i had a very useful a/n about this, but then i forgot it. the only thing i remember, though, is that this is based in another story and i'm sorry to turn it to be like this. so, author of clockwork fagin, i hope you never see this!

oh, and this will be four chapters long. i'm not making rated one-shots, guys! and sorry for my mistakes. you know i at proofreading.

!tw: character death.

Sunggyu was eleven when he entered to St. Angela's Home for the Rehabilitation of Crippled Children. He had his left arm missing from when he was sold to a factory in the Capitol by his father, lost between the gears of the broken machine to glue porcelain and metals. The sisters were kind to him. They even cleaned his injuries and paid for his surgery. Then, they took him with Mr. Grindersworth.

Six years later, he still hates the place.

The main door's bell ringing resounds in the entire asylum. Sunggyu, on cleaning duty along with another three kids, peeks from his place in the kitchen. Old Grinder walks up to the entrance like a man with bitterness and alcoholism does, his beer belly swinging with each step he takes. The other boys and girls return to their duties, but Sunggyu stays watching from the corner of his eyes.

The sisters have a new boy in front of them while the old man rambles on and about how much kid's going to love the place and how he'll personally take care of him. Sunggyu can't help the ironic chuckle that makes its way past his lips.

He looks at the newcomer. The boy must be a year or two younger, with a newly put prosthesis below his knee on his right foot. The sour-faced sisters look eager to go, nodding with each of the Grinder's words, and when the old man adds something along the lines of taking care of him like his own child, the kid has the courage of laughing at his face with confidence—winking, even.

Sunggyu shakes his head, returning to his task. He's known kids like him since he stepped into St. Angie's—he himself was one. It only takes a couple of sessions with the Grinder's belt and some nights down the hole for them to submit. That cold, pitch-dark place full of rats ready to nibble at you is enough to tenderize the toughest of kids to come. Sunggyu is ashamed to admit he cried that same night, clinging to the man that took him out of there with his only arm, dirty with caked blood smeared, with soiled pants and a scar down a side of his chest (and another thousand added to the list he still keeps deep inside.)

It always gets him when he sees the Grinder takes the kids into his studio. At first he thought it was mere empathy, but it started to grow over the years. During nights, when he feels as if his missing arm was itching, clenching against nothing, and he walks up to the bathroom despite the curfew, he thinks of the current kid suffering down the hole. Most of the times he's the one who tries to clean the cuts and wrap band-aids, excusing himself before the Grinder with the idea that bandaged kids can attract people's attention, and attention equals money. He gets to see each one of the scars on their bodies and thinks of how useless he is because he can't help them further than with putting ointment and band-aids.

He always makes sure to lock the door before letting the first droplets of tears fall.

With the newcomer, though, those same feelings come prematurely. The shame washes over him as he catches a glimpse of the kid waving at them while being dragged, lips still stretched in a defiant smile. Nobody waves back.

"Go back to work, kids," he sighs as he hears the door of the Grinder's room snap closed.

Hours later, after the children sent from Old Grinder to beg on the streets come back to eat dinner—hard bread given away from bakeries—long after dark, the Grinder comes out of his room wearing a choleric look. He snaps at a girl staggering her way to the table, slapping her across the cheek for getting in the way. Sunggyu swallows the lump of rage down his throat, looking down at his plate.

He knows the reason of the Grinder's annoyance. The new kid has been acting though since morning, when he was brought. While cleaning, Sunggyu—along with the other kids who weren't sent to the streets because of their duties at home—had to bear hearing the boy yelling things like "Is that the best you can do? You sure look tired and we're only getting started" or "My past Master used to hit me better than that!" and "Why don't you give that strap and I show you how they beat a kid from where I come from?"

One would have thought the kid was good at avoiding the belt. Sunggyu caught himself imagining the boy jumping from a side to another, enjoying the tired look on the old man's face as he failed to get a hold of him, before realizing that was impossible, given the boy's condition. His suspicions had proven true once the Grinder pushed the newcomer through the threshold and he saw the boy. The skin of his shoulder was beaten to a pulp, ragged clothes showing the mess of blood of his entire body. His left eye, too, was hit to the point it had swollen so much the kid couldn't open it.

But the smile was still up there.

Sunggyu thinks of him again as one of the youngest kids mutters a prayer before starting eating. By now, the new kid's down the hole. Careful to sneak bits by bits of his bread, he keeps pretending to eat not to arise suspicion. He's successful in keeping all his dinner minus the milk on his pockets, stomach still heavy with guilt and nausea from the newcomer's wounds.

Later that night, long after the clock on the wall of the living room has stricken 12, Sunggyu stumbles from his bed on the boy's room. Watching his steps, he makes his way to the Grinder's room. The bread feels strange on his pockets and the back of his socks, but he figures the boy won't mind his food being a bit squished. The door squeaks when he opens it, but he knows Old Grinder is a heavy sleeper.

He grabs the key, messily put on the pocket of the old man's pants thrown on the floor, with his heart pounding on his ears. After he's done, Sunggyu leaves the room with the door slightly open for when he comes back.

With the same carefulness, he walks up to the door that leads to the hole, a place with darkness as infinite as the cold, as the squeaking cellar and the nauseating humidity. The obscurity that greets him grows as if it was expanding, swallowing him. Before he catches himself running away, Sunggyu exhales in an attempt to calm down.

"Are you there?" he asks in hushed tones, regretting it immediately. Of course the boy's there. "I brought you some bread. You gotta be quick, though. The rats won't leave anything behind."

Before the other has a chance to reply, Sunggyu is already throwing the bread and closing the door back, locking it shortly after. He goes back to drop the key where he found it—among the mess of the old man's clothes and collection of imported whiskey and brandy—half-expecting being discovered.

To his relief, it doesn't happen.

He keeps that routine for the following nights. The boy never replies, but Sunggyu still says the same thing every time he drops the bread onto the hole. It works for the week the Grinder has the kid in there.

Before leaving St. Angie's for his job at the street, Sunggyu catches a glimpse of the man pushing the boy inside the studio. He knows what follows: Another session of tenderizing with the belt that when it's done, has the kids loyal like puppies and ready to hold the begging bowl. It's not long before the pleads start resounding—echoing in the asylum, in Sunggyu's mind—that he confirms the boy's finally given up with his stubbornness. He leaves with a heavy sigh.

That night he's proven wrong. He comes back long after dark, when everybody is already sleeping. The Grinder, sitting on the main chair of the studio, has his eyes absent and what's probably the most expensive whiskey on the city. He's most likely to be drunk.

Sunggyu gulps.

With soft movements, he approaches the man, unhooking the basked with his earnings from the day from his arm in the process. When he's about to drop it on the Grinder's desk, however, the old man catches his wrist.

Sunggyu flinches, but doesn't try to free himself. That would only cost him at least a slap across the cheek. Old Grinder leaves his drink on the mahogany surface, still not letting go.

"What time is it?" he mutters with a slurred voice that gives Sunggyu a nauseating feeling.

"Around 12, sir," he tries not to stutter. "I brought my earnings from today."

That seems to calm him. He orders Sunggyu to put it down on the desk and go to sleep. Luckily, he's too drunk and sleepy to scold him further. But before Sunggyu steps out of the room—nearly tripping with his own nervous legs—he hears Old Grinder tell him that the new boy's on his bed.

Instead of going straight to his shared room like he's told, Sunggyu makes a stop at the kitchen and steals an oil lamp. Then, he starts searching for the newcomer inside the two boys' rooms.

He ends up finding the kid sleeping on the lower bunk bed, his bunk bed.

"Hey, boy," he says with the same hushed tone he used to tell him about the bread, eyeing the other kids sleeping. One of them turns, but doesn't wake up. "Kid," he tries again, nudging him.

A pained groan breaks from the other's lips. Sunggyu sees his eyes shine in the dark once he wakes up and, with his only hand, asks him to stand up.

They walk to the bathroom, where the first-aid kit is, like stumbling drunkards. The kid leans all his weight on Sunggyu's side, hissing occasionally. When they make it to the room, Sunggyu turns on the lamp, praying Old Grinder doesn't notice the lowered amounts of the liquid.

Out in the brightness—as much as they can go with that word—the wounds on the boy's face look haunting. Sunggyu swallows his horror.

"Lookin' pretty, aren't I?" The boy must have read his face because he jokes despite his evident tiredness.

"What's your name and former occupation, kid?" Sunggyu asks instead, looking down at the kit.

"I was an assembler and altogether mechanic before. Woohyun's the name."

"Is that the real one?" He busies himself with opening the bottle of alcohol. When he looks back up, alcohol-soaked cotton in hand, he sees the boy nod. "This will hurt more than a little. Don't scream or we're screwed. How old are you? Hold on, don't reply or we'll get caught."

Sunggyu presses the cotton against Woohyun's cheek at the same time he's about to reply. The boy catches himself before a scream breaks from his lips, but curses in hushed tones nonetheless.

"15 going on 16 this month," Woohyun mutters after he calms down.

"Sorry." Sunggyu mumbles before pressing the cotton again.

The night flies between uncomfortable silence and surreptitious glances as Sunggyu cleans and sews the wounds as best as he can. They're done one or two hours before sunrise, a bit before the other kids start waking up. After Sunggyu puts away the medical kit and goes to put the lamp back on its place, they stumble back to bed. Sunggyu lets Woohyun have the bottom bunk for the time being.

"Hey," the boy calls him with the same secrecy he’s had on his voice all along. "You were the one throwing the bread, right?"

Sunggyu contemplates his possible answers, but he's never been good at lying. "Yes."

He can almost feel the warm smile under his bed. "Thanks."

That's how Woohyun's first week goes.

Days go by between cleaning duty, going to church with the sisters on Sundays, working at the street, and keeping Woohyun out of trouble. The boy, hot-tempered and quick-witted as he is, doesn't give him time to rest pulling him here and there and claiming to be his literal second hand—"I think the correct term is 'second in command.' " "But that's not what I meant"—even though he has his own duties. He's also the type who gets into encounters with Old Grinder despite the warnings given by Sunggyu at nights, when he has to take care of the boy's wounds.

Ever since Woohyun stepped into St. Angie's, Sunggyu has to admit he's been crying more often.

On one of those particular times, Sunggyu walks up to the bathroom a couple of minutes before everyone else, not having slept a bit. The memories of Woohyun's (and another two kids') beaten faces comes back to haunt him. One of them took part of the other's earnings, and when he called on the thief, Woohyun tried to resolve the conflict. Everything happened in front of the Grinder.

"You should've known better," Sunggyu had sighed while putting ice on their swollen cheeks and band-aids on the small cuts. He attempted to keep a severe voice, but with the fat tears running down the youngest boys' face, his efforts deemed a waste. Woohyun's barely-contained anger didn't help either.

("And look down while he hit them? I'd rather get my other leg cut down, too," he had spat.)

His cheeks are already wet by the time the door opens—was one of those rare occasions when he forgets to lock the door? Sunggyu turns around, panicking, before turning back when he sees Woohyun entering.

"Oh, sorry. I woke up early and came to wash myself before everybody else invades the bathroom." His voice, despite casual, has Sunggyu left with an odd sensation of being told a lie. "Something's wrong?"

"I—" he croaks, stopping only to realize how wrecked his voice sounds. It's no use; he's given away the fact he's crying.

"Wanna sit down? I won't turn on the lights." Sunggyu hears a swallow pat. He rubs his eyes, trying to erase the tears. When it becomes useless, he settles for keeping his eyes downcast as he sits with Woohyun next to the sink.

The sudden influx of tears doesn't stop until long minutes after, while the other keeps mumbling embarrassing things of how quiet he is when he cries and questions if he has fallen asleep or not. He has his head buried on his knees, clamping his only hand around his legs. When he calms down, the older boy mutters—and regrets it shortly after, "It's hard not to let go at late nights-or early mornings. Most of the times I feel powerless being locked in the bathroom like this."

It takes a whole minute of silence for the other to reply. "So you come here every time things get though, huh?" It's not a question, but Sunggyu nods anyway. "I wasn't imagining things, then."

Sunggyu chuckles. It hurts his dry throat. "You've blown up your cover about waking up early to clean yourself up."

"What? What's wrong about it."

"It doesn't help you." He tries to clear his throat. "And I'm pretty sure you shouldn't go around opening locks like that."

Woohyun opens his mouth to reply, but closes it back without a sound. Then, he starts shaking like he's laughing whole-heartedly, even though nothing but soft giggles leave his mouth. When laughter dies and the ghost of the soft baritone from a voice that still lingers in the air, he says, "Wanna know something? That first night, when Old Grinder threw me down the hole, I was scared. One would think that after losing something important to you,"—he pats his leg, but Sunggyu thinks that he means something more than just a limb—"thing's can't get much worse, can they? That night I was ready to give up—you should’ve seen me, crying like a sissy—and then someone opened the door.

"It's pretty dumb what I'm saying but—I mean, it's wasn't even that bright—I though some kind of angel was going to save me or something, that maybe St. Angela's has angels as residents." He chuckles, while Sunggyu has his eyes still set on his prosthesis. The older boy misses the look Woohyun gives him. "Of course I knew there was no such thing. I even though my mind was making things up. But then you talked to me, you gave me something to eat, and well, it was quite easy to get you mixed up with an angel."

"I could've done more," is the only thing Sunggyu ends up muttering after he's done.

"Without gettin' caught? Sure. And I could've used some company down there. The thing's that I couldn't give up if someone wasn't giving up in me."

"But then, when he took you out…" Sunggyu trails off, gaze lost on the cheeky smile, "I heard you crying."

Woohyun stands up. Grabbing the other boy by his hand and helping him stand up, he says, "Let me introduce myself. I'm Nam Woohyun, master of lies and make-believes. At your service. It's easier to lie when the other person expects that answer."

The words, despite spoken with a comic voice, help calm the older boy a little. With newfound conviction, hidden under his passiveness, he prompts, "We need to do something, don't we?"

You will help me, won't you?

Woohyun's grin mirrors the one of a cat. "Don't worry. We'll think of something."

It is, however, too late before they have the time to come up with a plan. Improvisation always comes in handy, though.

Sunggyu busies himself with the routine of begging, cleaning, and treating injured kids as best as he can without getting in Old Grinder's way. However, the breaking point comes once the man pushes one of the girls on top of the table she's cleaning. With the confidence given by Woohyun's words nights ago, he rushes to free he from the old man's grasp.

He succeeds in pushing her out of the Grinder's reach, but the cost is his own body being dragged. Old Grinder catches him by the wrist and pulls him towards his old body. It's until he's forced into a hug that Sunggyu smells the soaring scent of alcohol on his breath.

"If you're so eager," the Grinder spits, "why don't you do it instead."

He tries to force Sunggyu's head down, and when the boy struggles, the stinging feel of a hard slap strikes the boy on the cheeks afterwards. While the man drags Sunggyu to the nearest place, the kitchen—if only he had his two hands, he could free himself; he could fight back—with a firm hand nearly breaking his wrist and the other pulling his hair so hard Sunggyu's convinced his scalp will give in, the boy manages to see a glimpse of dark hair rushing towards them. When the man pushes him against one of the counters, he squirms, trying to escape. He's no damsel in distress; he will do whatever it takes him to stop the man.

The Grinder, that same old man who doesn't waste a second to unbuckle his belt and strike a kid's back, reaches for the zipper of his pants at the same time a wave of heat hits the side of his good arm. Somehow Sunggyu registers they've moved close to the stone stove. If his mind weren’t as hazy as it, he would also register another person fighting too, trying to pry Old Grinder's hands off him.

(But he can't because he's too busy realizing the man he's hated all these years is levels more disgusting than he ever thought and there are rough hands massaging the inside of his thighs, a putrefactive smell coming from the breath on his shoulder, and is this really happening? Why isn't anyone helping?

This is all your fault, Sunggyu.)

No. He thinks, says, screams, cries, and everything else in between. No.

A sudden yell makes him snap momentarily, only to find himself on the floor a second after. In front of him, someone (Woohyun) closes the oven's door, but he's too tired and confused to realize what's happening.

Woohyun's distinctive whistle makes its way towards his ears. He's most likely too be overwhelmed by whatever just happened. His voice has a hysteric edge lying underneath the calm. "Did your parents ever told you about Hansel and Gretel?"

But Sunggyu's too busy passing out cold on the floor to listen to him.
 

boy, that escalated quickly.

so, thank you for everyone who subscribed beforehand! this is quite… not much, at least not in comparision with what i write usually but i hope you still liked it! um an d i wanted to say something else but i can't remember what, i'm sorry ^^;

and before anything happens, here are some quick notes:

• the grinder (mr. grindersworth) has the same name from the original story. i decided not to change it because i couldn't think of something else it seems fitting, somehow. i mean, it's a machine after all.
• st. angela's, however, is called st. agatha's in the original story. the reason of the name change it's hidden explained in this chapter, if it looks like it. (you can always ask me though.)
• the sensation that wakes sunggyu up at nights is called phantom limb. basically is a feeling some people who have lost a limb get, like it's working correctly. you can read more about it in wikipedia. don't worry, it doesn't appear much about it in the next chapters.

so, tell me what you think of this?