[Treatment Facility: Dami & Misha]
It took Misha two days to earn the bus fare. He knew he could ask. He realized he could ask Stephanie or message Damian somehow, but he didn't. He played his fiddle without the bow, and he played 'til his fingers bled, and that felt good some. It wasn't a punch to the face in an alley, but it helped some. It helped to make him not worry 'bout Damian, 'bout what came next, 'bout whether the boy was having seizures hours away and where he, Misha, couldn't reach none. The bleeding, it helped him send the email 'bout missing classes, an email which was replied to with the recommendation that he drop his classes and come on back in fall. It made it easier not to go do something real dumb, something Damian would see come visiting time. Pain, it helped. Pain, it always helped some, and could be that was a gift from his foster momma. But, Misha, he knew he couldn't heal up fast, and so he had to limit the pain, or there'd be trouble when it came time for visiting.
He earned 'nough to come out to where Damian was being kept, 'long with some hitching at the end, and it didn't look nothing like any treatment place Misha had ever seen. It made the place Damian had been 'fore look simple, and Misha was ushered into the visiting area by a real put-together looking woman. In comparison, Misha didn't look put-together any at all. His clothes were a mish-mash of collected things and missing buttons. He looked rumpled and like he'd been living out of a suitcase, and the bags 'neath his eyes were puffy and purple. But, and this was plenty evident, he was real glad to see Damian. He couldn't feel the other boy any 'fore walking out into the open pool area, and he actually had to stop and look, 'stead of just walking in the right direction instinctive like normal. He stopped on worn sneakers, and he saw the boy glaring at a bag at his feet, and then he moved. For all that he looked tired, Misha's smile was dimple-dig deep, and he just stopped himself from scooping the smaller boy up, which he reckoned wouldn't be smiled on here.
His feet skidded to a stop, and he squinted down at the darker boy. "Did the bag do you wrong?"