A/N: Hi y'all - Sorry it's a bit shorter than the last one. But I wanted to attempt to get it up relatively on time today.

A few things:

1. Someone asked me to clarify if I had written about Toby's mom committing suicide in another story. The answer is yes - I have explored it a few times in a few different works. In all of the others, however, he was entirely aware of how she died. I thought for this one, though, it would be interesting to explore the possibility that everyone kept it a secret from him. It felt like a darker way to approach it, and I wanted to try something a little different.

2. Someone asked if I plan to include Mike. I haven't necessarily considered putting Mike in the story, but if I find an opportunity to use him, I will :-)

3. Someone asked about Spoby kisses - Spoby will get more romantic moments very shortly, but I'm trying to take my time with them and approach it in a realistic way. They're still getting past everything that happened last season, and I'd like to make it as authentic as possible.

4. Did everyone see the picture that was released on Tumblr of Toby and Caleb filming a scene? They're working on a laptop in the photo, and I got SO excited. It may sound silly, but it's a wonderful feeling to see that part of my story will be coming to life this season.

Look for the A/N down below for further information about this chapter. Enjoy!

EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN

CHAPTER 8

His walk up the steps and into the building had become a routine. It was part of his dysfunctional daily life now, and felt no more abnormal than any other commonplace task. It was like brushing his teeth before bed, or doing his homework at his father's desk. It was interwoven into his everyday pattern.

The receptionist at the front desk was the same lady who had been on shift last week when he had come in. She regarded him with a warm smile.

"Hey, buddy," the dark-skinned man next to her said kindly, leaning over the counter to survey the young boy with a grin. "It's nice to see a familiar face today. How's school going?"

"It's okay," Toby answered cryptically, knowing that the actual answer was far too involved to say aloud. Truth be told, the past week at Rosewood Junior High had been something of a nightmare. Alison DiLaurentis had called attention to his family situation in the middle of Language Arts, broadcasting what had been, up until then, a safe-guarded secret. He didn't have a clue as to how she always found these things out, or why she chose the most inopportune times to announce them. As a result, he had spent the last few days dodging the crowds of popular kids and hopelessly deflecting their cruel jabs, struggling just to get through the day without crying in front of his classmates.

The orderly peered at him from beneath his dark lashes as he handed him a visitor's pass, his eyes sympathetic. It was as though he had read his mind. Or maybe his pain was just that transparent.

"I know times are tough," he said quietly. "But everything is going to turn out in the end."

The words were simple, but they were sufficient to lift Toby's spirit in slight.

"She's been asking about you all day," the man continued, leading Toby in the direction of the day room. "She'll be very excited to see you."

Toby followed his guidance, though he knew the journey by heart. Radley had come to feel like more like home lately than his own bedroom, a sobering realization that was short-lived in his twelve-year old mind. There was very little room for such heavy topics at this age, what with his distant wonderings about the new Harry Potter film and the new set of Pokémon cards he planned to purchase on his walk home today.

His eyes immediately landed on his mother, who was seated at the piano. Her long, slender fingers worked diligently at the keys to produce some random Beethoven tune that she had memorized, her sapphire eyes trained on the pearly white and onyx rectangles that lay before her.

"Marion, your son is here to see you."

Only then did she glance up, and Toby saw that the dark circles that cradled her bottom lashes were much more prominent today than they had been last week. Her gaze fell upon him and she offered a half-hearted smile that did not look quite as vibrant as she had likely intended.

"Hi, sweetie," she said raspily. Her voice sounded tired.

"I'll be right back with your dinner pills," the orderly stated quietly, clapping a supportive hand on Toby's shoulder. He made his way to depart in order to allow them privacy.

"Thanks, Eddie," Toby's mother called quietly after him, and he wondered vaguely if the nice Black man had even heard it.

She turned to face him again, scooting down the length of the piano bench and patting the empty space beside her. He silently climbed onto the seat with her, his hands immediately finding their High C positions on the ivory in front of him.

Without a word, she had already begun to gently play out a tune with one hand, which he quickly mimicked in the upper register.

They didn't speak much these days. In fact, they hadn't spoken much since she had started to get sick. It was as though he didn't know what questions were appropriate to ask, and she, similarly, did not know which answers were appropriate to share. So instead they often communicated through music, quietly appreciating the other's company.

She moved closer to him and wrapped one arm around his tiny frame. She was steadying his hands over the middle keys now, gingerly pressing his fingers down with her own to feel out a melody.

"Something I'm working on," she whispered in his ear, her nose tickling at his temple. He liked when she got close like this. He could properly appreciate her natural floral scent this way and guiltlessly remember her rocking him to sleep as a toddler. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that these memories carried a grave, searing pain with them – but on the surface, he could think of nothing that comforted him more.

"I like it," he answered softly.

Once the final measure had finished, her grip went slack, and she merely sat there holding him. Instinctively, his head dropped into the crook of her neck. They stayed that way for some time. These moments were precious, and he carried them with him long after he had returned to his house and climbed into bed.

"When are you coming home?" he asked after a beat, unable to stop himself.

She did not reply right away. Instead, she lifted one hand to smooth his hair away from his eyes, combing a gentle rhythm against his scalp.

"I don't know, baby," she murmured.

He slid gingerly away from her to get a good look at her face, and was alarmed to see that moisture had begun to collect at the bases of her eyes. "But I miss you."

A strange sound disrupted the moment. It was like someone was hollering down the hall, and the voice was rumbling somewhere deep in his veins. He looked back at his mom, whose expression was somber.

"Toby," she said sharply, her voice mutating from its dulcet rasp into a much stronger baritone. "Toby, wake up."

The dull drone of the other patients talking around them began to melt away, like turning the volume down on a television notch by notch. The room was contorting, furniture shape shifting into unrecognizably meaningless blobs.

It suddenly felt as though somebody had looped a hook through his navel and was trying to drag him away from her. His arms shot out in desperation, clinging to her wrists.

"Mom..."

"Toby, focus," she growled, the inexplicably deep tone contradicting the gentle but exhausted expression on her face. "It's going to be all right."

He shook his head fervently, feeling the intrusion of hot tears as they cascaded down his cheeks. "Mommy, please…"

"Toby! Snap out of it!"

His head whipped to one side, a sharp stinging sensation piercing the curve of his jaw like a thousand needles. Its source was undeterminable, for his mother had not budged from her seat. Horrified and perplexed, he watched as her figure began to blur and fade from his view, the image whirling away into some invisible vortex.

"Mommy!" he cried, but his voice merely echoed across the expanse of white nothingness. He was pulled abruptly backwards with such vigor that his insides clanged together unpleasantly and his body froze with whiplash. He could not feel anything – not his limbs, not his face, not even his own heart that he knew must be beating wildly in his chest. He closed his eyes to forego the impending dizziness that swirled around his head, the spatial existence of his own figure becoming indiscernible from the void around him.

And then suddenly, the numbness was replaced by an agonizing ache in his back, and he could feel that his feverish face was pressed against a cold surface. Like bathroom tile. His exposed cheek was burning with the threat of a burgeoning welt, and he wondered distantly where the hell it had come from.

The deep voice spoke once more, this time punctuating the air around him with perfect clarity. "Open your eyes man, c'mon."

Before he could even consider whether this was something he actually wanted to do, he was already obeying. A cavalcade of bright, dancing circles paraded immediately through his field of view, unperturbed by the suffocating darkness that surrounded his thoughts. A face swam into view, its features distorted by the blinding whiteness of the light on the ceiling above him. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, and his focus began to slowly return.

It took a moment to orient himself. He was on the bathroom floor. In his loft. And Caleb Rivers was gazing down at him with the sort of expression that implied he'd grown three heads while unconscious.

"Toby," the boy breathed, relief evident in his tone. "Thank God. Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, bracing his elbows on the floor to hoist himself upward. The disorientation that ensued made his head throb like it was hosting a rock concert, and he was suddenly quite aware of the thick sweat that was causing his shirt to cling to his back like a second skin. His stance faltered a bit, but Caleb quickly repositioned himself to stabilize Toby at the shoulders.

"Easy, man. Don't rush yourself."

Caleb assisted him into a full sitting position, leaning him gently against the wall. Once situated, Toby released a deep, ragged breath, his nostrils flaring unpleasantly at the scent of his own vomit. With a trembling hand, he brought his fingertips to gingerly brush the sore part of his cheek. It stung on contact.

"Did you slap me?" he demanded, more roughly than intended.

Caleb looked sheepishly at the ground for a moment before returning his dark eyes to meet Toby's gaze.

"I didn't know what to do," he murmured simply.

He wanted to make a joke to lighten the mood, but nothing about the situation felt funny in the slightest.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

Caleb offered a short shake of his head. "Officially? Minute and a half, maybe. But…I mean…you were sorta on your way out when I got here. I – I don't know how long you were sitting here by yourself."

The state he was in before Caleb's arrival was already turning into something of a blur, but he remembered enough to know precisely how he'd gotten here.

"Not long," he offered flatly. The dull ache of his muscles notified him that the feeling in his limbs had almost entirely returned, so he began to pull himself slowly off the floor. Caleb quickly followed his motions like a mime in a mirror, taking his time to stand, paying close attention to Toby's movements in preparation to catch him if he wavered. He made it to his feet with a considerable amount of effort, though his head felt like it was three sizes too big.

"Can you make it?" Caleb sputtered.

He nodded resolutely, his eyes flickering to the contents of the toilet beside him.

"That's disgusting," he said, more to himself than his guest. He quickly slammed the lid closed and pressed the flush lever.

Caleb did not reply. Toby could clearly see out of his peripheral vision that the younger was perplexed – stunned even – by his casual demeanor, mind racing at a million miles a minute about what could have possibly transpired before his entrance.

Without a second glance, Toby was making his way out of the bathroom. Caleb followed abruptly on his heels, the new movement sufficient to shake him from his prior state of shell shock.

"Dude, what is going on? What happened?"

"Stomach flu," Toby answered as he bee lined for the bedroom, the lie coming out with far more ease than he had anticipated.

"That wasn't a stomach flu," Caleb argued, his usual assertiveness bleeding slowly back into his tone. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

The twisted accuracy of this statement stung more sharply than his cheek, but he rapidly dismissed it as he climbed into bed.

"Toby…"

"I need to rest," he interrupted, purposely turning away from Caleb's scrutinizing stare.

There was a pregnant pause in which neither of them spoke. Toby could feel the energy of Caleb's presence, taking up space and thickening the air all around them.

Then, at long last, the younger released a tired sigh. "Do you need anything?"

Water would have been nice. The taste of bile in his mouth was not preferred. But his mind was racing with far more important thoughts than anything his physical body required.

"No. Thanks."

Under any other circumstances, he may have been more vigilant of how he was treating him. Would have made more of an effort to truly offer his gratitude. The boy had just watched him faint, for Christ's sake. He deserved something that resembled a legitimate explanation.

But the energy simply wasn't there. It, like the glass of water, was a low priority on the list of things he was dealing with.

There was another bout of silence. This time, however, Caleb took the hint quite quickly. Toby could hear his footsteps shuffling out the room, the door clicking quietly shut behind him.

He was alone once more.

But for as badly as he had thought he wanted Caleb to cease and desist, the sudden solitude began to settle upon him like a vacuum, suffocating him with the bindings of his own loneliness.

"I hate P.E.," Hanna grumbled despondently as she rifled through her locker, pushing books aside to make room for the ones in her arms. "If I wanted to sweat in front of a bunch of girls, I'd just go back to that lesbian bar." She turned to face Emily, a half-hearted grimace on her features. "No offense."

Emily shrugged nonchalantly, unruffled. Her eyes were, instead, trained down the length of the hallway in the direction of the returning English teacher.

"Do you think it's weird having Ezra back here, now that we kinda know him as a person?" she mused, furrowing her brow.

Spencer leaned back against the locker beside Hanna's, following Emily's gaze. "Super weird," she agreed. "Probably more so for you, though. I mean, he tutored you after all."

"Speaking of the Fitzinator being back in the halls of Rosewood, has Aria gotten the balls to talk to him yet?" Hanna asked.

"I dunno, but she seemed pretty cozy with Jason last night," said Emily, a tiny smile teasing her lips.

"I ship it," Hanna agreed, shutting her locker with a definitive 'clang.' The three girls began to slowly meander in the general direction of their classes.

"Ship it?" Spencer ventured, an eyebrow quirking into her forehead.

"It's Internet slang," Hanna said impatiently. "If you actually read my blog, you'd know."

Spencer exchanged a knowing look with Emily, who merely shook her head in playful irritation.

"Speaking of Jason," Spencer began thoughtfully, "I'm meeting him after school to finish our talk. I didn't really have time this morning to grill him about Ali and – well, you know." She lowered her voice several decibels, peering over her shoulder to ensure that Mona was not creeping up behind her. "In any case, hopefully I can get some answers about – "

She was cut short by a near-collision with Aria, who had just come barreling around the corner.

"Hey, there you are," Hanna began.

"Does anyone know where Caleb is?" Aria asked worriedly, impatiently pushing a strand of hair from her face.

Hanna's smile was instantaneously replaced with an anxious expression, her cobalt eyes crinkling in confusion.

"I mean, I know he said he was running home for his free period…"

Aria shook her head fervently. "He wasn't back for math."

Hanna's shoulders drooped dejectedly, and she released a heavy sigh as she dug through her purse to locate her phone. "I swear to God, if he's not laying in a gutter somewhere, I'm going to kill him."

Before she could even finish rummaging through her gigantic handbag, Emily's phone began buzzing in her back pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID.

"He's calling me," she murmured, perplexed.

Hanna held one hand out to Emily, the other perching impatiently on her hip. "Let me talk to him."

The swimmer did as told, pursing her lips together and chancing a glance at Spencer from the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, where are you?" Hanna demanded in a stage whisper, the movements of her head so dramatic that her lavish hoop earrings were swinging around her face. There was a beat. "No, Aria said you weren't in math and – don't you interrupt me!"

"It's like they're married already," Aria said with a roll of her eyes.

As Hanna listened further, she recoiled a bit, her expression melting into something that resembled hurt. Then, without another word to her boyfriend, she handed the phone back to its original owner. There was a steely look in her eyes. "He wants you."

Spencer glanced at Emily, who was guiltily raising her cell up to her ear. "Hello?"

There was a pause. And then, Emily inhaled sharply.

"I'll be right there." She hung up quickly and stuffed her phone back in her pocket, adjusting her shoulder bag anxiously as she made to depart. "I – I have to go."

"What's the matter?" Hanna asked flatly, her face still a blanket of poorly suppressed resentment.

Emily regarded her for a moment, her mouth tightening into a thin line of determination. "It's not my place to say," she said apologetically, backing away. "I – I'm sorry."

The three of them watched her go, stumped by the necessity of her sudden exit. Spencer turned back to Hanna, who looked as though she were about to cry. She seemed to sense that she was being studied, for she released a powerful sigh and plastered a faux, half-hearted smile on her face.

"Did I mention how much I hate P.E.?"

A/N: Okay, so parts of this chapter were really difficult to write. Like the memory/dream sequence. I tried to approach it from a twelve-year old's perspective, and hopefully I did all right in that regard.

As far as the time frame goes - here is my logic:

Alison disappeared the summer before their sophomore year of high school (they had her funeral a year later, right at the start of their junior year). The Halloween episode, "The First Secret", took place the Halloween before she disappeared. So they'd be freshmen. In that episode, Toby told Emily that his mother had passed away a year prior. So he would have been, if he's a year older, a freshman himself at the time. I'm looking at the entire thing like his mother had been sick and suffering for a few years before she killed herself, so that's why I chose the age of 12 for the memory.

Whew. Okay. I think that's it for now!

Please review! The last chapter didn't get many, and it made me sad.