Fred stopped as he heard Mikhails voice. He turned to the wall, his face held downward and shadowed by the cap. As soon as Mikhails words were out Fred looked up in a crying, screaming rage, "fuck you!" It was the first real curse word he had ever said, and he'd never think of a better use for it than this moment, "fuck you! You think sorry gonna bring him back?!" He would heath his tiny fist against Mikhails chest, this once innocent boy now a ball of unbridled rage ans sadness, "you think saying sorry good enough- you think you can throw a party when my brothers dead- fuck you!" He would almost fall, crying, and sob out, "you didn't even come to his funeral! You or that girl- we buried him. Buried him with the others-" he would be sobbing, nothing more than a puddle of a boy, "we put flowers on his grave. He has a cross. I buried my brother." He would push himself up and the rage would return, blinding and almost a deadly stare, "it should have been you," he would say quietly, backing away. He would start to stammer something before he would simply take off, clearly traumatized, and dissapear around the corner.