"Please Mama, please!" Snitch sobbed loudly. The other newsboys were now helping him hold Skittery away from the mirror.

The woman in the mirror looked troubled. The idea of having Snitch in the mirror too delighted her, but she didn't want to let go of Mush, Blink, Specs or Jack either. Finally she sighed and shook her head. The force that had been pulling desperately on Skittery dropped him, and the newsies fell to the ground in this victory. Skittery and Snitch enveloped each other. There were loud groans from behind them as the mirror ejected first Mush, then Specs, then Blink and finally Jack. Jack sat up and kicked the mirror with an angry grunt, but howled with pain when his bare foot achieved nothing but a loud slam against the surface of the mirror.

"Ya bitch!" he screamed at the mirror. Then he turned to Snitch frantically. "Snitch, doan do it. Doan go in dere. She'll nevah letcha out!"

Snitch loosened his grip on Skittery, his face an emotionless mask. "I hafta, Jack. I tol' 'er she coul' take me fer youse guys."

He stood to go to the mirror, but Skittery grabbed his wrist.

"Doan leave me, Skitcha." Skittery pleaded pitifully. Snitch knelt by him and kissed his cheek.

"I's doin' dis fer youse, moah den anybody else." he said quietly. "Fer yer safety." He then stood and walked to the mirror. Skittery slumped forward and stared disbelievingly at the floor, his heart broken.

Snitch kicked the mirror, like Jack, but there was no howl of pain from him; he wore boots. "C'mon, Mama. If yer gonna take me, den take me. Stop playin' wit' me."

His mother's face appeared in the mirror, and she frowned. "You don't have to be so demanding." she said snippily.

"Den doan play wit' me pals like dis, Mama!" he said angrily. "C'mon!"

His mother narrowed her blue eyes, then disappeared into a starlight fog. Soon after, a rough wind grabbed Snitch's ankles and pulled him off his feet. He yelled with surprise, and despite Skittery's last desperate grabs, was soon pulled into the gray abyss of the mirror.

He landed with a soft thump, and looked around him. Everything was black. There was little else…three beds, a small dresser…

And, in the corner, a foggy gray mirror.

His mother sat slightly to the side of the mirror. Behind the mirror was an older man, his face worn, his eyes hazel…

And a tiny girl.

With bright blue eyes.

The girl stared at Snitch wonderingly, then turned to Snitch's mother.

"This is him, Mama?" she said.

Snitch stiffened. "What?"

His mother looked at him, her face soft. "Danny, this is your sister. I named her Rebekah."

Snitch started to shake his head. "But…but ya died befoah youse coul' even have anudda kid, Mama! I saw ya!"

"But when I died, she died with me. I was given the chance to find her and let her grow." she frowned. "She won't be able to grow much more, but…"

The old man with the hazel eyes cleared his throat. Snitch's mother glared at him quickly, then returned her attention to Snitch. "Danny…Danny, this is your grandfather."

The old man held out his hand to Snitch, who simply stared at it. "I guess I got youse ta blame fer dis 'ole deal, ah?"

The old man looked hurt and withdrew his hand. "I'm sorry, Danny."

"Doan call me dat."

"I didn't know this was what your mother had in mind."

"Me mudda wasn't like dis befoah."

"I thought she just wanted to see you."

"She didn' 'spect me ta be a boy-kissah."

"That's a different story."

"Mebbe ta youse n ta her, but ta me, it's da only story."

"I'm sorry."

"Ya shoul' be."

Following this quick discussion was an interlude of silence. Then, Snitch's mother stood and clapped her hands. "Well! Now that we're all introduced, we might as well start getting Danny comfortable."

"Doan call me dat!" Snitch growled. "Me name ain't Danny no moah, Mama! Nobody's called me dat fer yeahs!" He shuddered. "'Sounds funny."

His mother wrinkled her nose. "Rebekah doesn't mind her name."

"Dat's cause she ain't hoid nuthin' else. Snitch is me only name, Mama. Dat's da only name I evah had."

Rebekah continued to study her newfound brother. "Why do you want to be called 'Snitch'?" she asked. "Isn't that a bad thing?"

"Not when it's da only way youse c'n make a livin'." Snitch answered promptly.

His mother threw her arms in the air and sat huffily on one of the three beds. His grandfather simply stared at him, looking as if things weren't going right at all. Rebekah just stared at him with the simple curiosity of a young child.

Finally, Snitch sighed. "What's dat?" he asked, pointing at the mirror.

His grandfather brightened. "Why, that's how we communicated with you, my boy. This mirror has a connection to the mirror you stole."

"Da mirrah wit' da curse." Snitch spat. "Curse a fam'ly. A broken fam'ly what doan care nuthin' 'bout what I t'ink. Dat's what da curse is, ain't it?"

There was silence to that remark.

Snitch continued to stare at the mirror. "Coul'…woul' I be able ta talk ta me pals wit' dat t'ing."

"You could…" his grandfather began.

"If we would let you!" his mother interjected. "Which we're not! Those hooligans had an influence on you that is going to be deathly difficult to erase!"

Snitch had had it. He slammed his palms on the ground. "Dey ain't hooligans, Mama! Dey's me pals! N dey's a bettah fam'ly den you dumbasses'll evah be!"

All three of his family members stared at him with wide eyes.

Rebekah was the first to blink, and the first to speak. "Let him talk to them, Mama. They seemed like nice enough boys to me."

Snitch stared at her in disbelief.

His mother glared at Rebekah, then returned to Snitch. "Fine. Talk to them. But I'm not setting it up for you. You'll have to figure it out for yourself." She smiled smugly. "And your grandfather won't help you either."

Snitch looked at the mirror, desperate, helpless, and yet, stubborn. He crawled to it, on his knees, and took it in both hands.

"Guys…" he whispered. "C'mon, guys…fuck!"

There was a sharp gasp from behind him, his mother's voice, but he ignored it.

He placed his palms on the mirror's foggy surface. "C'mon…" he urged. "'Ow does it woik…?" Then he stroked the mirror with one long finger, making an X-shape. To his surprise, the mirror started to clear. Another gasp escaped his mother's mouth, and he grinned in delight.

"Guys! Guys!" he called excitedly. "C'mon guys!

The mirror cleared enough that he could now see the scene in the bunkroom.

And it hurt him to see it.

He helplessly placed a palm against the mirror. "Holy God…" he whispered.

It was starting to get dark, and most of the boys were getting ready for bed. The four couples that had been separated had been reunited joyously enough, but Skittery…Skittery was on the floor, curled into fetal position. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks, and some of the others, Snipeshooter, Bumlets and Pie Eater were comforting him softly.

"Guys…" Snitch whispered to the mirror. "Cantcha see me heah?"

Suddenly Dutchy's face invaded Snitch's vision, and he cried out in surprise.

Dutchy beamed at him. "Snitch!" he cried. "Guys! Guys! It's Snitch!"

Snitch grinned widely, delighted. "Heya guys!"

Jack shoved Dutchy roughly out of the way. "Heya Snitch. How's it rollin' down dere?"

Snitch's smile faded slightly. "Okay, I guess. Youse guys doin' foine wit'out me?"

"'Sonly been a few minutes, Snitch, but I guess we's doin' foine so fah." he lowered his voice. "I wanna t'ank youse, Snitch. Not jus' fer me, but fer Race, Dutchy, Dave n dem guys. Ya gave yerself up fer dem."

Snitch shrugged humbly. "Nuthin' doin'." he replied. "C'n I talk ta Skitts?"

Jack chewed on his lip for a moment. "Sho'." he said softly, getting out of the way of the mirror. A few quiet moments passed, then Skittery appeared before the mirror. His face showed pure delight. He held his palm against the surface of the mirror in the bunkroom. Snitch did the same with the mirror inside.

Skittery grinned slightly. "C'n Snitch come out n play?"

Snitch blinked. "Not until 'e figgahs out how dis t'ing woiks."

Skittery shut his eyes and sighed deeply, yet said nothing.

"Skitts…youse gonna be okay?" Snitch asked softly.

Skittery shook his head slowly, then nodded. "I dunno. Youse gonna be okay?"

"I dunno." Snitch paused. "Youse gonna keep da mirrah, right?"

Skittery opened his eyes. "A course! Skitcha, I doan know what I'd do if I couldn' at leas' t'ink I might be able ta talk ta youse."

Snitch smiled sadly. "Skitts…I…"

He jumped as someone grabbed his shoulder gruffly, and drew a single line down the center of the mirror. Skittery's face disappeared from the mirror instantly. Snitch grabbed the hand on his shoulder and tore it off.

"Whaddaya t'ink youse doin'?" he shouted, halfway down the road to tears.

His mother glared at him for a moment, then smacked him across the cheek.

He cried out, grabbing his cheek and staring at his mother with hurt in his eyes. She'd never smacked him before, when he was little, even when he got caught snitching from her jewelry box.

"Mama…?" he whispered.

She simply stared at him, then turned her back and walked away.

Snitch watched her leave.

"Dat…dat cain't be me mudda…" he whispered. "Me mudda woul' nevah hoit me…" He watched as she sat down beside Rebekah, and the pair of them started to read something…the Bible, probably.

But something caught his eye…his grandfather, standing in the corner opposite Snitch, watching Rebekah and her mother.

The feeling erupted inside Snitch with a discomfort equal to that of sitting on nails, the feeling that something here just wasn't right, that things were not as they should be.

He shifted his eyes back to Rebekah and his mother. Then to his grandfather again.

The hazel eyes. The blue eyes. Something wasn't right. The eyes.

Rebekah. His mother. His grandfather. Rebekah…

Rebekah was his sister, right? Then…the eyes! The blue eyes!

Her eyes should be hazel, shouldn't they?

He remembered his father had hazel eyes. And he remembered he'd seen his father's siblings, they all had hazel eyes too. And his grandfather.

Then shouldn't Rebekah have hazel eyes?

He looked at his grandfather, then at his mother and sister. Rebekah looked up at him, and smiled.

Snitch stared at her, then turned and looked at himself in the mirror.

He and Rebekah had nothing in common. Nothing. Siblings always had something in common, didn't they? He'd seen that they usually did, from the kids he sold with, and from seeing pictures of Skittery's brother Joseph. At least one little thing that let you know they were related. The tiniest of things, like the long shape of their hands, or that birthmark on their ankles, or the notch in their ear.

But he and Rebekah had nothing.

"She ain't me sistah." he whispered, turning, and looking at Rebekah. "Youse ain't me sistah."

Rebekah blinked, and his mother lifted her head and glared at him. "What are you saying, Danny?"

Danny stared, dumbfounded. "She…she ain't me sistah. She cain't be." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his grandfather move. "She doan look nuthin' like me. She 'asta 'ave somethin' in common wit' me."

Rebekah looked extremely hurt, and his mother was rabid. "What are you talking about, of course she's your sister, Danny!"

Snitch shook his head slowly. "She…she cain't be me sistah."

Suddenly, he found himself pressed up against the smooth surface of the mirror, his air cut off by a strong, warm hand. He struggled to remove the hand from his neck, his eyes shut with exertion, his body squirming as he felt the body heat of the hand holding him raise to an impossible temperature, burning his neck. If he could have, he would have screamed with the pain.

"You're smarter than you let yourself be." A harsh voice whispered in his ear. He only knew it was his grandfather because it was a male voice. "You get that from my side."

Snitch continued to struggle. He was starting to get dizzy.

There was a smile in his grandfather's voice. "Yes. You have your mother's looks but everything else comes from your father."

Snitch stopped struggling, and shook his head. Black stars swirled inside his head.

"Yes. You get it from your father. And from me."

Snitch opened his eyes and looked up at his grandfather, the man with his own hazel-eyes.

His grandfather studied him for a moment, then released him. Snitch fell to the ground, rubbing his neck, gasping for breath.

"Why…?" he choked.

"Why? Why what?" his grandfather responded.

"Me…why me?"

"Because you're my grandson. My heir. The last remaining person with my blood running in your veins." he frowned. "Your father had to go get himself killed in an accident at a factory. His sister tried to run off to Philadelphia and got herself crushed under a train. His brother simply hung himself. No one knows why." He looked up and smirked at Snitch. "So that leaves you."

"Whaddaya want me…me fer?"

"So that I can train someone in the magical ways that I was trained in. You have my blood in you, so you will have the ability."

Snitch stared. "What?"

"I am the one who placed this mirror under it's curse, to live inside it if you wish to be immortal. I am also the one who made it indestructible." he smiled. "It can only be destroyed from this side, but don't get any ideas." He glared at Snitch. "To destroy it is to destroy yourself. Anyway, I also created those ghosts of your mother, and your sister." His face twisted into a scowl. "How was I to know you'd catch that your sister looked nothing like you? If you'd known better, you may have challenged to see the mark on her chin, something your mother had and would have passed on to a daughter."

Snitch remembered that mark. Then a realization came to him. "So…so y'mean dat bitch wasn't me mudda?"

His grandfather shook his head. "No. She wasn't your mother."

Snitch beamed. His mother didn't hate him after all.

But a shudder ran through him as his grandfather knelt down and touched his cheek. "But I managed to get you here. And that's all the matters."

Snitch hesitated for a moment, then threw himself out of his grandfather's touch, and dashed to the mirror. He drew an 'X' shape over it's smooth surface, and waited anxiously. He turned and looked over his shoulder, where his grandfather was watching him. He didn't seem angry. Just exasperated. Snitch turned back to the mirror, and was disappointed to see the bunkroom dark, the bunks creaking with the weight of exhausted young boys. He started to draw a finger over the mirror to shut it when he heard light sobbing.

"Hello?" he called softly. "Somebody up?"

The sobbing stopped. "Who's dere?"

Snitch thought for a moment, then his face lit up. "Skitts? Dat youse?"

There was a pause. "Skitcha?"

"Who else?"

"Hol' on!" There was a short interval as Skittery shoved himself out of bed and went to the mirror. "Skitcha! Whaddaya doin'?"

"Skitts, I gotta get outta heah. Me gran'daddy's tryin' ta do somethin' wit' me. I doan un'nahstand what he's gettin' at, but I gotta get outta heah." he smiled. "I gots an ideah. Youse gotta 'elp me. C'n ya 'elp?"

Skittery looked confused but nodded anyway. "Sho'. I'll try, Skitcha."

Snitch looked at Skittery for a moment, then back at the mirror. "Stan' back, Skitts. I's gonna try somethin'."

Skittery obeyed, and Snitch stared at the mirror in front of him, thinking. If an 'X' let you talk…what would let you out and in? He thought for a while, then drew an 'O' shape over the mirror.

Suddenly, fog started to drift from the space between the mirrors into the little room Snitch's grandfather had made. Snitch stared at the fog, then started to go through the hole in the mirror. He was ready when his grandfather grabbed his ankles, and managed to shake him off. He reached up and grabbed the edge of the other mirror, the one that would let him into the bunkroom once again.

"Skitts! 'Elp me out!" He cried. Skittery grabbed Snitch's wrists and began to pull. Snitch was halfway out when he shook himself from Skitts and got a good grip on the edge of his mirror.

"Skitcha, whattaya doin'?" Skittery asked, shocked, as Snitch turned around.

"I dunno…" Snitch said earnestly. "But I 'ope it woiks."

He shut his eyes and swung back down through the fog. He grandfather glared at him through his mirror. Snitch made a face at him, still holding onto his mirror. Just as he'd hoped, his grandfather's anger rose, visibly, and he opened his mirror. Snitch started to swing again, until he got enough momentum to reach his grandfather. In doing so, he kicked his grandfather in the face, shoving him back into his little room. Then he continued swinging, as the mirror shut behind his grandfather. He could feel his own mirror starting to shut, and cold sweat ran down his back. He swung forward again, and kicked his grandfather's mirror as hard as he could.

A crack appeared.

Then it started to grow.

Snitch started to hoist himself back into the bunkroom, the hole in his own mirror starting to close, and watched as his grandfather's face shattered behind the mirror. Snitch pulled, the only problem now being to beat his own mirror as it threatened to close, and shut him inside the blackness between the mirrors forever. He pulled desperately. Skittery grabbed him around the waist and started to help him out. It seemed like they were going to make it, but the hole closed around Snitch's ankle. Snitch cried out in pain, but told Skittery to keep pulling. Skittery hesitated, then continued to pull. Snitch's foot came free, but not without price; several deep cuts ran through his foot, bleeding profusely over the floor. It was useless.

Snitch stared at his ruined foot, put his head in his hands, and started to sob.

Snitch and Skittery fell asleep together on the floor, after Skittery had helped Snitch bandage his foot. Snitch's sleep was fitful; he tossed, turned, and whimpered, keeping Skittery awake. The dark-eyed newsboy watched Snitch helplessly, knowing better than to wake him; if you wake someone from their nightmare, they'll simply return to it when they return to sleep. They have to wake themselves.

Skittery had learned that soon after watching his brother get killed in that alleyway.

He stroked Snitch's cheek, and the younger boy calmed slightly, jamming his thumb into his mouth. Skittery smiled slightly, and wished he could do more.

Snitch slowly opened his eyes, and looked at Skittery under his eyelashes.

Skittery gave him the cheeriest smile he could muster. "Heya." he whispered. "Howah ya doin'?"

Snitch winced. "Me foot hoits."

"Cain't do nuthin' 'bout dat, Skitcha. Sorry."

Snitch smiled slightly, and removed his thumb from his mouth. "'Ow can ya 'elp me, den, Skitts?"

Skittery smiled, and stroked Snitch's cheek. Then he leaned in and kissed the hazel-eyed boy softly.

"I doan know, Skitcha." he said. "What hoits 'sides yer foot?"

"Me heart."

"Why?"

"'Cause me fam'ly's all gone."

Skittery kissed Snitch again. "Youse da bravest boy I evah met. I loves ya, Snitch."

Snitch blinked at him. "Really?"

"Yeh."

"I loves youse too, Skittery."

They stared at each other for a moment, then kissed, passionately, with something deeper than their first kiss, because this was their confession of love for each other. They clutched each other, fingers in hair, legs tangled together, love radiating from their bodies as Skittery started to unbutton Snitch's long-johns.

Watching this, from Skittery's now empty bunk, was a tall woman, invisible to all. Her face was long, her mouth was smiling, baring teeth of a charmingly large size, and tears ran from her bright blue eyes. She shimmered white, the color of purity, and wiped the tears from her cheeks as she watched her son and only child, Danny 'Snitch' Riccio, find love everlasting, the thing she'd wanted for him more than anything else in the world. She watched them until modesty forced her to turn away, and even then she stayed for a moment, listening. This was her son. And he was happy.

And that was all that really mattered.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

Dude. I liked this. Not much, but I liked it. WHEE. Um…what to say…uh…the reason this isn't up to my usual standards is that I wasn't listening to my usual music. Normally when I write stuff like this I listen to fast, angry music or soft, romantic music. This time I was listening to such things as 'Lunch Lady Land' and 'Which Backstreet Boy is Gay?'. ^^;;; So yeah. ^^;; Um, I'm gonna go work on either While the Thunder Rolls or Outkasts now…probably Outkasts 'cause my notes for WTTR aren't done yet…^^;; But yeah. Um, bye! ^^;;;