."

"A familiar face should be reason enough."

She sighed. "I dunno what you want me ta say. Wese in tha Refuge. Ain't much ta talk about."

"What did you do?" Brock questioned. "Dat landed you in he-ah, I mean."

Laces' gaze drifted to the barred window on the other side of the room, her fingers clicking as she cracked them. "I stole. Or tried to. Jojo needed new boots and we didn't have enough for them."

Brock scoffed, shaking his head.

"What?"

He met her gaze. "You coddle him too much. Do you really want him relying on you for everything? And not ta mention-" Brock continued before she had the chance to say anything- "you should've been more careful. Yer gonna have a hard time facin' anythin' if you get caught takin' a pair 'a boots."

She bristled, looking away.

"But..." Brock's lips twisted, and he didn't continue his sentence.

Laces didn't say anything about it. Instead, she turned towards Gracie. "Gracie, dis is Brock. Brock, Gracie."

Gracie's eyes flitted from Laces to Brock, back and forth, until a small smirk appeared. Having only seen the girl smile or grimace or frown, the look unnerved Laces, who suddenly felt like Gracie knew something she didn't.

"Nice meetin' you," said Brock. "Officially."

"You, too," Gracie chirped, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Get yer hands offa me, you little pests!"

Laces' gaze snapped towards the window, where Domino hung, slapping away any hands that attempted to help her get steady. A rope was tied around her waist, which she seemed even less impressed by.

That was Domino for you.

Laces launched herself off her bunk, pushing through the small group of kids that had gathered around the window. Everyone had pretty much dispersed once she made it to the bars. "Dom?"

Domino grinned, a gleam alight in her eyes. "Yer hair's down. I almost didn't recognize ya."

Laces rolled her eyes and twisted her hair into a quick braid. "Bett-ah?"

"Not hardly. Looks like a boid's nest."

Laces scowled. Domino, despite having thick, volumous, coily hair, had always seemed to be able to tame the curls. She looked put together, as she always did. Laces was sometimes envious.

"Now is dat a bruise und-ah yer eye, or is I seein' things?" Domino questioned, whom Laces had long ago learned was colour blind, and so the question was likely more genuine than it seemed.

Laces pressed the spot beneath her eye and winced. She'd almost forgotten it was there. "I tried ta put up a fight when I was taken. Didn't last long."

"You? A fight?" Domino's eyes sparkled in approval. "I always knew you had it in you."

"I really wanted ta give Jojo those boots," Laces mumbled, looking down.

Domino was quiet for a long moment. "Did you want me ta track him down? Tell him where you is?"

"No," she said quickly. "I don't want him thinkin' Ise weak. Ise all he has left."

"He's gonna find out yer in he-ah soon enough," reasoned Domino.

"He won't," Laces denied, wringing her hands nervously. "Lie, if he starts askin' bout were I is. I'll be outta here in no time—it'll be like I nev-ah left at all."

Domino's expression turned sombre. "Laces, some kids have spent years in dis place."

"... I know."

Silence lapsed between them.

"I won't tell Jojo," said Domino at last.

"Thanks, Dom," Laces replied. "Dat means a lot."

Domino pursed her lips together, then smiled slightly, a bit sadly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out something. "I brought ya somethin'."

Laces' eyes followed the gift Domino was now holding, tentatively reaching for the dangling shoelaces. "Where did you get those?"

"Some sucker made fun 'a one 'a tha newsies," the girl explained. "It was tha only thing Trigger would let me do in retaliation. Thought it might cheer you up."

"It does," said Laces.

Domino's eyes had wandered to the back of the room. "Dere's Brock."

Laces, too, looked back. Brock was at the back of the room, and seemed to be sulking. Although that was nothing out of the ordinary. "You knew he was he-ah?"

"I had an idea," said Domino. "After you disappeared, 'n den he disappeared, well..."

Laces frowned, turning back to the girl. "What does me disappearin' have ta do wit anythin'?"

"Nothin' much," said Domino. She scrutinised Laces again, her bottom lip jutting out. "Dey ain't feedin' you much. I can tell."

Laces shrugged. "I didn't expect 'em to. But wese used ta not eatin' much."

"I'll getcha somethin' small if I can," said Domino.

"No," said Laces. "It's too risky. Snyd-ah could see."

Domino seemed defeated by this. "I know. But..."

"I'll be okay," said Laces. "I promise."

Domino slowly nodded.

"You should go," said Laces. "If Snyd-ah walks in..."

Again, Domino nodded. "No, yer right. Wish me luck?"

Laces frowned. "Luck?" She got her answer a moment later, watching as Domino began climbing her way to the roof, grunting with the effort. "You didn't get anyone ta help you?"

"No need," said Domino, her voice strained. "I've got it."

Eventually, she made it up, letting out a victorious cry. "Be safe, Lace!"

"You, too!" called Laces, feeling for some reason that Domino would need the warning far more than her. There was nothing that girl wouldn't do once she had her mind set on something.

Laces admired this greatly about her.

For some reason or other, Brock had been taken out of out of the room Laces and the rest of the kids were being kept. It was only later that afternoon that he came waltzing back in, blood dripping from his brow and cheek.

Laces shook her head, turning away. Gracie was alseep beside her, suffering from a headache. Brock's misfortune was his own fault. He was bitter and combative, which had likely been the reason Snyder had taken him out, and why none of the other kids bothered to do anything but watch the boy warily. Still, Laces' chest ached as she watched him retreat back to his corner and lay there, staring up at the ceilling. Blood streaked across his temple as the bleeding continued. He did not close his eyes to sleep.

Time passed. After so much of it, she glanced back towards the boy. He was dabbing at the blood with his hand, staring at it as though it wasn't registering that it was his own. With a sigh, Laces ripped off a part of her already fraying pants, stood, and walked over to him. He only reacted when she dropped the fabric onto his chest.

"Use that to soak up the blood," Laces instructed. She stood there a moment longer, although she didn't know why. She doubted he had anything to say to her.

Brock, indeed, said nothing. He only sat up, and began to stem the bloodflow with the fabric. Her lips twisted into a frown, and she turned to walk away. It didn't seem he was about to thank her anytime soon.

Kids watched her as she passed. Many of them kept flicking their eyes from her to Brock, and then settled back on her accusingly, as though she was now tainted after having helped the strange, unlikable boy. She rolled her eyes as she walked, ignoring them. They all needed to learn how to mind their own buisness.

"Wait," called out a voice when she had almost made it back to her bunk. Turning back, she saw Brock staring at her. He opened his mouth, closed it, before he eventually stammered out, "Nevermind."

Something unknown twisted inside Laces. Guilt, perhaps. But what reason did she have to feel guilty? That was ridiculous. Brock clearly presented himself as unapprochable. That was how he wanted to be perceived, and it worked well in his favour. But still, she couldn't shake off the notion that Brock just seemed lonely.

Wordlessly, Laces crossed the room once more. She didn't even look at Brock as she dropped herself next to him, turning her eyes towards the window. Unmoving, just like him.

For a moment, Brock said nothing. Then, just as she figured he wouldn't say anything at all, he murmured: "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she replied.

She noticed that he turned to look at her. After a moment, she did the same, and blinked as she noticed just how close they were to each other. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so up close before. He had a freckle beneath his lip that she hadn't noticed before. With the sun shining in their direction, his face was illuminated with its light. His eyes suddenly seemed rich in their dark earthy tones, his hair seeming more
chestnut brown than black. Her eyes drifted to the cut by his brow, and she had the sudden urge to wipe away the blood that slowly beaded there.

Realizing she was staring, she turned her attention to her hands, popping the joints anxiously. "You know, maybe if ya didn't pick so many fights, Snyd-ah would leave you alone."

Brock scoffed. "As if I care. If he wants ta lay me in, let him. I can take it."

Laces frowned. "Didn't say you couldn't. It jus don't do much fa you. Makes it looks like you enjoy violence."

"I don't," Brock said quietly. "I jus do what I gotta do ta protect myself 'n those I care about."

Those he cared about? "Like who?"

He didn't get the chance to respond. The moment they heard the footsteps, all the kids started, hastening to get to their bunks. Laces was no exception. No matter who you were or how long you'd been in the Refuge, you always made sure to be on your best behaviour around Snyder. You would be stupid to be anything else.

"Gracie," Laces whispered once she got back to her bunk, shaking the girl. "Get up, come on. It's Snyd-ah."

Gracie, blinking the sleep from her eyes, hurriedly complied. She knew this, too.

The door to the room swung open, and there stood not Snyder, but two boys Laces was sure she'd never seen before. The two surveyed the room, before the tallest nodded in satisfaction.

"Ise Oscar Delancey, 'n dis is my bruddah, Morris," said who she now knew as Oscar. "We've recently been employed he-ah at tha Refuge by Snyd-ah himself, so's we can keep an eye on things while he's busy doin' oth-ah things. We expect ta be respected like Snyd-ah, else we might jus have ta tell him 'bout all tha ones acting disobedient. Got dat?"

No one said anything. Nevertheless, the two boys began pacing around the room, meeting everyone's gaze in turn. Laces shuddered after Morris sent her an appreciative glance. Brock, from across the room, seemed to glare at him.

She noticed Oscar stopping in front of a smaller boy, who seemed to shrivel into himself. Looking closer, Laces noticed the way the poor boy had his hands tucked behind his back, and remembered that a friend of his had stopped by the window to visit, and had left him with a small apple. Clearly, it hadn't yet been consumed.

Dread brewed in her stomach.

"Show me yer hands," Oscar ordered.

The boy, after a moment, did so. But they all heard the thud as he dropped the apple behind his back, hoping that would sufficiently hide it from view. It hadn't.

The boy knew this, too. Instead of giving it up, he crouched and grabbed the apple once more, evidently thinking he still had a chance of keeping it. "Whoops."

"Gimme it," said Oscar, holding out a hand.

The boy shook his head. "It's mine. Snyd-ah gave it ta me last night. You'd know if you'd been he-ah long-ah."

Top ten things not to say to your prison guard, apparently. Oscar clenched his jaw and grabbed the kid's wrist, squeezing it. He cried out and let the fruit drop, but Oscar didn't let go.

"You wanna know what happens when you lie ta me or my bruddah?" Oscar snarled, knocking the boy's head against the bunk he was standing in front of.

"Sorry, Ise sorry," the boy pleaded, tears leaking from his eyes, but still, Oscar held firm.

"Stop, yer hurtin' him!"

Laces' stomach pummeled to the ground at the sound of that sweet voice. Gracie had stepped forward defiantly, hoping to spare the boy from his fate.

No, Gracie. No.

Oscar spun around, realeasing his former victim. "What, you want some 'a dat, too?"

Laces couldn't even gasp before Oscar had advanced onto Gracie and was about to swing at her when... she was suddenly gone in a blur, and Laces looked to see that Brock had grabbed her before any damage could be done.

She scarcely had the time to be relieved, much less astonished by Brock's quick thinking, before Gracie was handed over to her as Oscar was now after Brock, having slipped on a pair of brass knuckles.

"Good grief," Laces murmured, holding onto Gracie tightly.

Oscar swung at Brock, but Brock, anticipating this, dodged and tackled Oscar to the ground. She should note that Brock was almost twice his opponent's size, although she didn't know which taps from Flushing he was drinking from. It wasn't like they had much for nutrition back there. Yet his arms suggested differently. Not that she was oogling his arms...

Laces gently put Gracie down, standing in front of her protectively. The fight between Brock and Oscar was only growing more intense, both of them straining to get the upper hand. It had seemed that Brock was winning, but then Oscar sent a blow to the boy's abdomen, temporarily knocking the breath from his lungs.

She didn't want to watch. But she didn't allow herself to look away.

With Brock weakened even more than he already had been with Snyder's blows from earlier, Oscar had a better chance at doing significant damage to the boy. He grinned wickedly, rolling out his shoulders and raising his fists once more. And he didn't hold back.

Laces, horrified, watched as Oscar sent punch after punch onto Brock, who grunted and tried to push the boy off of him. No such luck. Just when it seemed apparent that he was about to give up, Laces began searching her pockets. She shouldn't, but if Oscar wasn't about to stop...

Oscar suddenly stopped hitting Brock, instead reaching for his throat which Laces currently had a shoelace—her shoelace, from Domino—pulled tightly around it. It was only moments before the boy began choking, pulling desperately at the string, but Laces was hardly done. She tightened her hold on the lace and bent towards his ear. "I ain't lettin' go until you get offa him."

He didn't. He only kept trying to hit her to make her let go, but that wasn't happening. Or so she thought, until there was suddenly a sharp pull on her scalp and she cried out as she fell backwards. Morris shoved her away from his brother, and before she could get back at him for this, her gaze snagged on a sight in the doorway that made her bones turn to stone.

Snyder.

"I heard a little mouse he-ah decided ta play hero," the man snarled. "Where is she?"

Laces prayed they wouldn't notice the girl, but how could they not, when she was one of the youngest there? Still, she did her best to hide Gracie from view, as futile as that was. Especially as the girl herself lifted her chin and stepped forward, giving herself away.

"Gracie," Laces hissed. The girl didn't even look back.

"Ah," said Snyder, advancing toward Gracie and grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Yer dat one day jus came about a week ago. No wond-ah you've made such a big mistake." He began to laugh. "Hah, we'll see to it dat you don't make tha same mistake again! Tha cellar'll give you a change 'a heart." He jerked her head away, knocking the small girl over.

"No," murmured Laces, horrified at the mention of the cellar. "No, I ain't lettin' you take her! Take me instead!"

"Take us," Brock said from his place on the ground, spitting out blood. "If she's goin', Ise goin', too."

"Heartwarmin'," Snyder said flatly, lips curling in disgust. "But you'll get yer own punishment. She gets tha cellar." His attention turned to Oscar, who was looking at the girl whom Laces knew to be Frisks, who winked at the boy. Snyder didn't seem to notice the exchange. "As fa Oscar 'n Morris... I hope dis serves as a lesson ta not let yer pride get tha best 'a ya."

Oscar and Morris turned to Snyder, before quietly shuffling out of the room when he gestured for them to.

Gracie turned her face towards Laces and smiled. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

Laces was suddenly reminded of all the times she had said that to the young girl. You're fine. I'll make sure nothing happens to you. Her chest ached.

There was nothing she could do as Gracie was led down to the darkest parts of the Refuge.

It had been three days since Gracie had been separated from the rest of the kids. Although Laces had pestered, no one told her how the young girl was, or if she was still hanging on. Instead, both Laces and Brock had received special treatment from the two brothers and Snyder ever since the incident. Special treatment, of course, being an extra soaking a day, and less food. Less than they were already getting.

As if that weren't bad enough, it seemed everyone else in the Refuge had turned on them. Because of them, Snyder and the brothers stopped by more often, although Laces didn't see how this was fair. How were they to know that the Delancey brothers wouldn't have come by just as often regardless? Nevertheless, it seemed her and Brock were now truly alone in this place.

"Stop dat."

Laces paused from where she was cracking her knuckles, heeding Brock's request. Yet she couldn't help but turn to him and say, "I can't help it."

It was the nerves mixed with her hunger that had made her so antsy as of late. She hadn't even noticed she'd begun the habit again, but judging by Brock's expression, she had been doing it for some time.

Brock stared at her for a long while, before looking away and wetting his lips. "Gracie's fine, I promise."

"Don't," Laces whispered. "I don't need you lyin', too. It's already bad enough in he-ah."

"Fine." Brock brought a hand to his hair, messing it up. Clearly, he took her request as a cue to stop talking with her at all.

Laces let her gaze wander around the Refuge, taking in her fellows in-mates. Another kid had come in since Gracie. Laces had not become friends with this one. Her chest still felt as though it was caving as she watched the young boy cry softly to himself.

She could not help him.

Brock sighed, drawing her gaze to his sunken face. Although he didn't say anything about it, she knew he was as starved as she was. Secretly, Laces was afraid that this alone would be enough to end them both. No human could survive for long periods of time with so little food, not even Brock, who had always seemed to have enough muscle to get him by.

"I didn't say we couldn't talk at all," Laces said after another moment, feeling the tense silence settle deep within her bones and hating it.

Although she didn't face him, she felt Brock looking at her. "You wanna talk? Dat's a foist."

"Nevermind," Laces grumbled.

Brock, almost interceptably, scooted closer to Laces, as they were both sitting next to the other against the wall. "I know it ain't jus Gracie dat's botherin' you."

Laces turned towards him with a scowl, feeling as though she was being provoked in some way. Yet to her surprise, Brock's face only held gentleness and concern. She looked another moment at his face before she spoke. "If it matt-ahs dat much ta you... I regret what I did ta Oscar."

"What, choke him?"

Laces looked away.

She had been stupid to admit that. Of course, she shouldn't feel sorry. She definitely shouldn't have told Brock, of all people, that she was sorry. He had been the one being assaulted by Oscar when she'd jumped in to help.

She flinched slightly when she felt his hand on the side of her face, turning her chin so she was facing him. His gaze was full of sincerity as he smiled a closed-lip grin. Her stomach twisted and turned for inexplicable reasons at the touch, but he didn't seem to notice. "Keep talkin'. Ise listenin'."

Laces took a breath as his hand fell away. "I nev-ah act violently. I was raised not ta. I was taught dat it wasn't smart. And I had ta be tha example fa Jojo, too. But I feel dis instinct in me come alive when I see unfairness, or pain. And sometimes, I can't help but let it come out." She looked away. "I know, ta you, it don't seem like a big deal. But I coulda killed Oscar wit dat shoelace." Her eyes filled with tears. "I coulda been a murderer. It scares me ta know dat it's in me."

"Lace, you ain't a murderer," said Brock, brows creased.

"But I coulda been," she snapped. "I could be. We all think wese tha good ones doin' good, but when Morris pulled me back, I saw pure hatred in his eyes. Tha same hatred I woulda had if someone tried ta hoit Jojo. And I can't help but wond-ah... what if Ise tha villain?"

Brock said nothing.

"And talkin' about tha bruddahs," continued Laces, "I know dey's holdin' back 'cause 'a Snyder. But if dey had us, me, alone, I don't think dey would feel as hesitant ta take a life as I would." Laces wrung her hands. "Especially not Morris, fa what I did—or almost did—ta Oscar."

There was a long silence. After a while, Brock said, "You don't gotta worry. I won't let eith-ah 'a dem get you alone."

After the Delancey's had paid their daily visit, Laces lay curled in a fetal position, stomach throbbing, every single one of her brittle bones aching.

Three weeks had passed since Gracie was taken away, and there was nothing to be heard about how she was doing. If Laces and Brock's own situations were anything to go by, Laces assumed it was safe to say that Gracie wasn't doing great.

Speaking of Brock, he sat close to her, hand pressed against a wound on the side of his head, blood flowing from his nose. Oscar had pridefully shown off his inexpensive brass knuckles once more by soaking them both with its help. At least Laces hadn't gotten her face hit. Brock hadn't been so lucky.

The other kids ignored them. It wasn't uncommon for both Brock and Laces to be stepped over by the others, and even less common to be subjected to their sneers and upturned noses. As if they were were somehow superior to the pair.

The kid that stuck out to Laces the most was Frisks. The girl, although treated as unfairly as everyone else, was somehow... indifferent about it. Every single time the Delanceys came in, Frisks was the only one who seemed to brighten. She would always slip a word or two over to the brothers, and even more so to Oscar. Oscar had seemed as though he couldn't have cared less before, but soon began replying to her and even smiling openly around her.

Once, when Frisks was walking by, Laces had asked her about what the deal was between the two of them. Why did she initiate conversation with the brothers so often, even after witnessing how they treated the rest of the kids?

"Dey's only doin' what they gotta do," Frisks had replied. "I've had to, as well. I can't judge 'em fa dat." She was quiet for a moment. "All of us, we'se family. Dey's family. We gotta stick togeth-ah."

"If dis is what you consid-ah a family," Laces began dryly, "I'd hate ta see tha one you was born wit."

Frisks had clenched her jaw. "You would. And you would also hate ta see how I treat people who've proven dey can't be trusted as family."

She began feeling uneasy. "Anyone he-ah made it onto dat list?"

"No, but... dere was dis one goil..." Frisks grimaced slightly before it faded into something cold. The dark lighting of the room gave the expression a sinister edge. "I think she mighta been related ta Oscar 'n Morris. We was friends." She met Laces' eyes. "She was like a sist-ah. I forgot sometimes dat she wasn't my real one. And den she stabbed me in tha back." The girl dropped her gaze to the ground, something sharp glinting in her eyes. "Nev-ah trust any redhead goil dat goes by tha name Lane Delancey. She don't live fa nobody who ain't herself."

She was pulled out of the memory by the feeling of a hand on her ankle. She slowly opened her eyes to see Brock looking down at her, grimacing. He seemed to be in even more pain than she was.

"How's you feel?" he asked quietly. "'Cause you ain't lookin' too great."

"I'll be fine," she murmured, relishing in the feeling of his hand on her leg. It sent warmth coursing through her entire body. It comforted her.

"I wish dat was more convincin'."

"I will be," Laces insisted. "Ise more worried fa Gracie."

Silence followed. Slowly, she reached her hand down to lay her hand on his arm, feeling it anchor her. However, she was afraid that this may cause him to flinch away, so she kept her touch light.

Brock did not take his hand away. Yet he suddenly seemed angry. Or... frustrated. He sighed, running his other hand down his face. "You should be worried fa you. Laces, it's always everyone else before you. Like with Jojo. if you hadn't gone fa those boots, hadn't gotten caught-"

"Stop," she ordered, roughly pushing herself into a sitting position, shaking his hand off her leg. He went to protest being silenced, before he simply clenched his jaw and averted his gaze. Laces filled the quiet with her own thoughts. "You keep judgin' me fa bein' stupid enough ta get myself in dis situation, but you haven't said a woid about what got you caught, 'n I'd bet every last penny I have dat it's because it was even stupider den me! So don't you dare say dat I shoulda been more careful when-"

"Ise he-ah 'cause I was worried fa you!" Brock yelled.

Laces blinked, befuddled. Because he was worried for her? "Wait... what?"

Brock looked as bewildered as she felt. His eyes had gone wide, and, to her even greater surprise, looked to be burning red at the tips of his ears. Even the other kids in the Refuge momentarily ceased their sulking to stare at the all-intimidating Flushing newsie who had just confessed to having been worried... for her.

"When you was taken," began Brock after a moment, much quieter, "no one noticed. But Dom 'n I... we did. Dom was determined she was goin' aft-ah you, but I stopped her. I knew she would do somethin' reckless, 'n get herself hoit. But I didn't care 'bout gettin' hoit. So, when everyone was asleep, I left 'n came he-ah. Ta be wit you. Because I love you."

"Brock..." Laces steeled herself to deny him, to tell him that she didn't feel the same way... but found she couldn't. Her own eyes widened as she realized that his feelings weren't quite as unrequited as she'd formerly assumed. "I..."

"Yeah." Brock turned away, face in his hands. He was shaking his head, sighing heavily. "It's okay if ya don't... I know..."

"Brock," she said sternly. "Look at me."

He raised his head and turned back towards her, holding his hands out as if to say, Say it. I can handle it.

She did not. Instead, she slowly placed a hand on his. "I was nev-ah good wit woids."

He laughed without humour. "Dat makes two of us."

"But I know how ta make 'em count," Laces continued as though he hadn't spoken. And then, before she could decide that this was a bad idea after all, Laces glanced down, squeezing his hand. "I love you, too."

He said nothing for a long while. When she looked up at him, she saw that he was flushed. "You don't gotta say it jus 'cause I did."

"Brock." She waited until he met her gaze. "I love you. I love yer dark eyes, yer small, crooked smile 'n nose, tha way you talk... I love tha way yer touch calms me, 'n tha way you can make everyone notice you when you want, n' tha way you can blend in jus as easily." She paused, smiling slightly. "But... I don't love how it sounds like you came fa me without a plan."

Brock was still for a long moment. Then, a sheepish expression crossed his face. "I... guess I didn't really think it through."

Laces laughed, unable to stop herself. She still felt euphoric from both their confessions to each other. "I was right. You was even stupider den me."

Brock didn't refute this. He only placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing soft circles into them, dark eyes peircing her own. "I've had my eye on you long-ah den you can imagine. You've always intrigued me. As quiet as you was, you always had a fire. And tha more I watched ya, tha more I fell. When I noticed dat you was gone, I couldn't help it. I had ta be wit you. Felt like I already was." He chewed on his lower lip. "Feels bett-ah seein' you he-ah, in person, den imaginin' what you could be goin' through."

"Like Gracie," said Laces, chest aching.

Brock gazed at her sadly. For once, he didn't argue that Gracie shouldn't be her top priority. "Like Gracie."

Slowly, he stretched out his arms, and Laces didn't hesitate before falling into them. He was solid, and though they'd both lost a great deal of weight, his grip around her was strong. She nestled her head in his chest, and he rested his own in the crook of her neck.

She didn't know if either of them would make it through this, and yet she felt safe. Secure.

It felt like a happy ending.

Laces, surrounded by people, had never felt so alone in her life.

In her despair, she'd separated herself from the rest, leaning against the wall in the Refuge once more. She observed her fellow peers, cracking her knuckles, scaring away anyone who dared look at her. Sometimes, she thought they looked even more put off by her than Frisks.

The refuge kids all had a story. They all had a grudge to resolve, looking for something to gain. Laces had no such thing to look forward to. Revenge, of course, but she wasn't so naive to think that it would solve any of her problems.

Or, it would, but not the one that mattered most. It wouldn't bring back Brock.

Her chest clenched at the thought. Their most esteemed newsie leaders, including Brock, were being picked off one by one. This was a problem that Laces could solve, even if it was mostly too late. She still had Flushing to protect, and if protection meant getting rid of one girl, then so be it.

Lane Delancey had caused far more trouble than she was worth. Ignoring her relation with the brothers, which was a whole other bag of worms Laces could do without opening, Lane had possibly, almost certainly, been the one to orchestrate Brock's death.

And for this... for this, she would pay.

Revenge didn't come without its prices. Laces had nearly backed out when Frisks had revealed that she would be hosting her little party of revenge seekers in the Refuge. The Refuge. The memories of it continued to be bittersweet for Laces, who had both made and lost a friend within those walls. She'd never found out what had happened with Gracie, and she was too often reminded of what became of Brock. And then, her foes...

As if on cue, Oscar and Morris strolled in. She didn't know where they'd been, and didn't dare wonder. Especially as Morris' gaze locked onto hers, something in those eyes gleaming, as though eager to reenact his latest errand run with her in his last victim's place.

Just wait, those eyes seemed to say, for when I get you alone.

Laces mentally shuddered at the thought. She didn't know what would happen if the brothers did happen to get her alone. It was something to fear, indeed.

Oscar, for his part, seemed to have forgotten all about the shoelace incident. Or perhaps forgotten was too broad a term. Put aside, maybe. He knew they were on the same side now, and he seemed to understand who Brock had been to Laces. Neither of them were the same people. Not by a long shot. And so maybe that was why it was easier for him to put it all behind them, even as her own heart had grown cold towards him. She couldn't forget the state he'd left Brock in that day. Something in her refused to feel remorse for her own actions then, even though she'd once loathed herself for choking him in her anger.

Things had changed.

For Morris, they hadn't. He seemed to hate her as much as she hated Lane these days. He'd continued to prod at the anger that he held for Laces until it had festered and bled. You could argue that this was exactly what she was doing with Lane, but she'd never said she and Morris were exactly different from each other.

"Frisks," Laces called as the girl passed by. "Ise still waitin' fa an answer."

Frisks stopped, looking peeved. Laces didn't mind the look. "Aft-ah Ise done doin' buisness wit Lane, you can do whatev-ah ya want ta her. She won't be any use ta me by den, anyway."

Laces clenched her jaw. That day couldn't come quickly enough.

"She'll be he-ah soon," Frisks added ominously. "Fa tha boy..."

Referring to Racetrack Higgins, of course. Only days had passed since Domino and her entourage of fools had stopped by. The reminder hindered Laces slightly, as she and Domino had once been so very close, almost as close as she'd been with Brock. And with them now on opposing sides... it felt like she'd lost her, too.

As for Race, the boy had been innocent in all of this, and yet Frisks had wanted to hold onto him for bait. This was something Laces firmly disagreed with, and she'd hinted so to Frisks on multiple occasions, hence why the girl was so short with her nowadays. But, although Laces knew that no kid was here to showcase their own good-heartedness, she didn't think they would begin harming others for seemingly no reason. Couldn't they lure Lane over through other means?

Somedays, Laces worried about who she'd become. She thought of Jojo, and though she didn't know where he'd ended up, she still imagined how disappointed he'd be in her. True, she'd never outwardly shown how much she cared for her brother, but she still loved him. As Brock had said all those years ago, she'd silently coddled him. Laces feared Jojo had figured she'd abandoned him. It wasn't as though she'd done much to prove otherwise. Once she'd left the Refuge and discovered that Jojo had left Flushing, she felt both grieved, and angry. Yet, she'd never built up the courage to find him and apologize, too ashamed to do so.

She watched as Frisks whispered something into Oscar's ear, watched as he nodded, watched as both him and his brother made their way down to the cellar. Down to where Race was.

Laces' stomach churned. She knew where this would lead.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was following behind the brothers, hoping she wouldn't be caught. Something in her was desperate to know what they were doing to Race, even if she hardly knew the boy. She just had to know.

They called it the cellar, but there were no bars to be found in the room. Laces had never been in it before, so seeing it now was a shock. It was pitch black, having no windows, and smelled heavily of urine and mold. Laces almost gagged at the stench. This was where Gracie had been put after she had defied Snyder. She clearly wasn't there anymore, and Laces was unsure whether to feel glad or terrified by this. If she was no longer here... where was she?

She couldn't bear to dwell on that question. Instead, she kept her focus on the brothers. Strangely, but luckily for her, they kept the door propped open. She couldn't see Race—Oscar's back was blocking her view—but she could hear him. His breathing was heavy, almost erratic. She heard scuffling as he moved around. "Here ta finish me off, sweetheart?"

"It would be our pleasure," snarled Morris. Oscar chuckled as Morris strode ahead. Race grunted, although Laces still couldn't see what was happening. "Stuck again, huh, Higgins? Can't get yourself outta this one."

"We don't gotta bring up tha past," Race said, through his voice sounded strained.

Oscar finally moved, and Laces rushed to the door to keep it propped open. Once there was hardly a crack left in between, she kicked it, mimicking the sound of the heavy door closing. They must've had a key on them, for they hardly reacted to the sound. Laces could now see Race—well, a little, as it was still quite dark. He was being pinned down by Morris' foot on his chest, his wheezing breaths cutting through the air. Laces felt sick as she watched.

"You know, I feel bad for you guys." He said it like a joke, but the sentiment behind the words was too strong to be taken as one. "I used ta think dat you two was cursed. Not able ta love 'n everythin'. But I've met yer sist-ah, 'n she's a lot different from tha two 'a you." Laces frowned at this. "It's made me realize dat you two coulda turned out good, ya just chose not ta. No wond-ah ya both hate Lane so much."

Hating Lane was the one thing she and the brothers had in common. Laces almost despised Race for defending the redhead. If only he knew what Lane had done to her.

"I think it's pretty reasonable ta hate her aft-ah all tha damage she's caused," growled Morris.

"Oh, what, like tha damage you both caused aft-ah throwing her into dis place?" asked Race. "Rememb-ah dat? Wit Finch? Neither 'a dem was ev-ah tha same aft-ah dat, you know. So, congratulations. Ya pushed tha only good, livin' family memb-ah 'a yers away."

Laces blinked, leaning in closer. The brothers had been the ones to throw Lane into the Refuge? The three of them definitely weren't on the same side. If Lane indeed hadn't been working with Snyder during her time in the Refuge...

"She was a problem fa everyone," Oscar said simply. She noticed he'd slipped on his brass knuckles, and she almost groaned. This same routine was getting old. No one cares about your stupid brass knuckles, Oscar! Give it up! "She still is now. And don't try ta talk ta us like ya know her bett-ah den we do. Wese her bruddahs, as ya so kindly pointed out."

Race snorted, pushing himself up with his elbows. "Yeah, sure."

Laces clenched her jaw as Morris took his foot off of the boy's chest, and instead kicked him hard in the back, causing Race to jerk forward with an anguished cry. Having gotten a reaction, the two brothers snickered and continued to soak him, kicking him around as though he were a child's toy. Race had begun to let out deep, tormented sobs, and Laces turned her gaze away, no longer able to watch. She would've left entirely, if it weren't for the fact that the door would close and therefore alert the brothers to her presence. She'd been stupid coming down here. She'd known it the moment she had followed them down.

Curiosity had killed the cat.

Instinct forced her to face the tragedy playing out before her when Race let out a loud wail, and she barely made out the sight of Oscar driving his foot into Race's knee until there was a sickening pop. Laces couldn't hold back her gasp, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to prevent the sound from escaping. Race's screams droned out the noise she made, which was no better. They were sick. This was sick. Of course, she already hated the brothers, but this...

Finally, after an eternity, they had ended. Laces let out a deep breath she had been holding, tensing once more when she felt the door she held being pushed forcefully towards her. She ducked, keeping her grip on the door handle, hiding behind the heavy door as they passed. Since she didn't want to risk them looking back when they didn't hear the door close—or, alternatively, heard the door close—she swung herself to the other side of the door, letting herself be pushed into the cellar, holding the door open just enough so it wouldn't close on her.

Her eyes had gotten used to the pitch black of the room, but being inside of it felt like she'd been robbed of her sight once more. To deflect suspicion, she kicked the door one last time, hoping the brothers registered it as the sound of the door closing again. Only her and Race's breathing could be heard in the awful room.

And suddenly, they were alone.

Race slowly stirred, noticing her presence. Light from the hallway caught his face ever so slightly, and he winced at the brightness, brushing away the tears that remained. He didn't speak.

She hadn't planned on talking, either, but with him gazing at her so intently, she felt that she owed him something. Even if, at its core, it was nothing at all.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered hoarsely. She didn't move until he seemed to let out something akin to a sad laugh, and only then did she slip out of the room and close the door softly on him once more.

Two days later, Lane had arrived.

Laces had expected to feel elated at the girl's arrival... but she only felt hollow. Lane had come for Race, to help him, and Laces was supposed to be celebrating her downfall? Lane had been the one to fall into Frisks' trap, so then why did it feel like Laces had, too?

She was suffocating in this place.

Domino's visit came back to haunt her. What if the girl was right? What if this wouldn't fix anything, not even for Flushing? If so, what was she doing? Why was she here?

And what was she doing about it?

Laces, slowly, began developing a plan. Clearly, she had to get Race out. And, by extension, Lane. This was beyond insane—Frisks was beyond insane. And Laces had been, too.

Eventually, Laces approached Frisks. Lane had been sobbing to herself all day, which Laces was almost certain was an act. Lane didn't know the horrors Frisks had planned for her. She had no way of knowing. She had no reason to cry just yet. And she was close by, which was exactly what Laces wanted.

"I thought you said you was gonna let me kill tha goil."

Both Frisks and Lane turned their attention onto Laces.

Laces didn't react.

Frisks scowled, whispering back: "Wait yer turn, Laces. She's right where I want her ta be right now. Once Ise done wit her, you can drive yer knife into her as many times as ya like."

Laces, of course, had predicted this response. She took a breath. "Great. What do ya have in mind fa her 'til then?"

Frisks was silent for a long moment, something cruel in her eyes. "Ise plannin' on doin' things a bit differently 'round he-ah, but I'll need her help."

Keep talking. "Why her?"

Frisks took another moment before speaking.

"They trust her."

There it is. Though Frisks had murmured the words, they were close enough that Laces suspected Lane had still heard. Her gaze flitted to the girl, who looked horrified at Frisks' words.

Get ready, Lane, thought Laces. And get your friend ready, too. We're leaving today.

(8932 words)

Ah... this wasn't supposed to be so long...

~ nutcracker645