"NO!" Skittery fell to his knees and clapped his fingers to his face, digging fingernails into colorless cheeks. "No, he's not dead, that's not him, no, no, no!"

The man stood helplessly in front of the hysterical boy, holding the dead body before him. "I'm sorry. He was like this when she found him."

Skittery looked at the young girl standing beside the man, their hazel-green eyes the same; he was her father. "An' she'd know if 'e was dead or not? She's a trained doctah?"

Jack grabbed Skittery's shoulders. "Skitts, calm down. 'Ee's dead. Ya can't do nothin' fer 'im no moah."

Skittery turned and stared at Jack with tear-filled eyes. "But…but 'e can't be dead, Jack! I love 'im Jack! I love him!"

Jack squeezed Skittery's shoulders. "I know, Skitts. But ya can't do nothin'."

Skittery stood up and went to the dead body, running his fingers over it. He flinched with the cold… the man had said the boy died of starvation and cold… but the boy was still beautiful in his death. His face was pale-frozen, his lips blue, his dark brown eyes wide, but he was still beautiful.

What you must have gone through, my love…Skittery thought. I wish I'd been with you…

The cold…it bit at him the way a stray cat bites at fresh fish, and god, the hunger was almost worse than the cold. The cold was always the same, sitting there, eating away at his flesh, but the hunger came and went, and when it went, things looked like they might be okay, but when it came, it came like a tempest, storming away in his stomach until he felt he might scream with the desire, but he wouldn't scream, if he screamed, they would come and they would prey on him, because he was weak enough to scream.

He knew this because he had preyed on the weak as well.

The hunger came upon him with a great force, and he dry-heaved into the snow. A mother with her two young children looked at him with disgust, then shooed her children on their way. The little girl looked back at him, worry and confusion in her big brown eyes

(like skittery's oh god skittery will I ever see you again my love)

as she watched him slowly perish in the snow. She and her mother and brother disappeared around the corner and Snitch allowed himself to collapse onto the snow-covered ground. He moaned softly,

(oh god skitts skitts I love you don't stop)

and clutched his stomach, ready to eat his own stocky hands, he was that hungry. But he resisted that urge. He was going to die even if he ate… so why bother?

He lay on his back

(will it hurt skitts no snitch I'd nevah hoit youse)

and stared at the sky. God. It hurt to breathe. This was dying? Damn. It was twice as bad as the boys talked about it being. But his leaving was for Skittery

(skitts I love youse doan leave den but I haafta I wanna give ya somethin')

and he could bear dying for Skittery.

But God the pain…the pain of hunger and cold just wouldn't go away to let him die in peace. He sighed

(skitts I's nevah been dis happy)

then coughed, then dry-heaved again. He shut his eyes.

"Sir? Sir, are you all right?"

He didn't move. He saw the light, and the light was warm

(snitch you're so warm I could lie here beside you forever)

and he could smell the food…so he went for the light, knowing that if it was Heaven, Skittery would join him soon.

Lute watched Skittery caress the dead boy's face. She bit her lip to fight back tears; it was so sad, so merciless…

"Why was he out there in the cold anyway?" Her father asked.

Skittery looked up at him. "He was gettin' somethin' fer me…" he said, his dark brown eyes hopeless. "We was gonna go off togedda, an' 'e wanted somethin' ta say dat we's togedda, we's taken…I…I guess 'e didn' find anythin' in time…" Skittery started to cry hysterically again. "God, I love him, I told him not to go, but he had to go, God, Snitch I love you!"

Tears flooded down Lute's face and she turned away from the sight.

There was nothing anyone could do.

The following morning, Skittery awoke

(heya skitts)

bright,

(heya snitch)

early

(how'd ya sleep)

cold

(It wasn't the sleep I's t'inkin' 'bout).

None of other other's were awake. He looked over at Itey, sleeping on his own now, but Itey had been doing that for a few weeks now. Snitch had been sharing Skittery's bunk.

But now Snitch was downstairs in the lobby, a blanket over his face.

Skittery reached under his pillow, grabbed his knife

(what's that fer protection from who from people people that don't like boy kissers don't worry about that it doesn't matter to you so we'll be fine)

and walked silently downstairs.

He lifted the blanket over Snitch's face and stared at it, hurt, confused, lost.

"I t'ot mebbe it was a nightmare...when I opened my eyes I t'ot everythin' was all right…" he sobbed softly. "Den I realized youse was really dead and I's alive… an' I cain't live widdout youse, Skitcha." He kissed Snitch's forehead. "I love youse."

Without missing a beat, he raised the knife to his wrist and cut it, three times. The blood welled up around the lips of the wound, then flowed like a red river to the wooden floor. Skittery felt exhilaration and warmth as he cut the other wrist, staining his knife handle with blood like the blade. He then lay beside Snitch on the floor, his bleeding arms wrapped around his dead lover's body, and he lay there, sobbing softly until the warmth embraced him, and he looked up and saw Snitch's eyes smiling at him in the warmth, and he smiled back, and they held each other, grateful to have each other in this afterlife.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

This was inspired from a quote on my friend's AIM profile. ^^;; It's also helping me practice that lovely, mysterious, tear-jerking, scream-inducing Stephen King style I'm trying to imitate in Snitch Darkling. ^^

Outkasts: Seventh is my next project. Let's see what happens. ^^;;;