The clock that hung over the door was definitely mocking Fergus. The ticking was making his heart jumble, it was getting on his nerves. Or at least he liked to think it was annoying him rather than scaring him.

It was precisely 2:36 in the morning, the land was still covered with darkness and the cold hue of a lamp that hung over the front gate reflected against the fake Captain Americas shield that was in Refsters old room.

Fergus sat on the floor, pressing himself against the door. He was still afraid of the room, afraid to sleep on the bed that might still have his best friends blond hair somewhere. Afraid to touch the pencils that might have his fingerprints on them. Too afraid to unpack his clothes and put them in a closet where he might find some of Refs old clothes and crumpled poems.

Fergus had calmed down, for the most part, still holding his bruised, broken and aching fingers against his chest in shock. His hands had stopped shaking a long time ago, now his fingers were just aching numbly. He had never been physically punished before, not like that, ever.

Sure Mrs. Finlay had forced him to clean the toilets, peel potatoes, clean all of the kids' rooms and one time she even wouldn't let Fergus go to the park to earn some money for a whole week. These were the kind of punishments he had received for, well, being himself.

But never had anyone even threatened to raise their hand on him.

He refused to look at his black and blue hand, feeling it swell in his grip as he was still clutching his bruised hand.

He blinked groggily, the panic unable to allow him to fall asleep.

He was suffocating, therefore, he pushed himself up. Silently, he crept down the stairs. The shadows that surrounded the teen were carefully wrapping him into their embrace, his green eyes glowed as they danced from one spot to another.

He was like a ghost in the hollow halls, he made no sound of his presence in the darkness.

As he carefully wrapped his pale fingers around the doorknob, he held his breath. He yanked the door, frowning as he realized it wouldn't budge. “You are not supposed to leave the house in the middle of the night. Nick would get angry.” the teen released the doorknob, looking for the source of the voice. It was the little girl, Jolene.

Fergus felt awkward, he didn't know how much the girl talked, would she tell on him? “I wasn't trying to get out. I was searching for a bathroom. It's still a new house, I get the rooms messed up.” the girl tilted her head, making Fergus wonder why was she even up so late. “you don't have to lie to me. I won't tell them. Come to the kitchen, you didn't eat earlier.” the girl disappeared from his line of sight into the dark hall. The teen hesitated, she seemed weird. She talked now.

One more time he yanked at the door, sighing as it didn't budge. He followed the girl into the kitchen, his eyebrows going up in surprise as he realized she was making him food. “I'm not hungry,” he said, sitting behind the table. “Leah says people who are hungry but don't want to eat say that. I used to say that, I don't anymore. And I was hungry when I said it, I was just upset.” she said, her voice melodic as it seemed to slightly ease Fergus' nerves. “Why were you upset?” he asked curiously, watching as the girl ran around the kitchen quietly. The little girl peeked over her shoulder, looking him curiously with those dark green eyes. “I was new then, an orphan like all of us. I didn't have my friends with me, and I was just scared. But it isn't that bad here, it's just very quiet.” she said simply, and Fergus swore the girl seemed to sing the words like a little bird.

Jolene perked up at the sound of a microwave, she placed a plate full of spaghetti in front of Fergus, making his eyes go large at the amount of food. He reached for the fork, holding it in his left hand as his right was, well, hurt. “How old are you? Six? Seven?” the girl furrowed her brows, her hands on her hips. “eight, isn't it obvious?” Fergus shrugged, he still didn't like children.

“Why are you up so late? It's what, 3 AM?” Jolene took a glass of water and sat opposite of Fergus, she didn't look tired. “I nap, I don't sleep full hours. And I was watching Tom&Jerry in the living room when I saw you. Why are you up? Do you need any painkillers for your hand?” startled, Fergus looked up, mouth full of spaghetti. “What? No, I'm fine!” Jolene rolled her eyes, looking bored. “Yeah, it doesn't hurt at all when your hand is leaking blood. Geez, I thought you were like, a grown up. Is it true? That boys mature much slower than girls? Because I think the proof is right in front of me.” that was one sassy eight-year-old Fergus noted, looking unamused as he chewed slowly, realizing he was indeed hungry.

He grunted, keeping his right hand in the pocket of his hoodie, refusing to tell the child anything. “Why do you nap? It isn't healthy.”

“Not cleaning your wounds isn't healthy. I should wake Leah up, she's the healer here.” Fergus' eyes widened as the girl jumped off the bar stool, already going towards the bedroom. “Wait, hey, Jolene don't!” the girl halted, looking back. “People sleep at 3 am, not eat spaghetti and tend hands.” the realization seemed to dawn as she looked surprised. “Oh, right.”

Children.

“Will you watch Tom&Jerry with me?” she asked hopefully, looking up at him with those wide, dark green eyes. Fergus scoffed, taking the last bite of his spaghetti. “I don't watch cartoons.”

“Alright, I'll go wake Leah up then!” she said happily, skipping down the hall. Fergus shot up, running to catch up with the girl. He stopped in front of the stairs, cutting off her way. “Fine! stop being a little brat then,” he whispered, the girl giggled, clapping her hands quietly as she hummed to herself.

That's how Fergus found himself watching the cartoon of a smart mouse and an egoistic cat at 4 AM. Jolene, who preferred to be called Jo, had poured both of them some apple juice, she said it used to calm her down and it would make Fergus feel better. He just thought it was an excuse to drink something sweet in the middle of the night.

He watched, unamused as the girl stared at the TV, watching the cat getting hit with a brick.

He stayed silent, finding it ridiculous. He still hid his hand from her sigh, she might talk like a mature person, but he knew her mind was still the one of a kid.

“Why don't they let any other people into the house?” he asked, hoping to get some answers out of the girl as she was distracted with the cartoon. “They like isolation,” she said, grinning at the way Tom got beat up by a little mouse. “Why? Is there something they are hiding?” he asked, hoping to get some answers. “Yeah, but it's a secret, I can't tell you yet.”
Fergus knew how to manipulate people, as much as he hated to admit it, it has gotten him away from punishments a lot. Safe lies, simple talk, and innocent words. “Oh, that's sad. I was hoping we would like, become friends. Friends say secrets to each other. But okay, I guess I'll get going then.”

Fergus looked on the floor, sighing tiredly as he pushed himself up. He could feel her desperate gaze on him. “They-they, uh, Nick likes science! And, uh, they, I mean, Nick, has some things he shouldn't have, I think. I don't know! But they can make you feel better if you're sad and alone. Please, Fergus, please be my friend!” the girl jumped up, going to hug Fergus but the boy put his hand out, hoping she got the message but no, she hugged his arm instead.

“Only Leah is my friend now, Remi was too, but he was out a lot, please don't leave me alone.” she was desperate, he hadn't expected that. He swallowed, feeling out of place as the eight-year-old hugged his hand.

Remi? Did they call him Remi here?

Fergus cleared his throat. “Get back on the couch, I'll, uh, stay with you.” he wouldn't say it out loud, but he'd rather watch Tom&Jerry with this annoying little girl than go and sleep in Refs old room.

“Now it's your turn to tell me a secret,” Jo said excitedly, looking at Fergus with large eyes.

“I, uh, I have a pet raven!”