Chapter Text
You’re reading when Casey comes up to you. Sometimes she sits with you in the living room, sometimes she just wanders in and out. Today she sits with you, clambering up onto the loveseat. She has a book with her, paintings from Picasso.
“Hey there Major General,” you say, “How’s my Casey bear?”
“Thinking,” Casey responds. You wait for her to elaborate, or to drift into silence. You don’t mind these moments, when you just sit and read together. She does continue, picking her words carefully, “Is Kurloz… Gamzee’s dad?”
You think about how to respond. “Not exactly Caseybear. Sometimes people’s parents are gone a whole lot, and someone has to help out. Gamzee’s too young to look after himself, so Kurloz does, even though he’s his brother.”
Casey chews on this for a while. You drift back into silence. Then Casey speaks again.
“I want to play with Dave more.”
You’re a bit taken aback. Casey seemed to get along with him, and most of the neighbor kids, but she never asks to have playdates.
“Of course Casey,” you say, “He’ll be there next week. We can get their phone number and set up a playdate.”
“I think I want some books about birds,” Casey says, tracing a painting of a parrot in the book on her lap. “Dave likes birds and I want to know about birds.”
“Of course kiddo,” you say, “We’ll get some next time we go to the zoo.”
You sit in silence for a while. Casey gets up to get another book and you let her know you’re moving to the kitchen to make dinner. She comes with and sits at the table while you cook. Glass noodle jap-chae is something that usually goes over well with Casey, and you just picked some up from the store. You decide as you toss the yam noodles and spinach and other veggies in the wok that you’d like to see more of Bro. The cul de-sac is nice, it’s friendly, and safe. But you don’t feel like you fit in. Not like your dad did. Bro makes you feel seen. You decide to invite them to dinner. Dave has a voracious appetite, and you’d love to pull out a whole pho spread for him. He could use it, the kid seems thin to you. You shake yourself out of your thoughts fast enough to avoid burning the noodles.
You and Casey sit in silence together and eat. It’s nice, being the two of you. But you like talking to adults. You’ll ask Bro how to contact him at the next cook-out.
***
You spend the next week researching homes. Dave isn’t too happy since you have to use the bunk-ass phone and he can’t listen to his sick tunes, but he seems occupied enough with the books and the TV.
You settle back against the couch, soaking in the sounds of cartoons, when your phone pings. You’ve got a job. It’s for tomorrow. That’s a bit close, but the guy is willing to pay. Looks like standard landscaping, a guy too rich to plant his own bushes but cheap enough to hire you.
“Hey Dave,” you call over to him, breaking Dave’s attention away from Deadpool playing on the TV. An odd choice but hey, little dude seems to like it since it’s the third time he’s watched it in the past month. You continue, “We got a job tomorrow little man.”
Dave smiles. You have to take him with you on jobs, but you always sweeten the pot with snacks from a gas station or quick mart. He usually sits by you and talks or reads. Sometimes he takes along his sketchbook. You think it’s incredible how good he is for a 6 year old with no motor skills.
You look at your beat up phone. It’s getting into evening now. You haul your ass up and go to the kitchen. Tonight seems like a good night for mac ‘n’ cheese. You look around in the fridge for something approximating a vegetable to go along with it and end up with ant-less ants on a log. Which is to say celery and PB. You’ve never really cared about taste profile, just so long as you can get a couple fresh foods into you and Dave a day.
You rummage around in the cabinet and find two boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese. Whatever you don’t eat can be reheated later. You grab one of your least dented pots and start up the stove. You lean back against the counter and watch Dave. He’s pacing now. He does that when he watches TV sometimes. Talks out his thoughts and gestures, sometimes making little repetitive movements. You wonder how he manages to remember the plot to every movie he’s ever seen. You turn around and add the noodles to the now boiling water and start slicing the celery. When everything is done, at slightly different times, you toss the mac in a bowl and the logs on a plate, knowing the twoo foods touching would make Dave upset.
“Dinner time little man,” you say, setting the plate on the coffee table.
Dave bounds over and grabs one of the celery sticks, then goes back to pacing, biting chunks off as he walks. He eats slowly, and when Deadpool is over you make Dave change into his PJs while you choose the next movie. You pick Spirit Stallion of the Cimarron . Dave settles down next to you, tugging one of the blankets you keep on the futon for when you sleep over himself. As the titular horse breaks free from the railroad Dave cuddles closer to you, and you wrap an arm around him. He yawns, but tries to stifle it. You smile to yourself and pretend not to notice.
The camera pans up to a sky filled with horse-shaped clouds and Dave is fast asleep. As carefully as you can you lift Dave up, carrying him to his room. You carefully tuck him in, removing his shades. He looks so calm like this. You take a moment to brush his blonde hair out of his eyes with one hand. You decide that no one is watching, wonder what you’re so afraid of, and then lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.
As you make your way back out to the futon you don’t see Dave peeking at you through half-lidded sleepy eyes.
***
The job is easy. The guy who owns the place is an asshole, but he doesn’t bother you much as you work. His house is in John’s cul-de-sac, and it’s one of the bigger ones even though it shares one of the three templates of the other houses. It’s a light blue with navy accents. He wants you to plant some flowering shrubs in the front yard, in lieu of a fence. You see some recently filled holes and surmise that there used to be a fence here until very recently. And given the scratches on the front bumper of one of the cars in the driveway you have a pretty good idea about what happened to it.
You stop to wipe your brow. You’re pretty much done, just need to water these babies and get your cash. You look around. Last you saw Dave was sitting against the porch, sipping an apple juice and drawing. His sketchbook and snacks are still there but the little guy is nowhere to be found. You listen carefully and hear some noise from the backyard. There’s no gate to the back and you walk over carefully, in case it isn’t Dave. You don’t want to scare anybody.
You round the corner and see four kids. You recognize the tallest one as the greaser wanna-be from the cookout. The other one is about ten maybe, and if you could describe a ten year old as preppy you would apply that to this kid. The other two kids are Dave and Casey.
“Leave her alone,” Dave growls. You feel a bit of pride at how he says it. He’s standing in front of Casey, who’s crying, sitting on the grass.
“What’re you going to do about it, street rat?” the greaser sneers. He’s got a funny way of pronouncing his Ws, like they’re more drawn out.
You decide you’ve seen enough.
“What’s going on.”
You put on your best Dad voice, folding your arms. Dave Turns to Casey and nudges her towards you, following her but never taking his eyes off the other kids. To your mild surprise she comes running over, holding some rags in her arms. But you just glance at her to make sure she’s not hurt, and then you turn back.
“You got a problem?” you ask, quirking up an eyebrow.
“I ain’t talkin to the gardener,” the greaser scoffs.
“Come on Cronus,” the younger one whispers, tugging on his shirt. Seems he’s all bark and no bite, just like the greaser, whose name is apparently Cronus.
“Yeah well then you can plant your own damn bushes,” you say. “You gonna apologize to these kids?”
“I’m not apologizing to her,” Cronus says, “I didn’t do anything anyway. Ain’t my fault she carries that stupid lizard toy everywhere.”
“It’s weird!” the other kid pipes up, emboldened by his brother.
“You know,” you say, putting a bit more of a drawl into your voice, “What’s weird to me is where your front fence went. And why there’s such a big dent in that car.”
“That ain’t my car,” he says quickly.
“Never said it was,” you answer.
He stares at you for a moment, trying to hold your gaze even though your eyes are hidden by your shades. Eventually he looks away.
“Sorry,” he mutters. There’s a tense silence. Then he turns back towards the house, grabbing the other kid’s hand. You notice he’s limping a bit, “Come on Eridan.”
You wait until they’re on the back steps to crouch down next to Casey and Dave.
“Dave what’s the 411?” you ask. Casey doesn’t seem in a talking mood, sitting down again, holding what you now recognize as the remains of her beloved komodo dragon plushie. The head’s been ripped clean off and it’s got mud on it.
“Those boys took it,” Dave clenches his fists. He’s the picture of rage and it impresses you in a way. “They started tugging it out of her hands and when she wouldn’t let go they ripped it. Then they dropped it in the mud. It’s not fair!”
“No it ain’t,” you say, “And I’m proud of you Dave for sticking up for Casey. Are either of you hurt?”
“No,” Dave says, then preens a bit as he says, “But I kicked Cronus in the nuts!”
You stifle a smile and then put on your serious voice again, “I’m glad you can handle yourself little man, but next time just come find me okay? Beating up dumb teenagers is my job, not yours.”
“Oh goodness!”
You look over your shoulder. John is coming out the back door, which explains how Casey got here, and behind him is a tall man. You think he has some of the same energy as Cronus, which is someone who talks big talk but hasn’t been in a real fight. Except you get the feeling this guy has been in a real fight. He’s got two gnarly scars over his face, and there’s an aura about him, like an old fighting dog. He’s out of his prime and he hasn’t been in the pit in a long time, but there’s something about him that still radiates power.
“Casey are you okay?” John says, kneeling down on the grass with you and Dave and Casey.
“They tore up her doll!” Dave crows.
“Oh honey,” John says, picking Casey up gently.
“I can fix Koko if you want,” Bro blurts out, remembering the name of her stuffed animal, “I can sew.”
Casey looks at you and after a bit of thinking nods slowly. With the reverence of a military send off she hands over the plush toy. You take it gently and smile at her, trying to offer more than your usual smirk.
“I’ll have her back up and kicking tomorrow,” you say. You fish around in your pocket and find a receipt and a pen in your shirt pocket. Quickly you scribble down your number and shove it into John’s hand. “Shoot me a text so I have your number and I’ll bring her over when I’m done.”
Bro offered Casey a fistbump which she returned. Bro, still gently holding the komodo dragon, approached the older man.
“You must be Damien Ampora,” Bro drawled, keeping his voice even, tilting his chin a bit in respect. “Finished the bushes out front. I think they could use a good waterin tonight but other than that it’s all done.”
The man nodded, “Call me Ampora. Here’s your pay.”
He hands you a crisp 250 dollars. Perfect. You tilt the brim of your hat to him and tuck the money away, pulling Dave to your side. You two leave, and since you don’t look behind you, you miss the look that Cronus shoots you from the front window.