I called him whilst standing outside the school. He answered within the first ring.

"The doors are locked," I claimed, before hanging up. He seemed to teleport with how quickly he materialized to open the door for me. I wandered in, ignoring the way his nose scrunched up. I knew I smelled of dust and wood. Maybe black mold, but I hadn't gone to the first floor, so I think I just smelled like something distinctly abandoned.

"Where did you sleep? You smell like you were kipping in a sawmill," He said, and I glanced up at him, before going back to walking towards his office. Not many people were around, but best to be safe than sorry.

"I had broken and crawled through drywall, so your assumptions are most likely based around that scent. I slept on the floor of a really dirty and dusty abandoned building," I explained once we were in his office, the door closed.

"Hmm," He hummed, observing me. I glanced down at my cleanish clothing, seeing my brown hair back to its natural color finally, before looking back up at him, "Well. I was told to call the bobby back the moment you returned..."

"Cool. Will you?" I asked, giving him a look that clearly said I'd just straight-up leave if the y-syllable left his lips. Also, Bobby? Did he get the cop's name?

"No," He said after a moment with a sigh, "I'll just call them when class starts, I suppose. What happened?"

I blinked, "Uh, what do you mean?"

"What made you leave?"

"Oh. She yelled at me for having a messy room, which, might I add, is never messy. I asked if I could go clean my room. She said no. I let her yell some more, then when I explained that she should back up, or I'd force her to. She called me a weak bitch, I asked her to repeat that, making it clear I was on my last fuck to give, and thus I punched her. I left, then, after grabbing my backpack. Monica attacked me, put- pin- forcin- uh I one-handedly gripped her throat as tight as I could, before kicking her away, then I walked away. Voila."

The Master gave me a contemplative look, "You didn't lie to the police."

"Nope. What would be the point? I could lie, and nothing would happen, or I could tell the truth, and nothing would happen," I shrugged, "Despite what you may think, telling the truth is still easier for me than lying," I frowned, wondering if that was a lie, shaking my head, "Even if I am sent to a detention center, or put in a 72 hour hold, it would do good. I shouldn't have allowed myself to let something stupid like being called names get to me."

The Master shook his head softly, not looking at me as he typed things into his computer. He did that often, maybe it was a nervous tick? Working when you didn't appreciate something?

"You don't deserve it. You were feeling weak from the earlier attack, and when your mother unknowingly agreed with the thoughts you'd been avoiding you attacked her, correct?" He glanced up in time to see my uncomfortable grimace, nodding once before going back to sending emails. Before I just presumed he had friends, but now I knew he was actually bossman of some hotshot company or another, I bet he was just sending work emails out.

Soon enough I had a long chat with the police, who claimed that my account of events was much more sensible and factual than whatever Elise blubbered out, with Monica and Glen defending her and Taniya, Kiana, and William defending me without actually having seen anything. Or, maybe they did? I had gone home with them, after all. My events line up pretty accurately with what Taniya, Kiana, and William said, apparently. I was surprised they didn't exaggerate it beyond belief, only to be told they didn't tell the police that I made the first physical move. Well then, how nice of them to defend me so.

When it was done, the police having called CPS in and telling me a person would be in after lunch, whenever that was for the CPS people, it was just before my lunch. I collapsed in exhaustion on the Master's couch. He had listened to the entire thing, after I had requested he be there in case my emotions got the better of me. Really I just shrugged when they asked if it was okay that he was there. I was too fucked to bother giving one.

"Foster care is-"

"Fucking finish that sentence," I snapped vehemently, going from laying face down on the couch to glaring at the Master in barely a second. I closed my eyes, sat up and rubbed my face, and sighed before continuing in a calmer, but still obviously irritated, tone, "I am sick of your naivete, Master. Nothing will happen. Ever. The most that will come of this is me being forced into therapy. I don't know what the fuck you're used to in the legal system, but America doesn't fucking CARE, okay?" I shook my head, before standing up, "Sorry- I- sorry."

I left the room, not bothering to take my backpack. I was just going to hide in an empty room and pace back and forth until I was called to the office again to talk to CPS. I paced intensely. Fucking weak. Fucking hopeless. No fucking control over anything. Ever. Ever.

Weak. Hopeless. Prisoner of life. There's never anything. Ever. Ever. Ever.

"Minion," The voice was softer than it should be.

I threw a chair, only to wince as lights came on and the science teacher whose room I had been using walked in. He hesitated at the sight of me, standing, embarrassed, as the chair collided with other chairs and desks.

"Bad day?" He asked, closing the door behind him gently and setting his lunch down on his desk.

"Bad life," I admitted, unable to look up and see the expression that I knew would be on his face. Concern, not for me, but himself. Wariness in the face of some unstable bitch who he'd only heard of, presumably nothing good.

"Ah, it can't be that bad, can it?"

"Abusive parents, cops and CPS that see the abuse and rule it as not being what it clearly is, getting attacked... Almost being raped... Yeah, pretty bad," I said quietly. Had he not been a foot in front of me, he'd probably not have heard me. I hoped he didn't hear me even still.

"You don't think the police do their jobs?" He asked gently, leading me to a chair and sitting me down before kneeling before me.

I stared at my lap for a moment, before taking off my outer button-up. I was wearing short-sleeves today, and I heard his breath hitch at all of the mottled bruises lining my arms and collarbone. Some of them were from the attack, and some were from me running around and being a kid with my friends, but not many.

"Look at this, the same skin that the police and CPS has seen, and tell me it's something else," I pleaded, voice quiet and broken. I ignore the Master's phone going off. He does too.

I accept the hug he gives me, not caring that it hurts like hell, not caring that I'm shaking because I'm terrified he'll push me to the ground and hold me down, too. He doesn't, though.

"Things will be okay, someday," He promised, and I managed a weak laugh that was in no way genuine.

"Like homelessness, hospital bills, and slowly losing touch with reality as each day goes by pointlessly?" I muttered, "You can live so happily, so sweetly, in your apple-pie life. You can go home to your wife and kids, and look at them, and be grateful for everything you have. I have a lifetime of PTSD and mental issues ahead of me that will never quite be fixed, and will presumably live a lonely life as a poor apartment-wielding government-mooching cat lady, with a singular dog that herds the cats like they're sheep because I have too many."

His grip tightened for a moment, before the phone rang for the third time, and he released me to answer it for me. Despite me never having taken his class, he knew the phone was for and from the Master.

"Hello? She was in my classroom, throwing stuff. No. Yes. I'll send her over. No, she'll not run. Yes. If she wants me to. Right. Bye." He set the phone down, and I took five seconds to stare at it hopelessly, before turning and picking up my black button-up flannel. Taking the phone, neither of us speak to each other as I leave to go to the Master's office.

Time to meet more disappointment.

Oh, wow, what a familiar bitch. She didn't do shit last life, though it wasn't nearly as bad last life, admittedly. I don't think she actually gave a fuck, if I was being honest. The meeting went as expected, and she left without any promises made. Not even saying that she'd try. Great. I flopped onto the Master's couch, and couldn't prevent my legs from curling into my stomach if I tried. Great... I pass out.

I wake up with a start, and the Master gives me a confused look as he looks up at me. Up... Looking down I see that I was standing on his leather chair. I hop down, glancing at it, then the couch, before frowning. Did I just secretly find comfort in the leather chair? Why, whenever I dived out of my dreams, did I end up in that position? I gave the leather chair a suspicious look, before flopping back onto the couch as I thought over what had just happened. I didn't have any dreams, or if I did, I don't remember them. That's not what made me startle. Presumably, as I had this issue in my last life, it was the click of an opening door that terrified me. This life had all new connotations to the terror, though, and I took a shaky breath as the adrenaline that jolted me off the couch before I even knew I was awake wore off.

"You were right," The Master explained unhappily as he sat in his chair, slumped unprofessionally into it.

It takes me a moment to remember what he was talking about. The lack of action that would happen? Maybe? I don't know.

"What," I mutter, not able to make it a question as I regain my conciousness now that the adrenaline wore off. I wasn't tired, really, but hell if I could think properly right now.

My unseeing gaze looks at the carpeted flooring. It was... blue. Dark blue. Midnight blue. Or was it black? It was... It was the same white tiles as the hallways? No. It was grey blue. Or was it just grey? It was most certainly carpet. The Master's feet shift, and I glanced up to see him straighten in his seat as he looks at me for a moment, gaze calculating and intelligent. As it usually was, I thought to myself.

"About the American justice system. Unless you need to be hospitalized they won't do anything, though they pretend they will," The Master clarified.

I watched him. He didn't look too happy about it. He probably knew of the secret undertones to justice, and decided I wasn't worth the cash. His intense look agreed with my silent thoughts. I shrugged, "Yeah," I agreed. I looked at the time, only to take a deep breath and sigh it out at it being around midnight. I didn't think I was that tired, I admitted to myself silently. Maybe I should sleep more than the three hours I usually do if it leaves me able to sleep a few days away with ease, only a few hours of wakefulness in between. My attention is brought back to the Master, who was frowning at me.

"What, that's it? No "I told you so", no breaking down in tears that I wasn't able to do anything, no... No anything?"

I shook my head, "There's nothing. There's never anything," I admitted to him. With how often I thought it, understood it, and knew it, both previously and now, it might as well be what I'm known for saying. It's my philosophy, my motto, my best hope, and my worst nightmare. What was the point of rubbing it in, anyway? Oh, great, I was right about something absolutely terrible. I'm not happy I'm right because I'm not happy it's true, and I think people need to understand that mentality more. Everyone always hopes for terrible things to happen, just because they seem more interesting than the peaceful lifestyle they live, or whatever. I don't think they should, but honestly I'd done it too, at one point in time. Sometimes things being worse make life in general better.

"There's... Never... Anything," He repeated slowly, testing the words out, "... You aren't...?"

I give him a confused look, gesturing for him to go on. He just stared at me pensively, looking slightly uncomfortable, and slightly- was that fear? What? - afraid. I observe his five o'clock shadow, his dark eyes glimmering in the awful white lighting of the school as his brown hair flops lamely across his forehead. His suit stands out amongst the lighting, and both his black suit and his eyes are accentuated by the pitch black of the outdoors. I look out the window, melancholic at the feeling of inherent wrongness. I always thought that it was the feeling of freedom, when I looked out in the darkness, where I belonged. Where I felt most comfortable amongst the wretched feeling of wrong that the nighttime gave me and my senses. The darkness was my home, just one monster in the midst of shadows.

"What do you plan to do with your life? What are your dreams? Your goals?" The Master asked.

My gaze wavered, glancing at him before returning to looking intensely out the window, where nothing could be seen. Dreams? Goals? My mind flickered over the state of the future. Then, ignoring that future, and pretending everything would go on as it is, I tried coming up with something. Dreams... Goals... Death. I knew I couldn't exactly say I was just waiting to die. Just waiting, because I wasn't quite strong enough to do the deed myself. He'd not like that. Dreams... Goals... What was there to do, really? Become a YouTuber or something? Or maybe become a famous actor? Singer? ... Author? I focused on that last thought despondently. A famous author, if only... If only. My writing skills were worse than a typical thirteen year old's. I simply wasn't capable of storytelling. Not in the way I wanted to. Not in any way. Maybe... did I even want to be famous? Did I even want to do anything? Be anything? What could I respond to his question?

"I'd like to graduate college," I eventually settled on, voice detatched. My own words sounded far off, and I wondered if he thought my words were far away too.

"Why? For what?"

"Engineering... Or science..." I told him, eyes never leaving the inky blackness of the night.

Sunsets and nighttime, when I felt most comfortable. Safest, not due to it actually being any safer, but because the darkness, the outdoors, they all resembled freedom to me. They were freedom. Was I emo? ... Goth, maybe? No... Maybe just a depressed philosopher whose view on life is through a lens of realism.

"You like building stuff?" The Master asked, and I thought about it for a moment, confused.

"Isn't that all there is to do? You either destroy stuff, build stuff, or keep stuff as it is. That's the only jobs there are," My gaze finds the Master's, and I raise an eyebrow at him, before my gaze flickers back to the window.

"What, is there a demon outside the window?" The Master asked sardonically.

"One can only hope there isn't one inside the window," I returned, but I did move to a chair and keep my gaze on the Master.

The Master was oddly tense, and he was watching me carefully. I didn't understand, it's not like this was an intense poker game that he put half his wealth into, it was a conversation. Why was he looking at me like he was trying to figure out if I was Hitler or not?

"What do you want to do, with your college degrees?"

"Probably start up some hotel business or something after getting and keeping a good enough job that the bank will give me a reasonable loan. Then create 5-star homeless shelters that give the homeless jobs and places to live, build an army of loyal workers, stop world hunger, and take over the world. Then up the education levels all across the globe by starting up free schooling within my global hotels and homeless hotels, making sure that flat-earthers, anti-vaxxers, racists, and other such idiots are crushed out of the next generation. Then maybe dive into clean energy, start killing off idiots at oil companies and dismantling the rich and getting them arrested or killed for all of the crimes they've committed and gotten away with," I leaned back, gaze now on the ceiling as I casually list back all of my fantasies from the past three decades, "Plant more flora, save more fauna from garbage by getting into space travel and making it cheap enough to send all of our trash to Venus, where the acid rain will take care of it. Make it illegal to discriminate, kill off the rest of the purposefully dense idiots, and rename Earth into Utopia. Or, well, rename the new Empire Utopia. Earth will stay Earth, just because the name is great."

"So... You... Want to rule the world?" The Master asked, sounding relieved.

"Fuck no," I denied, "But with how fucked the world is? How all the different societies are damned, and how we're all killing each other in wars caused by reasons that the lower and middle class don't give a fuck about? Someone needs to."

"So you don't actually don't want to do any of that," The Master deadpanned.

I shrugged, "Nah. I'll try, though. Hotel biz, getting rich, ruling the world... They're all goals. Goals that I don't want to do, but goals I'll at least try to achieve."

"What about dreams for the future, then? What do you actually want to do?"

I think on it for a moment. Die? Yeah. Die. Most certainly die. Maybe take a few people out with me in a blaze of glory. Become a famous serial killer, maybe, then blow up Trump Tower in a kamikaze attack using a handsome attack helicopter stolen from a military base or something. Then take over Hell with my hands tied behind my back, find my way back to Earth, rinse, repeat until I finally got the eternal sleep I desired.

"Fuck if I know," I muttered after a moment, "Grow to be six foot, parkour across New York, escape a few cop chases in a stolen lambo. Be known as the world's greatest criminal, and confidently be a total badass that most gangs are afraid to cross. Gain a reputation better than the Joker's and die in a blaze of glory way too early in my lifetime and taking thousands with me, if not millions."

"So you have goals to save the world and dreams to destroy it," The Master chuckled, shaking his head.

I put my feet solidly on the ground, sitting straight in my chair and looking at the Master, finally realizing what he was worried about. Oh. Right. He was worried... About me wanting to die. Probably. Which is exactly what I wanted to do. Well, didn't I dodge a bullet by being a sarcastic asshole? Good job, me. I then realized something else. Something I found to be a much more interesting subject.

"Is there a reason you are at school at midnight, or did you decide to keep my comatose corpse company?" I asked dryly, barely noticing that I changed the subject.

The Master looked at the clock in alarm, and I realized he'd probably never left. He stretched out, and groaned as his back cracked in various different places. I watched him, noting with some disbelief that I found the manwhore in front of me attractive. I then realized that maybe I was still tired. And thirteen starting Monday, also coincidentally the day I started working at McDonald's. Oh no was puberty starting? Oh fuck I was going to die of horniness mixed with angst and I'll be all emotional and sad. Oh God no, I was going to become batman, wasn't I? No. I refused. Horror etched itself in my very soul. The Master finished stretching after doing various different poses, back cracking each time, and let out a relieved sigh. His suit was disheveled, hair in disarray, and eyes suitably reddened from lack of sleep.

"Can I have keys to the building? Maybe to an unused room here as well?" I asked, and he gave me a calculating stare. I met it head on, ignoring the burning of my face that had nothing to do with how attractive the old man was and had everything to do with me essentially asking if I can squat in a middle school so I didn't have to return home on days I worked. Also probably flushed in horror. Probably only horror, actually.

"Why?" He asked softly, yawning widely immediately after. Or, well, during, "Why'd'you look terrified?"

"I uh, I have permission to work, technically, and I start work Monday, but uh, I got the permission kind of barely legally, and as long as my parents don't know where I work, they can't get me fired, since they technically gave me written and signed permission, but that means I don't have a ride home, and uh. Well it's a four to five hour walk from here to where I live for someone of your size," I shrugged, "And like a two hour biking, I guess. And I just realized that puberty is a thing that exists that I have to go through."

"..." He shakes his head at my last sentence, before keeping on the safer topic, "You don't have a bank account."

"McDonald's has a cash card, and my mail is sent via General Delivery so that I don't have to deal with my shit being gone through before I can get to it. I only work on weekends, really, from Friday to Sunday, so I just need a place to chill while I'm not at work..." I shrugged.

"That's not very many hours," The Master critisized, and I rolled my eyes.

"Fourteen hour shifts on the weekend and seven hour shift on Fridays. They're planning on keeping it like that until they get caught, where they'll then reschedule me to seven hours thirty a day during the weekdays until I turn sixteen," I shrugged, "It took them some convincing, but kids don't register in the system any different to adults, so as long as I get my thirty two minute lunch break it won't tip the system off."

"Thirty-two minute? That-"

"Pays us as if we've had more break than we did? Yes. It's a shady business," I interrupted with a shrug, "And I'm barely legally able to work. So can I have the keys to the building?"

"No. Give me your schedule, I'll pick you up and drop you off thirty minutes before and after your scheduled hours," The Master refused, and I grimaced, before nodding.

Digging through my backpack, I handed over one of the two copies of my schedule I had. The other was on the Master's phone that he's borrowing me so I can do my duties as his minion better. His gaze darkens at the rather unreasonable schedule, but he nods. Working from six in the morning until eight at night on Saturdays and Sundays and from four till close on Fridays, had I not been grateful to escape the semi-abusive household of warring opinions and children versus adults, I might not have wanted to get or keep the job.

"Where do I pick you up and drop you off from?" He asked, folding the paper smoothly and putting it in his pocket as he focused his attention on me.

"Er, do you know where Killerkye's Hiking Trail is?" I asked awkwardly, and he stared at me for several long moments.

"Why am I not picking you up at your house?" He asked slowly, but evenly. It certainly sounded like he was prepared for a terrible answer.

"Well, you'd not be accused of kidnapping by my parents, and uh, they're used to me being gone there all the time, whether they want me to be or not, during the weekends... And the Fridays are very similar, in that I typically don't actually get home until close to midnight..."

"How do you eat, if they're used to you being gone all day on weekends?" The Master asked.

I shrugged, gaze breaking from his as I once more look out the window into the inky darkness of the night. This perspective grants me the view of the McDonald's I start working at Monday. It looks nicer, covered in shadows and lit from the inside, like a particularly cozy Jack O'Lantern. Tomorrow was a Saturday, and I had just been planning to hang out here until Monday, not like they'd really notice whether I was gone or not, as I usually wasn't and didn't get in the house through any of the doors they lock every day. I typically get in through my window on the first floor, but if they lock that I get my brother to let me in from his window on the second floor, where I can get to from the metal thing that probably connects us to the electricity or internet or something.

"Right, why would you think to take care of yourself outside of school? No, you'll just starve yourself and avoid conflict, like the pacifist you are," The Master grumbled to himself, and I gave him a curious look. Try, one, and two, I wasn't a pacifist, I just agreed that I should be beaten. But yes, try. Try to avoid conflict. I never actually succeed, typically jumping out of the nearest exit and sprinting away with extra bruises, "Well, I'm headed home. Come on, you can stay at my place for the night."

I hesitate, but he puts a bunch of papers in my arms, and I follow him doggedly to help put his stuff in his car. Before I can really set the papers down and escape he shoves me into the passenger seat and closes the door after manually pushing the locking mechanism down, having noticed my flighty demeanour, presumably. My shoulders slump for a moment, before straightening once more, and I lean against the seat begrudgingly. I'd just vanish in the morning before he woke up, so that I'd not have to return to my parents' until Monday night.

--

The actual Chapter 9:

--

Arriving at his place I follow him with the paperwork, and set it down where he gestured for me to set it. I just watch as he unwinds from his day, half-buttoned untucked undershirt the only top he had on, and his shoes were placed in what I presumed to be their natural place, with the slight erosion of time and routine on the floorboards. The Master gestured for me to follow him, and he shows me into a plain, but comfortable, looking room on the second floor.

"There. There's an attached bathroom to this room, so you shouldn't have any issues. Have a good night," He finished with.

"Night," I offered quietly as he left, the door clicking shut behind him. I stared at the bed. Slowly setting down my backpack and setting an alarm for four and making sure it was only loud enough for me to hear, I flip off the light and lay on the bed, letting myself fall asleep. I hated sleeping, and yet it seemed that's all I did anymore outside of schooling, since I hadn't yet returned to my parent's place. Luckily that would change when my job started up in full, after orientation on Monday and training from Tuesday to Thursday, training ending on the next Thursday and typical hours starting up the Friday after.

Waking up with the alarm, I go to the bathroom, take a long drink from the sink, wash my face and brush my teeth, and change before silently sneaking to the entrance of the house. After a moment's thought, I figured that leaving through a window would keep the door locked, thus keeping from the Master getting robbed too easily or getting annoyed with me. Slowly wandering around, I frown at the alarm system. Looking closer, I'm relieved to find it un... Locked? Unarmed? I didn't see him arm it when we entered, so I presume he must've forgotten. Wandering to the window I planned on leaving, I listened for any sounds. There were none. The house was silent. I managed to slide the window open silently, and carefully unattached the screen, setting it aside to put back in as I lowered my backpack to the ground outside.

I'm picked up right before I hop to the grass only a few feet below the window, and freeze as I'm set inside. I watch, shocked, as the Master leans out, easily picking up my backpack and setting it inside before putting his screen back in. My heart pounds and my fingers twitch. I've never been more unsure of what to do in my long life, both before and after time travel. I'm frozen, staring at the Master as he wanders to a part of the wall and light floods into the expanse of empty space that connected the entryway, kitchen, and living room, or what I'd barely be able to call a hallway, as it was a bit too open to be a hallway.

"I must have missed your goodbye," The Master drawled, raising an eyebrow at me.

I stared at him, heart in my throat and stomach twisting, "Ah, yeah, uh, bye?"

He crossed his arms and leant against the now closed window, and I gently rest against the support or divider thing from the kitchen to the open hallway. It was an average design, typical amongst the upper-middle class in their giant near-symmetrical houses, but I found it incredibly hard to describe. Mainly because I wasn't paying it much attention, just unreasonably terrified of the Master. I tried calming my beating heart even as I kept eye contact with him. He had choked me hard enough to leave dark purple bruises that lasted a month for a simple lie, how bad would I be hurt for going directly against his orders to stay, unsaid or not?

"Why," Is all he said, sounding awfully tired. I almost felt bad, but my bruises still ached, and I wasn't quite prepared to go back. It hurt, and I didn't want to start my job barely able to walk without grimacing or wincing.

Feeling overheated, I take off my overshirt, my short sleeved black shirt much cooler as I jerkily tied it around my waist. I ignore the various stages of bruises making me look more like my black siblings than my white ones. I didn't mind, I didn't really think of my white relatives as family, anyway, so being any closer to my black siblings was a good thing. Family, bonded through struggle, which would certainly fall apart when we all legally became free.

"I uh, don't- didn't- plan on going back until at least Monday- and you said I'd stay the night, and forced it, so I uh," I took a breath, calming myself, "I was just planning on leaving before you could take me back. I didn't want to disturb you or otherwise inconvenience you by fighting your decision, so I had uh, planned on circumventing it."

My eyes finally dragged themselves back to him, only to find his eyes on my arms. Glancing down at them, I don't see anything wrong, and look back up at him, confused. Maybe he was avoiding my eyes? No, he seemed very focused on what he was seeing. I looked at my arms again, seeing the yellows, purples, greens, and browns of bruises new and old covering my arms. I glanced at my scar to see it scabbed over already from where it was ripped open when Luther- or was his name Jake?- pushed me to the ground, and again when Monica did. The Master seemed to notice I was checking my own arms out too, because his gaze searched mine for something I don't think was there. What did he want from my arms? It's not like they were bleeding or broken.

"Did you show the woman from CPS that?" He asked, and I nodded, confused.

"Yeah. You were there... Though you were a bit busy with emails, I suppose," I shrugged, "It's not too bad. I can deal with it."

The Master sighed heavily, and I was surprised when he pulled me into a hug. After a moment I hugged him back awkwardly. He probably needed comfort, I mused, after seeing how incompetent America was in its giving a fuck department. America literally probably only won the Revolutionary War because they're a bunch of selfish fucks who don't actually care too much about themselves as a whole. Or maybe they were willing to risk themselves over stupid shit just because it brushed against their pride a bit too much. The future proved that the latter was a bit more likely to me. America has always been a mess, though, so maybe I just started seeing it as I got older. It was pretty fucking obvious after a while.

"You okay?" I murmured after another long moment of silent hugging. His grip on me tightened, and I took that as a no.

"I hate humans," He breathed more to himself than to me.

I chuckled, a lopsided smile forcing its way onto my face, "Hehehahahah, yeah, me too. Look on the bright side, though." I rested my chin on his head, having to slouch to hug him anyway, since he was standing on his knees.

"What bright side?" He snarled quietly, voice bitter in an awfully familiar way. Hm... His backstory is seeming to clear up for me, at least a bit. Was he abused too? Did his parents mentally tear him limb from limb too? No wonder he seemed to care, he was projecting his situation onto me.

"At least there are good people in the world, that actually care," I answered, "This could have been a world where it really was survival of the fittest, and where all parents and people were abusive."

The Master scoffed, not replying. Yeah, it was a bit farfetched, I admitted. Humans were social creatures, the fact that they'd abuse any others, let alone their own, meant that there were issues up north with them that snuck into their genetic code or when they were growing up, somehow. The argument of nurture versus nature doesn't really have a finished answer, but I was of the opinion that unless you were actively nurtured away from your nature, or genetic mentality, then you'd end up as if you hadn't been nurtured at all. If you had two severely abusive birth parents and ended up growing up with a happy family seperate from them, chances are you'd end up abusive too. I wondered what would happen if humans weren't a freak of nature accidentally created, if they were built for maximum efficiency and social care. Unhinged sexy bastards like Nikola Tesla probably wouldn't exist, then, though. We needed more Nikola Tesla's and less Karens. Maybe with a little more death ray thrown in the mix, but still. What a guy.

"What are you thinking?" The Master asked quietly, seemingly calmed down, interrupting my thoughts.

"Nikola Tesla. Just wondering if he actually tried killing all of humanity with a death ray or not," I admitted.

The Master sighed, "Would it kill you to care about yourself once in awhile?"

"... Probably," I breathed out alongside a sigh. Right, he was still attached to the whole I'm being abused notion. I don't know why, there's not much either of us can do. Thinking about Nikola Tesla is a much better use of time than thinking about being abused and how shit the world is.

"What does that even mean," He asked as he untangled himself from me and stood up with a groan. I raised an eyebrow at that. He wasn't even thirty, yet. I then recalled various moments where I did the exact same thing, as a kid younger than he, and pretended I didn't judge him in the first place.

"If I cared about myself, I'd probably die," I explained simply. Caring doesn't mean loving. If I cared that I existed, it certainly wouldn't be with any friendly connotations. I rather disliked myself as is, no need to throw actual caring into the mix and turn harmless hate into murderous intent, yeah?

He must've taken it the wrong way, because he simply rolled his eyes and went back to leaning against the window, observing me and my arms with an intense calculating look.

We both stood there for a long time. It was light enough to show that it'd probably been hours. That or something was very, very wrong and the Earth's rotation sped up way past what it was supposed to be and we somehow didn't notice. I was vying for the former. Both just lost in thought.

I was thinking about my life, what I've done, and what I planned to. Maybe I should go back, I mused. Maybe I deserved it. I certainly haven't done anything to deserve being treated kindly by them. I pretty much have treated them like shit since I could speak, in this new timeline. They didn't deserve it. Not then. Did... Did my actions make them into the terribly bitter and abusive assholes they were? Could I have made them better instead of worse if I had only tried?

"Why?" The Master asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Why what?" I asked, blinking dazedly at him. He rolled his eyes, heaving a sigh. Did I say any of that aloud or was he just being reticent?

"Why should you go back? If you woke up at four in the bloody morning to leave thinking I'd force you back there, with your arms and presumably the rest of you looking like you lost a fight with a declawed bear-"

"That's a new one," I drawled.

"- why in the bloody fuck do you think you should go back? Are you a masochist?" He looked at me carefully, and I rolled my eyes.

"No. Sadistic in some ways, masochistic in none," I take a long moment to gather my thoughts. What could I say? Oh, yeah, about that, I think I deserve it because it's my fault in the first place? That would go over well, not to mention I'd then have to explain just why and how it was my fault, which would end with me in a mental hospital because no sane person would let me get away with believing I travelled in time, "I mean, even if they're a bag of dicks, I still have family there. I can't just leave them to- to fend for themselves whilst I stay in the comfort of town."

He rolled his eyes, "Try again. You hate your family."

I gave him a glare, "I hate the bastards that call themselves my family, yes," I admitted, voice edged with a whole lot of danger. If he insulted my true family again I'd show him how unpacifistic I was, "But Taniya and William are family. Not just guardians or relatives. And Taniya is a fucking pacifist," My voice took on a slightly broken, small, and desperate tone, "One who I've seen tripped down flights of stairs, pushed down hills, and insulted. William is fucking ten, Master," I look away, not wanting to see his face. Unable to show him my teary eyes at the fact that my siblings were going to be so fucking broken, that it was all my fault. Not wanting to show my expression after my voice broke at the suffering my siblings go through. Not when he could have helped us all. Anyone "Upper Class" could help without making a dent in their wealth, yet he doesn't even bother, "Ten. I can't- I can't leave them. Not when..." I shake my head. Not when I was the one to make it this bad in the first place. Not when I was the fucking monster that made it all happen in both lives.

"Not when what?" The Master asked, voice soft and low and everything it shouldn't be. I felt the small part of me that thought he might be a good person wither away. Admittedly, he didn't have to do shit. He didn't have to care, and I'd be fine. But pretending to care when you could do something about it? Fuck that. I thought of M_OfYourMom for a moment. I'd probably tell him about all of this, really. Might as well, he'd not want to go through 99 levels of Five zombies in Call of Duty otherwise, and I needed that to calm down a bit.

"Not when they need me," I lie flatly, not even bothering to hide that it was a blatant lie, shrugging, "I mean, Kiana and I are the only ones who fight back. William and Taniya are too fucking kind for their own damned good." And unlike last time, where if I left things got infinitely better, when I left they stayed the same. I still passed Kiana in the hallways looking like she'd been beaten into submission even if I'd been gone days. I couldn't even help them by avoiding them. Not anymore.

The Master rolled his eyes at that, "Don't lie. You don't fight back."

"If I see my mother, sister, father, whoever hitting Taniya or William? I suppose the only reason someone hasn't ended up dead yet or hospitalized is because there's so many on each side," I shrugged.

"Side?"

"Children- Taniya, Kiana, me, William, against adults. Glen, Elise, Monica, anyone over the age of eighteen..." My eyes glazed over as I thought. Yeah. All adults, even the Master, were enemy number one. No one else cared enough to do anything, "Probably anyone white besides me, too... I dunno. Everyone not us."

"Including me," He said flatly.

I looked him in the eye, ignoring how unamused he looked, "Enemy number one, every single fucking adult in this wretched country."

The Master didn't look too happy, "I've been trying to help you-"

"Have you, though?" I asked, "You've... sympathized... Called CPS... Got angry when you didn't win a lawsuit that I'd not have seen a penny of if won..." I shrugged, looking at the ground, "You're one of the better ones, I guess. Not all enemies are cruel."

"Well what can I do in this gormless cock-up of a country?!" He yelled, irritated.

I shrugged. I wasn't going to say it, "This is America," I whispered, "A country that only cares about itself... and money... I dunno. Maybe stop pretending to care like everyone else when we all know you don't give a fuck."

"And money- you're saying I can fix your situation with money?" The Master asked, voice taking a tone that I didn't recognize.

I gave him an unsure look, "You... Didn't know that? If- If you're actually upper-class, then you can literally kill, maim, arrest, or do anyone and anything besides the president and other, richer people, and get away with it," I explained slowly, "America is- it's lawless when money's involved. I'm not- I didn't mean to imply anything... Sorry," He doesn't speak for a moment, and neither do I, before I speak up again, "What... does gormless mean?"

"..." The Master sighed heavily, "Stupid. It means bloody fucking stupid." He emphasized fucking, and I gave him a confused look.

The Master seemed... regretfully mad? Like he was mad at himself. Probably for ever thinking to make me his minion, I figured, looking back to the floor in shame. I should never have spoken. I should have made up an excuse and left. Why do I end up fucking everything up? Did I travel through time just to make everything that much fucking worse? Of course the one adult that I think is kind of okay and I fuck it all to hell by implying that he should waste money on me. As if I deserved anything from him. As if I wasn't grateful enough that he didn't tell me to fuck off the first few times I hung around without him actually needing me. As if everything he already did for me meant nothing.

I felt my eyes burn, and I grabbed my backpack and ran, managing to escape the neighborhood without being caught- probably without being chased- and ran to the one place I knew no one would find me. Hiding in a very impossible place to be in the abandoned building without being as small as I was, backpack hidden in a different area because it wasn't small enough to fit into the area I was in, I took heavy shaking breaths as tears streamed down my face. Right.

I hated myself so much.

Why'd I come back in time anyway? I was just trying to escape myself, I could've just stolen a fucking gun to escape the hellish bitch that I was, why'd I think it'd not follow me back in time? Why'd I think anything good would come of it? I've made everything worse, probably permanently pushed my oldest sister into drugs permanently, if the amount of times I've caught her sobbing her heart out in bathrooms in school before she went to highschool where I'd not be going for another year or two. Maybe I should just stay here forever. Literally die in a hole. Yeah... That was a good idea. Yeah. I could do that. Maybe things would be better that way.

I was woken by the incessant ringing of the Master's phone. This was the tenth time its' rang in as many seconds as it takes ten phone calls to get to voicemail. I stayed for an hour and a half before sighing heavily and crawling out, almost falling the three stories it was to the basement of the place, barely able to get onto the second floor with a wheeze and grunt as my stomach slammed into the end of the flooring. I scrabbled onto the floor and flipped to stare up at the ceiling. Another half an hour passes, and I sigh irritably as I shove myself up and limp over to my backpack, where I finally answer the phone.

"Yeah?" I cough, grimacing at the weak and rough sound of my voice. It didn't sound like I'd been crying, it sounded like I ran a mile in a fucking desert after not speaking for decades and finally decided to speak. I ignored the sluggish bleeding of my arms as too-shallow wounds from a rusted bit of metal sparked the pain receptors when I put the phone to my ear. I must have scraped them when I almost fell, I mused, observing the cut-looking scrapes. It reminded me of my previous life. How... Uncouth... My actions were all those years ago. The pain did make me feel better, though. I deserved the punishment, really, for being so stupid.

"Oh thank God you're okay," I heard the Master say from far away. Probably said it to himself, then, "I looked away for a moment and then you bloody vanish! Bollocks, I'd tried following you but you disappeared you- you- you pillock," I heard him sigh heavily, wondering what the fuck the ship name for a pillow and a lock meant. Probably dumbass, with how he said it.

"That was very... slang..." I muttered to myself quietly, holding the phone a bit away so he didn't hear me ranting to myself like the insane asshole I was, "I mean, not the words so much as his voice... I guess that was very accented, then... Does he get more British the more emotional he is? I suppose that makes sense... American accents don't really do worry or whatever like British accents do."

"You've been missing-" His calm tone didn't last two words, I mused, "for days! It's Monday you bloody fucking idiot! Where are you?" He demanded, probably not hearing me.

I blinked a few times. Is it Monday? I suppose... I suppose I should go to work, then, since I haven't died... No wonder I felt so weak and sounded like a dying man. I've been curled up without food, drink, or movement for the entire weekend. I took the stolen thermos from my backpack, filled with water on Friday, and drank heavily from it.

"What... Time is it?" I asked after I was done drinking the entirety of the bottle, grimacing as I realized that drinking it all was probably a stupid idea.

"You-" He breathed out incredulously, "It's... It's midday. God you're insufferable."

I blinked again, slowly, as everything twisted, vision blurring and coming in and out of focus without my consent, "Oh... So I have time before work. That's good."

"You've been missing," The Master snapped, "All weekend. The police need to speak with you- bloody- I need to speak with you, you can't go to work today."

"... We..." I grunted in pain, slamming into the floor, curling up as I groaned, feeling so fucking dizzy and tired and my stomach hurt already from drinking too much water like the fucking idiot I am. I wait patiently as the darkness recedes enough for me to see the phone as if through a bunch of static on a 1080p monitor, like I had stared at Slenderman too long in a horror game. I gripped at the phone, "S'rry," I slurred, "H'lo?"

"..." I heard the Master practically yelling, but I couldn't... hear... it. It sounded off, like I had water stuck in my ears. Far away and underwater.

"I... Can't... I can't hear you, Mas-sss... I haven't... I can't..." I struggled to keep my words from slurring, but I couldn't quite speak a full sentence, nor could I quite figure out what to say. In a moment of clarity, I realized I needed to tell him where I was. I'd not be able to do anything, "No police... No fire... fire... truck people..." I said as loudly and as clear as I could make it. It barely came out as audible, "I can't... Food... water... dying..."

His voice came through, and I saw that I had managed to put it on speaker. It sounded so far away, but I could hear what he was saying, at least, "No police, no firefighters. Promise. Where are you?" His voice sounded... shaky. I couldn't hear anything else he said, but I recognized that he said something. My thoughts that I didn't want him here called to me from far away, but I could barely make them out as my mind forced forwards thoughts of survival and safety. He wasn't safe, though, was he? He was just as dangerous as any other adult out there, able to control and enslave kids like... Like my parents did... Which they didn't do last timeline... Which means it's my fault, "Where are you?" The Master repeated, louder, and I tried answering, wanting to please him after fucking up so badly earlier. Earlier. Where... What street was I on?

"Creek... Creek... Lane... 'Bandoned... roof... can get on... fr'm back," I struggled to say, grasping the phone as I dragged myself to my feet and fell more than crawled through the small hole, leaving my backpack behind. I managed to get to the third floor, but didn't bother trying to get into the room that led to the roof. There were too many holes in the floor of that room. I'd fall through before I managed to even get to the stairs, even if it was a straight-shot, "Nt climb, Mazr, ll'dark. Can't see."

"... bloody roof..." I manage to hear, "... you?"

"... Go... To... Shack. Window-" I stopped as suddenly my stomach decided that it didn't desperately need water, and I barely managed to turn as water and acid forced itself out of my mouth. I didn't notice when someone else joined me, didn't notice as I was essentially force-fed. I passed out.