Archive of Our Own

Greg Universe tore open the paper tube carefully and eyed his watermelon slices. Free condiments had to be enough to make up for the fact that they were selling the melons by the pound now. The audacity was enough to make him turn to the internet for fun facts and tips preceded by advertisements for toy lines, because apparently he was an eight-year-old girl with an unlimited budget according to the algorithms. 

The other half of the melon sat face-down on top of his only cookie sheet, with four quarters on his paper plate. One benefit of the van was that he could park it so the doors faced away from the sea air, and the sun’s warmth radiated through without having all the dust and detritus passing over his snack. Maybe it was too early in the season for watermelon, but Greg liked the ritual, some kind of prophetic purchase, that if he willed hard enough then he could summon warmer weather before the school year was out. The school year. The kids. Connie, and her friend. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind.

Greg took the closest quarter and tapped on the salt tube with a sigh, barely dusting the surface. He set the salt on his plate, paused for just a moment, then bit into the flesh with a wet crunch. Surprisingly enough, the internet was right. He raised an eyebrow as he pulled the watermelon away and turned it in the sunlight, watching the salt crystals dissolve slowly. There was a certain sweetness with just a hint of salt left, something reasonably different that somehow accentuated the slightly underripe fruit. It was almost worth the weirdness of sitting alone in the back of the van again. He had to do something on his day off, though, and it might as well be a little treat. Greg chewed down to the rind, sprinkling occasionally before moving right along to the next chunk and spitting out the seeds onto the pavement.

He hadn’t been sleeping well. Last night he had allowed himself a break, but it had been the first time in a while, and he felt it in his legs and back, far more than he had when he first moved to this town. Every night for the past three weeks or so, he had driven down to the sea and played at the rocks, taking his guitar down the back and back up to the marina, walking until he could feel his leg hairs chafe from the salt crusting on them. He would drive back after, then hose off what he could with the frigid water before drying off and sleeping until his phone buzzed. A cheap smartphone let Greg keep track of the tides and let him know when Connie called so he could pick up and ask what was going on. The car wash had decent internet, surprisingly, bare-bones, but it was all he needed to do the electronic payments and financing on the ancient box of a computer inside. It was an inheritance, an ancient and frustrating one, but better than anything else he could have taken away from the world of employment. It was peaceful all the same.

Some nights, he saw bats beginning to wheel above the currents, far enough up so they wouldn’t get caught in the torrent of waves while catching the insects that came out and sang just like Greg. On others, he could look out and see frollicking dolphins, smooth bodies glistening in the tides before arcing with their fins and disappearing into the surf. At the marina he could see the heads of seals peeking out to scout around the boats before popping back down and catching cold fish in the mud. Cormorants and pelicans and groups of seagulls would nestle together on the rock formations above the tidal line and push their bodies to keep warm against the night air. There was so much life that he could see, and it was some kind of distraction from the fact that Stephen hadn’t come to see him once.

Of course he should have expected it, but it hurt all the same. There was nothing keeping him connected and nothing keeping him from being taken away, and it filled Greg’s stomach with worry. Someone could have moved him away from the ocean and down to some backwater ramshackle colony full of people who wanted to keep him away from civilization and guitars and pizza. He did have a home, Greg remembered that. He had people with whom he was staying. After that hospital trip, when they had eaten together, Stephen had pulled at the stringy cheese with hardly a word, as if just eating together and listening to Connie and Greg chat about Beach City goings-on was joyous and fulfilling on its own. He seemed so happy. Greg set down the last rind and misjudged his last spit, letting a black seed and some saliva dribble into his beard. The man looked at the half-melon that he had just devoured and wiped his face. At the very least, Stephen wouldn’t have judged him for being a messy eater.

But it would’ve been nice to see him again and know he was safe. Greg grunted to himself as he pulled his body out of the van. His sandals flapped onto the hot pavement, and he turned to pull the rest of the melon and his garbage out. It would be nice to be prepared. There were the makings for breakfast in the office cabinets, and styrofoam-contained leftovers inside the car wash fridge. Stephen deserved something better, something more substantial. Greg walked back, the melon on his cookie sheet balanced in one hand as he dumped the rinds into the metal bin with the other. The good news, he thought inside as he opened the office refrigerator and shoved the melon in, was that Stephen looked well-fed at the very least. He reminded Greg of himself at his awkward phase, before he was forced into cottage-cheese-and-celery-skim-milkshakes. He shuddered at the thought as he closed the fridge behind him. Never again.

When he headed back to the van, he glanced down the road as an old green hatchback turned the corner and puttered towards the boardwalk where he had seen Connie and Stephen hobbling along before. The fortune really had been something else, to have been able to be there when Connie really shouldn’t have been walking. Reluctantly, he had allowed her to walk Stephen down the beach once they had finished lunch, and the young girl had seemed so sad when she returned. Well, that was kids for you; in his heart, Greg had felt the exact same thing, but compounded with the strangeness of having known Stephen for only a couple hours. The man paused and pushed his palms against his temples, groaning in a tone approaching shame.

“What’s up with you, brain?” he grumbled. 

All the thoughts he was about to have regarding how weird and awful it was to be so attached to a random boy were gone the instant he looked up. There was a woman walking down the street towards the car wash. The sidewalk running from the roller coasters to the corner was barely maintained as it was, and there was almost definitely broken glass and litter along the way, but even from here Greg could tell that the woman was barefoot. She was wearing purple shorts, men’s trunks, and her ripped top reminded Greg of the punks post-mosh after a heavy finale. She wasn’t the tallest, but then again, he was just about six feet himself. Dusky black hair hung like shredded plastic over her shoulders, covering up the dark olive skin underneath. Most remarkably, most wonderfully, was the fact that there was a boy behind her, wearing a familiar pair of flip-flops, staring out with familiar silver eyes under a familiar mop of hair.

Either they had just been to the beach or they were headed there right after this. Stephen was wearing shorts as well, some chintzy boy’s tropical trunks, and he stopped fidgeting with them as he saw Greg ahead. The man stared for a second before offering a smile and a wave and waiting for his heart to restart. There was nothing wrong with the situation, not when he had offered for Stephen to come out whenever he wanted, but the suddenness of it all still made him wonder how coincidental the timing was. Then again, he had thought about the poor kid at least once a day ever since he had met him, and the intersection of thoughts and appearance probably wasn’t as much of a mystery as it would’ve been otherwise.

Stephen started to plod a little faster ahead, urged by the wave, when the woman instantly reached up and grabbed him by the shoulder. Yeah, this was one of his guardians, all right. Greg wished he hadn’t been paying attention to his heart, because it instantly started pumping with nervousness. This must be a test. The woman was staring him down. She pulled back the pouting boy as they walked up the pavement, rolling her shoulder. Behind her, Greg could see a knapsack of sorts, a simple drawstring bag that looked like something made when he had been in elementary school. 

“Hey, buddy!” he called, lowering himself down to one knee. “Stephen! I’m, er, it’s great to see you! Who’s your friend here?”

Greg’s smile twitched as the woman held out a hand, keeping Stephen from running up to him. The boy looked like he was about to growl at her. She tilted her head, possibly suppressing a sneer. Even without makeup, Greg could see she had full, judgemental lips and a sharp gaze to contrast with their softness. As much as he tried not to stare, he couldn’t help but notice that she definitely didn’t have anything on underneath her torn tank. It was hardly appropriate, but then again, there could’ve been different cultural standards. He couldn’t assume anything right now. As far as he could tell, Stephen and his guardian were just off the grid.

“Ameliaaaaa...” Stephen whined.

“Hush,” she muttered with a voice like bones being snapped. She didn’t look away from Greg. “You. He wanted to see you. Says you helped his friend.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Connie. She got hurt on a rock when they were out swimming together.”

To Greg’s ire, Amelia let out a snort of humorless laughter, but didn’t elaborate. Whatever her mistrust was, it wasn’t enough to stop her from slowly lowering her hand. 

“They said you were fine. I don’t think so. But, he’s here. You two can do what you want. When I say we go, we go.”

“You know, I really don’t…” 

Greg bit his tongue. Clearly there was a different relationship going on here than he couldn’t have guessed from first glance. The woman in front of him was young, remarkably young for her brusqueness, certainly no older than twenty-five or thirty. Presumably she was some kind of guardian, legal or otherwise, but it was impossible to judge. There were rules here he wouldn’t ever get to hear in detail, not unless he wanted this to be the last time he saw the boy. The worst part was the promise he had made to Dr. Maheswaran, who had called him only once to confirm that he hadn’t seen Stephen after their hospital excursion. He had to get something, but the situation was far more fragile than he could have anticipated. Who were ‘they?’ What did they know about Connie and Stephen together?

Amelia stepped to the side, not bothering to wait for him to finish his thought. Stephen stumbled forwards until he was right up in front of Greg, close enough that the man had to straighten up so they could see eye to eye. Before he could say anything further, the boy reached up and gripped Greg’s face. The doughy little hands held Greg tightly as Stephen pressed his nose right up against Greg’s, warm and firm, giving a little snuffle before wrapping his arms around Greg and hugging him like he would be torn away by the salty wind.

“Okay, Stephen, Stephen —”

But he wasn’t about to deny the kid a hug, of all things. Clearly Amelia wasn’t as used to this, because when Greg glanced over to ensure she wasn’t about to pull Stephen off, he saw her eyes widen incredulously. The child’s behavior was being weighed on either side. Greg regretted some of the actions he had taken beforehand to let Stephen in on this. He had been compelled, and he was compelled now, and obviously Stephen was a touchy-feely kid. The watchful eye of a guardian whose knuckles were stiffening up made Greg gently take Stephen under the armpits and pull him back a few inches.

“Buddy?” he said before the kid could protest. “Hey, Stephen, a hug is fine, but let’s pump the brakes a little. Okay? Gotta...show our appreciation appropriately around strangers. I’m still kind of a stranger to you. Let’s set some boundaries.”

The fact that Stephen looked more confused than upset probably wasn’t a good sign. Amelia’s expression was, in an equally unhelpful way, unreadable. She didn’t appear to be mad at the hug or to be satisfied that Greg had held Stephen back. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she began to walk past them towards the corner of the car wash, eyeing Greg like he was a shark and she was a dolphin. With a little grunt, Amelia settled herself against the wall next to the wash door. A lock of dark hair fell over one eye. Even from this distance, and even with his neck turned, Greg could see the deep purple in her eyes when the sun hit them just right, swimming with swirls not unlike Stephen’s own.

“Pump the brakes,” Stephen repeated. Greg snapped back to reality as the boy furrowed his brow. “Brakes. Breaking. Breaking of...bones?”

“Nnnnno. That’s car talk. You were in the van, you know it, right, so. When the van goes forward, that’s the gas pedal, and the brakes are what we use to slow down. So, slow down. Metaphorically. That’s all!”

“Slowing what down? I don’t, am… I am....”

More and more, Greg was convinced that English wasn’t Stephen’s first language. The boy had almost forgotten about the hug as he tried to get his head around how to say the things that were fighting to come out his mouth. Greg sighed and stood up slowly, both hands on Stephen’s shoulders. There were a lot of infinitives and vocalizations that seemed to occupy how Stephen communicated. All the little bits and pieces weren’t going to get them anywhere, though, unless they could understand what they meant. Greg’s thumbs tapped on Stephen’s bare muscles, on the freckles. He was suddenly struck with the fact that the skin underneath his tanned hands was fair, pale, and very much exposed.

“Hold that thought. Have you put on sunscreen today?”

“Oh! The screen is what a phone is having! Connie showed.”

Greg could’ve cussed. This would have been a basic safety practice for any parent—or guardian, right, he couldn’t forget that. Additionally, Stephen didn’t know...much. It was a horrible thought, but as Greg clenched his fingers, the boy’s cautiously proud expression was indicative only of what he thought was important, what he knew that he knew. The real world wasn’t going to be very kind to him; neither was the sun. 

The snap decision wasn’t the smartest thing he could have done, but there wasn’t any other choice. When Greg used to babysit, the back of his van was a multipurpose game room, restaurant, nap spot and changing room, sometimes all at once. All the parents he knew in Beach City had sent a child clambering up there, so if anyone saw Stephen with him, nobody would question it at the very least. Plus, he could cuddle up all he wanted without prying eyes. Greg had to admit that the comfort of being hugged brought back some lovely memories of Buck, Jenny, Kiki, all the kids running up when the van came rolling around. Vidalia had started the trend with the sitting, and Sour Cream was just the beginning. A boy like Stephen tugged Greg’s heartstrings more than he could ever say to the kid.

“Amelia, Stephen and I are gonna chill in the van for a bit,” he called back. He forced himself not to snap at her for forgoing sunscreen. “Just… We’ll be back there.”

She didn’t respond, but the shadow of worry passed over her eyes. There was no time to waste. Greg nodded as politely as he could, reaching down with an open hand. He didn’t even have to prompt. Stephen returned the grip and held on tight as the two of them walked back to the backlot. The open door was peeking behind the drive-thru entrance, and Stephen made a sound that was probably recognition as they approached. Everything was just as messy as usual. If Stephen cared, he didn’t say anything as he temporarily detached himself and climbed into the shade.

“Hold on. I know there’s a lot of mess.”

A few years of preparation and warnings about UV light had helped out a little bit. Greg strode to the passenger’s side door and pulled it open. Popping the glovebox, he snagged the bottle of kid’s sunscreen, which as far as he knew was the same but a little cheaper, the same SPF 50 that was supposed to protect him from the worst of it. When he shut the door and came back, Stephen was trying his best to sit still, pulling at his thighs and curling his lips in a childish face that Greg knew well.

“Not a fan of the board shorts, buddy?”

“The nets. I am not liking the nets.”

“I don’t know when they started adding those. We just had normal trunks when I was a kid. But, I just jump in in denim now. Nobody cares if all this is in fashion.”

Greg made a sweeping motion to his body, and Stephen stared back with a blank smile. Okay, maybe the self-deprecation wasn’t where they needed to be. The man sighed and urged Stephen forward to the edge of the van’s bed.

“Turn around. I’ll start with your back and arms, and your face, and then you can do the rest of yourself. Sound good?”

“Yes’r?”

As Stephen turned himself and crossed his legs, Greg smirked at the plumber’s crack hanging over the tailgate, but he couldn’t help but worry. Stephen trusted him. There wasn’t any reason not to, not as far as Greg was concerned, but the trust came easily, and worse, it was mutual. The man popped the sunscreen’s opening. Greg took in kids easily and, to be honest, they weren’t that hard to deal with. Each of them had quirks and problems, but they were things that he could deal with, like when he convinced Kiki that she didn’t have to compare herself to her twin sister, or when Sour Cream was doing worse in school because Onion was in a crying phase and he couldn’t sleep. Everything passed by. Stephen’s problems were permanent, terrible, and for the most part unknown. He didn’t know what sunscreen was, and at the same time he was going to let Greg rub it over his shoulders. Which was worse, the ignorance or the acceptance?

“This is gonna be a little cold. Don’t worry, I’ll rub it in soon so my hands will warm you right on up,” Greg said.

Stephen barely glanced back, and also barely reacted as the cool cream was spread in a line over his shoulders. When Greg did like he had promised and began to spread it over Stephen’s back, though, the boy looked like he was going to melt. It certainly did melt Greg’s heart, and he couldn’t help but grin at the gentle chuff of pleasure he elicited. The pale pinkness was washed over temporarily with white as Greg ran his hands down to the boy’s tailbone. Stephen sniffed.

“What...is it?”

“Sunscreen? It’s a special kind of cream, Stephen. It helps your skin get protection from the sun so you don’t get burned. That’ll get you cooked like a lobster, and it hurts a lot.”

“Oh, hurting is bad,” Stephen mumbled, “but the hands, your hands are good. Big.”

“Heh. You’ll get there someday, lil’ man.”

There was a smile somewhere around the other side. Even with his back turned, the boy was feeling a little better. Greg could see the way his ears wiggled. To be fair, Stephen hadn’t arrived in a bad mood necessarily. He had been cautious and nervous like Greg had seen the last time, and he had been gone for two weeks and still looked as healthy as a child could. But it was impossible to tell. Greg watched the sunscreen dissolve into the boy’s freckles as he pushed the baby fat around. He had to do what he had promised to do, to keep Stephen away from a world that would hurt him. The man’s stomach knotted up for a moment. Despite his best judgement, he could never be sure that what he was doing was actually better, because he didn’t know a thing about the life by the beach.

“What’ve you been doing the past few weeks, Stephen?” he asked as lightly as he could. “I missed that little face of yours. Connie’s been missing you, too, I’m sure. But her mom’s been keeping her out of the water.”

Stephen’s head snapped to the side guiltily, one silver eye open and staring up. The tension held the air still for just a moment before the tension broke and Stephen’s shoulders fell with a tiny sigh.

“I am learning,” he mumbled, “about the hospitals. And food, and...clothes. Wearing of clothes.”

“You, uh, seemed to be wearing clothes pretty good the last time we were in the hospital. Pretty sure the good doctor would’ve at least made you wear a dress if you walked in in the buff.”

Silence. It wasn’t the most productive, but Greg could only hold back a little sigh of his own. Food and clothes and hospitals? Stephen’s body seemed to shrink underneath Greg’s hands, no matter how much the man tried to massage him to a place of comfort, even now when the sunscreen had been thoroughly rubbed in. There was a weird uncertainty, as if Stephen didn’t really know how other human beings worked. Maybe it was some kind of pagan nudist colony, and after a certain point it wouldn’t be feasible to write that off as ‘just an alternative lifestyle choice.’ On the other side of the coin, trying to force normalcy had made the DeMayo household.

“Well, just for peace of mind, when you and Connie are at the beach together, did you both wear clothes?”

“Y-yes’r! Proper. She does not want to be seeing.”

“Alright, alright,” Greg chuckled. “Look, you can call me Mr. Universe. You can even call me Greg! I’m not some big bad authority figure. I’m just a guy who happens to care about your well-being.”

“Yes, Mr. Universe.”

“I never asked, by the way, what’s your last name?”

Stephen paused, then shook his head. There it was again, the feeling that made Greg pause as he rested his hands on Stephen’s shoulders, the overwhelming empathy that made him want to just hug the boy tightly and tell him that everything was going to be okay. Each possibility was worse than the last. Either Stephen didn’t have a last name, he wasn’t allowed to say his last name, or he was somehow uncomfortable or ashamed with his last name. At least the first option meant that there was nothing traumatic connected with the past that the boy could remember, nothing that was taken away.

“I gotcha. Okay, buddy, turn around and I’ll get you some sunscreen for your chest and legs and stuff. Oh, and can’t forget your face! Behind the ears especially, those burns are nasty.”

Obediently, Stephen swiveled himself until his legs were dangling out the back and he was staring up blankly. It wasn’t until now that Greg saw the dark lines underneath the silver eyes. He frowned as he picked up the bottle again.

“You look like you’re not getting a whole lotta shuteye, kiddo.”

Those pouty little lips just clammed up more. Bit by bit, he would get there, but it wouldn’t happen without a little tenderness. Greg squeezed a little bit of sunscreen out onto two fingers, then set the bottle down and rubbed them with his other hand, covering the tips of his pointer and middle fingers. It was like war paint, a gentle application over the cheeks, fingers and thumbs and a little palm action. Stephen closed his eyes. There was no question that he was tired, that he was restless, that there were things on his mind. There was also no question that he enjoyed Greg’s touch, and when Stephen suppressed a sigh and turned his head into Greg’s touch, the man felt the same sort of paternal flutter. Those little motions answered the question of whether or not he was doing a good job.

“You’re free to come up and take naps in the van whenever you want,” Greg said. “I’ll scoot all this stuff over and you can flop as you like. Okay? Just as long as you’re safe.”

Whatever that meant, Greg was sincere about the offer. Strangers who dropped by the car wash didn’t care much about him or about the striped van, the emblazoned logo, the little bits and pieces that suggested what kind of life Greg had made for himself. People like Vidalia, like Doug and Priyanka, and even folks like Bill checked in on him from time to time. No matter who it was, nobody would question if someone saw a kid who had been dropped off to sleep in the back of his vehicle. 

Honestly, that was a miracle, because in any other circumstance Greg would have been side-eyed to say the least. The town seemed to accept him as a resident babysitter to whatever degree a town could. Strange that Stephen could have been here eleven years and nobody had known about his family. Actually, Greg thought as he rubbed the last of the sunscreen from the back of the ears down to the sides of the boy’s neck, that was a good question.

“How long have you been around Beach City, Stephen? You and yours been here long?”

“I am not...being from here. New. The place is new.”

“Right on, right on. Alright, you can get your chest and stuff. Hold out your hands?”

He obliged. Greg stuck out his tongue and made a little farting noise with his mouth as he squeezed the sunscreen in. At the very least, it made the kid grin for a second before the man chuckled and set the bottle back down. Wordlessly, Stephen held his hands still momentarily before following along as best he could. Greg forced a patient smile as the boy rubbed one hand over his sternum and one over his gut, brushing his fingertips over his belly until messy white lines swirled over his torso. There was another pause before Stephen grunted and abruptly reached forwards. He grabbed Greg’s wrists before pulling the man’s hands to his belly with a wet plap .

“Okay, whoa! Whoa there. Stephen, you’re old enough to do this part yourself, buddy, I just got the hard to reach places.”

“Your hands’re nicer.”

“Stephen…”

But how could anyone say no to that face? It was all just touch, just something that Stephen needed. He was apologetic, ish, almost begging Greg to just comfort him. Was it comfort? Greg had reminded other children of what their parents had taught, about how to get everything dissolved on their skin so the sun wouldn’t hurt them, no white streaks, every inch protected. Children were so proud to do these things by themselves. Stephen, whose pouting eyes shimmered as he stared up pleadingly, whose lip quivered out of what Greg could only define as fear, was not proud. The question remained of what he needed, but the answer of what he wanted was somehow both all too clear and muddled beyond understanding.

Greg sighed. “You drive a hard bargain. Alright, just get comfortable,” he murmured. “You’re one needy dude. But, you got Mr. Universe to spoil ya.”

As the man’s hands began to push, Stephen let go, satisfied that he would be given the attention he needed. He really was a big baby, but Greg couldn’t hold that against him. Greg repressed a sigh and turned it into a hum as the boy gently scooted forwards. Humming was one way to get their minds at ease. In the hospital parking lot, the guitar had startled Stephen but they had been able to connect with the music. Even now as he hummed a few nonsense bars, Greg could see Stephen start to relax, propped up on his hands, legs swinging gently in time to the work song.

A life without education was one thing, but a life without music was another. Stephen could be lured with his stomach and promises of pizza, that was a given. Maybe music could be a separate pull, or perhaps just company in general. Greg hadn’t promised anything but that and yet here the kid was, turning his head and genuinely smiling as Greg put more emphasis on the notes. He hardly noticed that he was almost done, almost all the sunscreen dissolved into the belly and the softness of the child’s chest. Greg began to drum gently, tapping with his fingers and swaying to his little rhythm.

“Let me-a tell you how the silly song goes,” he sang softly, “gonna a-play it on the belly bon-gos!” 

His mouth pushed out hissing cymbal noises as he drummed on the gut, grinning at Stephen in like kind. The boy’s hands shot upwards almost immediately as he laughed, reaching for the sky as he squeezed his eyes tight. When he opened his mouth, once again Greg was reminded of the fact that Stephen’s teeth were objectively not normal. The eyes he could deal with, but the teeth, the teeth were more than he could understand. They were tightly packed, a normal number that he could see at a glance, but the closer they got to the front the sharper they got, like a fox’s teeth, complete with a thick set of incisors that almost looked like fangs.

What was the explanation? What could he tell Priyanka? He had stopped drumming, and Stephen opened his eyes, reaching out to place a hand on top of Greg’s own gut. The boy stopped, and the teeth faded with the smile. Greg jerked his eyes up. Stephen was staring at him, and he knew that the boy had caught the expression on his face that was probably not the calmest. To be fair, he did feel a sharp bit of panic, and a little more uncertainty about all he had gotten himself into.

“Mr. Universe?”

“H-hey, um, Stephen, lemme ask you, what’s your favorite food in the whole wide world.”

“Mm. The pizza. With the fish! Both.”

That was believable. The way that Stephen had torn into the pizza after their hospital visit had been almost indescribable. He was gentle and devastating all at once, joyous in his cheesy destruction. Connie had picked up plenty of napkins when they left. The first worry now, though, was the fact that Fish Stew was the only pizza place that Greg had seen fish on pizza with the exception of weird trendy metropolitan restaurants. His favorite food, and it was maybe the only pizza he knew. That was heartbreaking in its own way.

Unless Stephen was hiding something, though, Greg felt a twinge of shame as he realized that this was all probably the wrong end of a genetic lottery. His initial question of whether the teeth affected his diet was far-fetched. Stephen was present, attentive, and in control, but his eyes and teeth were just part of the whole package. The fact that he had been hidden away from the world somewhat was all the more tragic. Greg brought his hands back up to Stephen’s cheeks. The quiet boy eyed him patiently until Greg forced a smile while forcing a smile, pushing up the edges of the child’s mouth while making little squeaky onomatopoeia. Stephen snorted, closing his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

“Maybe I’ll get out the rest of that watermelon for you to take home,” Greg said, patting the boy’s cheeks. “When we get there, I mean. You know, I don’t think I asked, what’s brought you up here today, Stephen? Bet you didn’t come just for belly bongos.”

Breakfast food could have been compelling, certainly, or he could have come to hear more music, or he could have come in the hopes that Connie would be here too. Greg watched instead as Stephen’s face paled. The boy swallowed, then jerked his head around suddenly, like he had heard an intruder from the front seat. His eyes focused on every corner before he stood up, pulling away from Greg and looking over the top of the van’s door at where Amelia was standing. She was still holding the post in her own way, with the car wash between them.

“Stephen?”

The boy reached forward and grabbed Greg’s undershirt, pulling him back into the van urgently. He didn’t have to ask twice, that was for sure; Greg clambered in as quietly as he could, as if Amelia would see and attack him. He had the feeling she wouldn’t hesitate to protect Stephen if anything were to actually happen, and that the boy’s approach had been unexpected for her. Things might have been gentle to start, but there was nothing gentle in the way that Stephen dragged Greg along. The old mattress sighed under their combined weight, but it had seen worse days. Worse moments, though, that was yet to be determined.

Closer to the front seats, Greg put an arm around Stephen as the boy clung to him. The sunbeams coming through the door made the shadows covering them all the darker. When he looked down, he swore that Stephen’s eyes were glowing. It was a trick of the light, he knew, and it wasn’t so much a ‘glow’ as it was iridescence, a natural scattering. Stephen was trying to steady his breathing. Greg wanted to ask again, but whatever had compelled Stephen to drag him back here was clearly still on his mind, so all he could do was squeeze the boy close and stare out as well, staring at an intruder who wasn’t coming.

“Dreams,” Stephen whispered. “Bad dreams. Bad dreaming.”

“It’s okay, Stephen. You’re okay. What kind of bad dreams?”

“M’ da.”

Greg felt his stomach sink into the bed. Above his stomach was a tiny hand, five fingers pulling on his shirt as Stephen began to turn his shoulders. He was shaking, but clearly trying not to show it. There was so much inside. and Greg could only stare and listen.

“I am seeing him, seeing it all. See the, th-the knife. I feel it. He hurts. Every...every night. Alone. I don’t want the song in me. I don’t want it, I-I don’t.”

“The song?”

“The death song.”

“I...I don’t understand, buddy.”

But Stephen was done. The boy turned his face and let out a keening whimper into Greg’s chest, muffled by his shirt. Greg shushed him softly, turning so that he could pull the boy closer, hold him and assuage his fears—and his own in like kind. Whatever a ‘death song’ was, it was clearly terrifying, and Greg could only guess what it meant. If he had to guess now, it was an honest-to-goodness dirge about Stephen’s father being murdered, and the kid was dreaming about whatever vivid lyrics came with that. What kind of oral tradition was that? He couldn’t ask right away. Chances were that he’d never get an answer.

“You can’t tell your grown-ups this, can you,” he said, stroking the back of Stephen’s head. “Have you tried? Would Amelia listen?”

Stephen had clamped his mouth shut and was finally starting to cry. The white cotton absorbed the tears as best it could. To Greg’s surprise, he recognized this kind of crying; it was exhaustion. Kids in the sun who didn’t know they were tired used to nap in the van despite their protestations, carried there for a playtime break. Stephen was no exception, but they knew why he was tired. No, he couldn’t sleep at home, and if you couldn’t sleep at home then what kind of home could that possibly be.

It had been years since Greg had experienced anything like that. As soon as the people around his age started having children, the weight of adulthood hit him like a brick. Being unable to talk to adults was one thing, but when everyone, including you, was an adult, you just had to get used to it, and to encourage every kid that you could be a refuge if nobody else was. The sleep issues, though, those would never change. Greg forced himself to relax his fingers as he remembered the sound of talk radio going late into the night. We’ll discuss it in the morning. There was boarding school. Remedial education. A preppy girlfriend to marry after high school. College boards. But nothing like this. Sometimes, Greg had thought as a teen, it would be better if his parents were dead. He would have had nobody. Would he have been like Stephen, then?

The thought of Stephen growing up with such uncertainty made Greg’s lip tremble. The boy let out a little gasp as Greg pulled him up, getting him by the armpits before lifting and tugging him into a real hug. He was so warm. Stephen obliged and hugged back just as quickly. Greg had to swallow his words, fighting back tears just for the moment.

“You’re safe here. You’re safe, you’re always safe here, I promise,” Greg said hoarsely. “You and Connie and everyone else. You’re gonna be happy.”

He couldn’t let suspicion overwhelm his rationality. Over his shoulder, Stephen was making small sighs, deep sighs through his belly, little grunts of thanks. For his part, Greg’s face was cold as his eyes snapped open, staring across where he knew Amelia to be. She had been lackadaisical about bringing the boy here, suspicious and dismissive all at once. Maybe she knew that Stephen was having nightmares. Maybe they all knew. Goodness gracious, what was he doing? Everything was overwhelming him. Amelia was destroying his ability to think straight. There were the others, whoever they were, that Stephen couldn’t trust—or they all knew, too, and Stephen was being secretive for secret’s sake. 

Greg was only certain about one thing: he couldn’t trust the adults with whom Stephen was staying. Until he got to the bottom of this, he would have to be on his toes, on alert, ready for anything to come. As his heart pounded in his chest, Stephen took one massive breath, then let it out as he moved his legs and sat down in Greg’s lap. Belly to belly, the boy slowly loosened himself as Greg did as well. Both hands still held onto Stephen’s back, supporting him as the two made eye contact.

“I know you don’t wanna think about all that stuff, Stephen. Do you want to feel good? I can show you something that made me feel good when I needed to get away from it all.”

The boy rubbed his forearm across his eyes while nodding. His left hand held Greg tightly by the strap of his tank-top, like a toddler. Was Greg mentally babying Stephen too much? There had to come a point where he helped Stephen through, a point where he couldn’t treat him like glass. But, as Priyanka had pointed out, the trauma ran deep. Too deep. They could start somewhere soft. Greg grunted and spread his legs out, shifting to the side of the van. Stephen glanced down and followed along, the two of them shuffling together as Greg reached a point where he could rest with his back against the paneling. 

Luckily for him, Stephen was malleable. He turned the young man around and pulled him in, and Stephen sat right in the middle, his legs out like Greg’s, before voluntarily pushing against him to cuddle. Greg reached over to his guitar case once more. Stephen watched as Greg opened it and pulled out the instrument, and he stiffened his spine as Greg pulled it across his lap, sandwiching Stephen between his torso and the guitar. It wasn’t the first time that a young person had been in this same position, to sit and learn the hand structures and the chords.

Greg plucked a simple C-major chord. Stephen wasn’t here to learn anything like that. As Greg strummed into the D-minor, the E, the F, he could feel the body leaning against him begin to relax inch by inch. How could you measure stress? Was it in the tensile strength of the muscles loosening as the danger passed? Could the heartbeat be so simple as to show all that was happening in the metaphorical heart as well? No measure could be as reasonable as the measure of Stephen’s shoulders drooping with exhaustion, the little sigh inaudible over the sound of steel, the way he turned his head as if Greg’s chest was his pillow.

The man strummed away, repeating himself over and experimenting on his themes. The songs were lost to the wind. Greg had written down so much over the years, but he had never gotten the hang of sheet music, and even tabs weren’t the easiest to read. He listened and he understood and that was that. If Stephen couldn’t read words, maybe he could learn sheet music, and they could learn together. Greg was glad that Stephen couldn’t see his frown at the thought. The question wasn’t what Stephen was capable of learning, because the boy could do anything, that was for certain. The question was how far Greg was willing to go, and what he thought he was doing in the middle of all this.

Stephen needed a parent, or a guardian who wasn’t that kind of woman out there in the sunlight. Greg almost felt bad, but when he thought about going out and letting Amelia into the shade of the air-conditioned office, the prospect of leaving Stephen behind in the van almost made him miss his strum entirely. And then, from what felt like nowhere, a surge of jealousy coursed through his gut, as if Amelia was… Competition? The thought passed too quickly and with such a horrendously negative spark that Greg had to ground himself, tapping on the pick guard. He had never felt that kind of animosity before, if that was even what it was. The more he tried to focus, the fewer details there were. Greg swallowed, strumming along as Stephen hummed in his own throat, again with that purring resonance.

“Hey, buddy,” Greg said after a second, “who is Amelia to you? Is she your… Is she related to you at all, your family?”

“She is a guardian.”

“Guardian, like a legal guardian. Yeah?” He paused. “Or is she just the person who takes care of you.”

“She is one. Not an allmother. Young, like...me. But not young. Just starting to be of the guardians. She hunts.”

Oh, a matriarchy. Maybe. That was slightly less concerning, or slightly more so, Greg couldn’t tell which. He had been to a few shows where the women on stage had made pretty creative threats in their lyrics about a women-dominated world and what would happen to dudes, but Greg wasn’t about to take that for anything genuinely harmful. Feminism was easier to talk about when it didn’t concern a traumatized boy in a secret camp off the grid. The fact that the women were guardians was a good sign, as was the fact that they provided food. It was strange, that Stephen said they hunted when one of his favorite foods was fish. Clearly whatever angling skills they had were more impressive than their venison preparation.

“Who are your ‘allmothers,’ Stephen?”

“Mm. Rosa. And Pearl, and Garnet. Amelia might be. She said she wanted to do the seeing. To see you.”

“Oh? Why’d she wanna see me?”

Stephen bit his tongue at the same time as the minor chord. Greg looked down as the boy looked up, before the boy turned his eyes away again and moved his hands together in his lap. He pulled at the trunks to tug the inner netting away from his body, between his legs, and Greg pretended not to notice. 

“Males.”

“Mhm? She doesn’t trust guys, huh?”

“I have heard her singing. She was hurt.”

“Oh. Yeah, I used to know guys like that,” Greg murmured. “I managed to avoid ‘em but they were in the scene.”

Stephen didn’t say anything, possibly because Greg knew he was talking about stuff outside the boy’s range. Abusive partners were absolutely a valid reason for someone to be distrustful, even though Greg wanted to argue that he wasn’t anywhere on that spectrum as far as Stephen was concerned. Amelia had her past, and that was all the man needed to know. Digging around wouldn’t be helpful for anyone. Maybe she had moved to this commune place to get away from her ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, whatever. Or worse, family. Greg couldn’t make any assumptions.

“Did the...guys, were they hurting you?” Stephen asked.

Greg plucked out a couple notes on his guitar and frowned before patting the strings.

“No. No, they didn’t really hurt me. Like I said, I avoided them. There was one, my old manager, but to me, he was just—he took advantage of my music. Tried to make me stop being me. But he didn’t hurt me in the way Amelia got hurt.”

Hurt , a word that he had said and thought about so much that it seemed to have lost its meaning. There wasn’t a better one. Greg thumbed the A-string and slid his fingertips along the frets. He hadn’t thought about Marty for several years. He was older than Marty had been when he had picked Greg out of the crowd to start touring, once the scene had exhausted them. Beach City had been the last straw after the two of them had agreed to stay and workshop the next leg of the tour. Every evening Marty would disappear, and come back alone, or with Vidalia, even though he acted as though he couldn’t stand to be around her. EPs about the ocean and the stars were scrapped, burned and rewritten, notes ashed and tossed into the unusual warmth of the Atlantic. Marty’s drinking filled the back of the van with green bottles, cheap and plentiful, and Greg watched over the course of a month as his manager grew more and more paranoid that Greg was writing about him, or about her—not Vidalia, but someone Marty couldn’t name and couldn’t describe. The worst part for Greg, he remembered, was the fact that he believed in this woman that he probably didn’t exist. Four and a half weeks after landing, Marty had disappeared, and Greg had started to drive up the coast again. He came right back not an hour later, and something else had replaced the guilt in his stomach, like a hunger, like a desperate anger. Marty’s body was found washed up on the shore days later when a team of ecologists found him at low tide. According to the news blurb, he had drowned, possibly after wandering too far into the ocean under the influence of alcohol. His lower jaw had been completely removed at the joints, torn off by a shark, although the blurb noted that there had been no reported shark sightings in the area for over six months. He had been carrying his wallet with his driver’s license, thankfully; neither Greg nor Vidalia had wanted to come in and verify his identity.

He had stopped playing. Stephen was pushing against him questioningly. Greg sighed and pulled the boy close, kissing the top of his head. It was impulsive, but necessary, in a way that he would justify later. Or, Stephen’s little squeak and shimmy in response was all he needed. Everything this kid did was so strange. Nobody would find it endearing but him, and maybe Connie but in different ways.

Greg moved his hand back to the strings and plucked a new tune, something simple. Improvisation had never been his strong suit, but Stephen could probably inspire something. A melody filled the air in the back of the van, a combination of old songs and new snippets, a return to the time when music was made fresh and recorded here, when all the sounds had to be new. Greg closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“ With the old ocean behind us and our feet in the tide,
it’s the love that’s as big as the horizon is wide,
and I’ll dry off your feet before we head inside,
and the stars will follow, oh, the stars will follow.
As strong as the storm, but as sweet as the breeze,
brush the sand from your hair and your little knees.
So we’ll eat in the shade of the grandfather trees,
do it all tomorrow, oh, again tomorrow… ”

Stephen yawned. That was a warning sign if Greg ever knew one. The man stopped strumming and let the chord linger as he raised his hand back up and ran it through Stephen’s hair. There was so much salt, and yet it was soft as anything. It was as if he had been swimming through an ocean of conditioner.

“Hey, Stephen,” Greg murmured, “do you want a little treat? I’ve got a little watermelon in the fridge, and then we can—oh, that’s right!”

As Greg pulled the guitar up and leaned it against the passenger seat, Stephen turned curiously at the divergent thought. There were two big things going on, maybe even three, but most importantly was the promise that he had made, and the fact that the Maheswarans would be monumentally upset if he didn’t let them know that their mysterious stranger was here. Greg began to crawl over the mattress, moving around Stephen. The boy’s eyes widened slightly, but Greg turned and began to move backwards, raising one reassuring hand.

“You know what a phone is, yeah? Connie showed you, the—”

“The screen?”

“Correctomundo! What we’re gonna do is, I’m gonna check in with Amelia to make sure you’re okay to take a nap here. I’ll get the watermelon, then we’ll call Connie, and then you can rest right here for as long as you want.”

Nervous as he might have been, Stephen wasn’t about to argue, and Greg felt a twinge of guilt over the fact that both phones and watermelon might have just been confusing to the poor kid. At least he was indeed tired, and Stephen paused before nodding along, flopping down on the mattress. Greg began to put one leg down, then looked at the pile of clothes bunched up along the side of his bed.

“And buddy, no matter what, don’t leave the van.”

The boy stared, but nodded more slowly this time, more determined, the last vestige of sunlight glinting off of his eyes, like mercury. Greg gave a thumbs up before he jumped down and started to pace over to Amelia. First things first. She hadn’t come up to badger them, which was good, but as Greg approached the corner, he could see her there just like before, stoic and nervous in a way he hadn’t seen before. She was staring out at the street. When Greg cleared his throat, the young woman bristled in surprise and whipped her head around. In her eyes, there was the same kind of judgemental anger, but also fear, not like Stephen’s fear. This was something unique and horrible and in an instant Greg regretted holding her harshly. All the things that these women had done to keep Stephen away were arguably awful, but the things they had been through at least made their actions understandable. The world was a scary place. Whatever had happened, he wasn’t entitled to know. Greg took a half-step back.

“Hey, um, Stephen’s feeling kind of tired. If it’s okay with you, we’re planning on taking a nap in the back of the van. I dunno how long he’ll be out, maybe a half-hour? If that’s okay.”

Amelia’s gaze didn’t soften, but her body relaxed a little, just enough to get out of the fight-or-flight stance. The purple highlights in her eyes were definitely contacts, subtle ones, but contacts all the same. Not like Stephen’s, definitely not. She turned her head and eyed the direction of the van, then turned back to Greg with that same incredulousness as before.

“He wants it?”

“Like, to nap? Yeah. I dunno if you heard, but he’s not really sleeping well at...home. Heard, noticed, whatever.”

The implication was there in a way Greg regretted, and Amelia might have felt it too. If he had interpreted Stephen’s words correctly, she was working her way up in the ranks, and being told that the boy under her care felt more comfortable sleeping in some guy’s car than in their hunting commune must have been hard. With her arms crossed, Amelia squeezed her biceps. The conflict was palpable, even if Greg wasn’t sure what the opposing forces were. To be honest there weren’t any benefits to Stephen staying up here with him. He had to remain calm, and he kept his face devoid of anxiety until Amelia blew out a breath. 

“He trusts the girl, the girl trusts you,” she muttered darkly. “He won’t stop looking out, y’know. Keeps wanting to come back to town for you two.”

If there was ever a moment not to reply, this was it. What was it like? Greg wanted to know everything, to run back and beg Stephen to tell him what was wrong, what life was like, where he lived. The mystery was eating him from the inside out. What was so bad that Stephen had wandered for almost a month, lost in thought, wanting to see Connie again? He had been seeing her regularly as far as Connie had said, with little trips to the beach to meet up and play in the sand. Summer would make things far more interesting with the families and occasional tourist booms. Someone would see where he came from, where he would go. Maybe it was a coastal farm. Maybe it was somewhere in the brackish wetlands. But for now, Greg just nodded curtly. 

“So he’s okay to take a little snooze before heading out?”

“Fine. But when I say we go, we go.”

Yeah, they had been over that. Greg just pretended to smile as he watched Amelia settle back against the wall. It was a long shot, but he could swear there was something else in her pose, in between the worry. Anger often hid truth. If he didn’t know any better, he’d call it nostalgia. But as he walked to the office, he shook the thought from his head. They were new in town, Stephen had said so—or at least, just he was. There was nothing else about this little chunk of land that she could have been nostalgic for. He was probably just projecting. 

In the office, other thoughts took over and pushed the possibilities out of his head. The first thing Greg did was bring out the watermelon again, and he took the knife on the corner of the sink, cutting off a thick section to bring out to the boy after he was done in here. No salt, nothing special, no additions; the first experience had to be unadulterated. One slice was enough, and Greg wiped the juice from the knife on the grody dishtowel before ducking down the hall into the one and only storeroom in the joint. Out of all the boxes of old clothes, his high-school ones were probably the closest he could get to Stephen’s size. 

He knew exactly which box it was. After however many years it had been, the scent of overripe fruit had left, but the cartoon banana was still just as happy on the side as ever despite the marker and duct tape peelings that had torn away some of the cardboard. Greg grunted as he pulled it out and started digging. Yes, it had been a while, but he remembered. The shorts’ elastic was still strong and the navy was still as dark and miserable as ever, save for the gaudy Grecian helmet in gold on the side. Greg smiled and patted the phone in his pocket. The kid had wide hips, he’d be fine. The man stood and back strode to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel and the hunk of melon before he exited. 

Thankfully, when he came back to the van, Stephen was still there, abruptly present. He had moved to the middle of the mattress, spread out with his hands thrown above his head and his legs straight, raised off the mattress like some kind of yoga post. When Greg came into view, the boy’s toes and knees curled in curiosity.

“I’m back! Okay, first things first, I got you some of my old high school shorts. They should be a little loose, but I guarantee they’re more comfortable than those nets of yours.”

Stephen turned onto his belly, scrambling up to his knees as Greg presented the shorts. When Stephen grabbed them, that was a good sign as far as Greg could tell, and he sighed in relief. Whatever clothing he had, it clearly wasn’t much. He had been wearing Connie’s clothes at the doctor’s office, and unless Greg was mistaken, he had seen swim trunks similar to that if not exactly that pair at the big touristy junk shop down the way.

“Now, I can close the van doors,” Greg said, stepping back with his finger pointed at the wash, “or you can head in to the bathroom there and change somewhere with a lock. I don’t have a key like a gas station or anything, I’m pretty much the only one who uses—”

The swim trunks landed on the ground in front of Greg with a sound like a particularly exhausted frog jumping to shore. Well, it seemed that modesty was for Connie, and other guys could see what they wanted to see. Greg cleared his throat and mumbled something along the lines of or not . To his left, he could hear Stephen grunting and squeaking and making all sorts of oddly happy noises as he floundered on the mattress. At the very least he seemed satisfied. Once there was a loud fwump and a deep sigh, Greg felt okay to turn. Just like he suspected, Stephen was smiling broadly, the new clothes stretched at the waist and covering up everything they needed to. 

“Well, that’s step one. Stephen, you want to hold this and give it a try while I call Connie?”

Greg held out the watermelon slice, with the juices already starting to leak through the thin paper. Thankfully, Stephen was quick to nod and sit up, sliding to the end of the mattress just like how they had done for the sunscreen. Greg sat as well, then brought his phone out of his pocket and watched as Stephen took but a moment to study the fruit. Thankfully, it seemed to be mostly smelling, testing with his teeth. Pizza had been an experiment, but watermelon was simple enough to not have to stress over, it seemed. Stephen’s sharp teeth began to chomp at the meat as Greg pulled Connie out of his contacts.

Actually, a video call wouldn’t go amiss. Connie didn’t have school today, so she could take a study break. More importantly, she would know what was up. Both of them had been waiting for far too long. Greg pressed the little icon, and the screen blinked as the two icons sent a little wave back and forth. It took barely two seconds before the little connection symbol went up and Connie’s blurry face appeared on screen. When it stabilized, her worry was palpable, even in such low definition.

“Mister Universe!” she said. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? Have you seen Stephen?”

“Funny you mention that, Connie.”

“Cahr-nee!”

Greg turned the camera towards Stephen, but he didn’t have to do much with the way Stephen practically jumped on him to see Connie’s face. The voice had been enough to draw him for sure. As soon as he saw the girl, Stephen swallowed his mouthful of melon and smiled broadly, laughing in delight as he pushed against the man. He didn’t hide his teeth around Connie, and Greg hadn’t realized until now that that’s what the boy had been doing, more or less. He had smiled a couple times, but Greg had only seen his teeth once. Had it been active, or coincidental? He couldn’t be sure. Either way, though, the teeth were nothing compared to the voice.

“We are coming up, to the van!” Stephen ranted excitedly. “There was the talking, and then the bed, and sun-screening, a rub, belly drum! Then…then music with the playing! And clothing, the short, I am wearing, Connie, the new!”

To prevent Stephen from shooting up and smashing his head on the roof of the van in his joy to show off to Connie, Greg panned the phone down, and Stephen followed suit, scooching and laying open so Connie could see Greg’s old gym shorts. The girl giggled. 

“I-I’m glad! Stephen, it’s so good to see you two together!” she said as everyone reconfigured. “Is Amelia there?”

Even as Stephen was snuggling up, nodding and crunching his watermelon, Greg paused and held the boy closer in his other arm. Something made the hair on the back of his neck twitch.

“Yeah, she’s the one that brought him. Connie, how’d you know? Have you met her before?”

“N-no, I haven’t—Stephen just mentioned her before, that’s all.”

Then she clammed up. She still smiled, presumably at the image of Stephen on her screen, and the boy ate away as quietly as his munching permitted. Greg nodded, but something didn’t add up and he couldn’t place it. If he had to guess, Stephen had told Connie about the allmothers before, and she just hadn’t passed that on to Priyanka. Some things were best left unsaid in the doctor’s office. But then, at the same time, it raised the question of what else she knew, what else Stephen might have said to her that she wasn’t able or willing to tell. Or maybe he was reading into that too much. There was just something in how she had said it, like she had expected this to be Amelia’s role. Clearly they had talked more about what was going on, more than Connie was saying.

Was he really getting paranoid about a middle-schooler and her friend? There was just something about Stephen that made him feel like he was losing his marbles. Greg raised an eyebrow in the boy’s direction, and Stephen looked up curiously. There was nothing to worry about. He raised a hand to Stephen’s head and rubbed the mop, 

“Just thought I’d check in with you and let you know everything’s all right. I think we’re gonna be making more frequent check-ins from now on. When can you come back down to the beach, kiddo? This one sure misses you.”

Stephen nodded gravely, and Greg could almost feel the air from Connie’s wistful sigh through the screen. The girl set her phone down on her desk and leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest in consternation.

“I don’t know. Mom’s still worried about my ribs, even though I promised her I wouldn’t go swimming. I’m pretty sure that Stephen’s...guardians aren’t gonna let him come over, either. I want to come down, though. Maybe the next time mom’s off, I can get her to call you, or we can arrange for her to come down there. I don’t think we should go to the hospital again.”

“Are you reading?” Stephen interjected.

“Oh yeah! Man, Stephen, I got so many cool books to show you, and a bunch more to complain about, too. You gotta take one of these back next time, we’ll find a way!”

“Huh. Don’t have many books, bud?” Greg murmured. “Wish I’d known. I would’ve went to the little library on Main. Don’t worry, I’ll find something for you.”

“A book with the dragons. Magic that’s real, and none of the bad ending,” Stephen said with a finger raised in mock warning.

“Uh…”

“Sorry, Mr. Universe, he lets me complain about some of my series,” Connie said. “He’s a good listener! Even when I don’t really make sense all the time. Still trying to teach him about literary tropes, but…”

“But we’re working on the whole reading thing first, right?” Greg finished.

The two kids grimaced through the screen. It was cute, really, cute in a way that Greg couldn’t have anticipated. His heart said that this was the intro to some rock opera where they would meet up twenty years later and fall in love, but that put a lot of pressure on both Connie and Stephen that wasn’t healthy for anyone involved. Besides, these were real children, not characters, and he couldn’t project anything on them. The feeling of Stephen leaning up against him and yawning was enough to bring him back down to the feelings he had had before, where he was the real guardian, and there were all the other barriers in the way, between himself and the boy, between his emotions and reality, between Connie and all the things she had to deal with on top of it all. Greg watched the boy’s mouth open as he let out his yawn, his jaw wide and round and stretchy with all those sharp teeth exposed. The watermelon was just a rind at this point, gripped fiercely in that tough little fist.

“First things first, we’re in need of a good rest,” Greg said, raising an eyebrow at the phone screen. “Connie, tell your mom that Stephen touched base with me, okay? And that we’re going to be getting together more. Right, big guy?”

Connie didn’t appear convinced, even as Stephen dropped his watermelon rind to fully embrace the man in a sticky little hug. There wasn’t much that a video call could convey, and Greg did feel a little guilty. Babysitting the pair of them on the beach would be a lovely change of pace. It didn’t matter if he took a day off, or a week off. It would be worth it. After everything, then Stephen could come back and curl up just like this and it would all be okay. On the other side, Connie just sighed and smiled along with everyone else.

“I’ll talk to her! I’ll be back, Stephen, and I’ll have lots more books, and school’s gonna be out soon too!”

“School! I want to be going to school…”

“One step at a time, Stephen, one step at a time.”

“Mr. Universe?” Connie said. “I...just want to say thank you. For making sure that Stephen’s okay, and again, for taking us to the hospital.”

“Hey, that’s my job! I’m here to take care of you guys! But really, Connie, you’re always welcome,” the man said. “I’ll be sure to keep him safe for you, okay?”

“You better! Bye, Stephen!”

“Goodbye! Goodbye, Connie,” Stephen replied, reaching out with a lazy arm and a gentle smile.

Greg moved the phone so that the child’s finger touched the button to hang up. The screen went blue, and Greg turned it off to wipe it on his shirt. Now that that was all over, it was time for cleaning up. Stephen’s hands and face were all sticky with fruit juice, but at the very least he had tried to keep it all in his mouth. It would be a while before Greg took him to a real restaurant. The thought of dressing Stephen up in a nice suit jacket and a matching silver tie was adorable until, once more, Greg had to stop himself. The child was not a doll. He had never felt this way about any of the other Beach City kids who came around, possibly because they were grown up and the memories had faded, or possibly because their parents were around for them.

It didn’t matter. Stephen allowed himself to be moved back upright as Greg stepped out of the van. The paper towel had just enough dryness left to get the rest of Stephen’s face cleaned up, and as for the hands, well. Greg paused for just a moment before reaching back and grabbing one of his old white shirts. This time, the boy took the initiative, nodding to himself as he wiped his hands on the cotton without a second thought. Good, a slob after his own heart, Greg thought. But living out of a van meant that some things could be sacrificed.

“Before you go home, you probably should actually wash up,” the man murmured, “but we don’t have to worry about that. Okay, kiddo, you ready to rest up now?”

When Stephen nodded, Greg felt a small wave of relief. This was the kind of exhaustion that crept up slowly and jointly, where Stephen knew he was tired and wasn’t going to fight it. Greg had seen plenty of whining and tantrums from younger kids who were too tired to know they were tired, and he had to remind himself once more, Stephen was Connie’s age give or take. He was a preteen with heavy eyes and a smirk stained with watermelon juice, with translucent hair on his arms and legs that were going to darken in the next few years, a soft voice that would turn into song.

“Amelia’s gonna give us some space. Then you gotta go home, but I’ll still be here whenever you need. Will you come back and see me soon, Stephen?”

“Yes’r, Mr. Universe.”

“Swell. C’mere.”

The two climbed back onto the mattress, and Greg already knew what was going to happen. He could have cried for reasons that were impossible to name. Maybe it was from the fact that as soon as he laid down, Stephen tucked himself into the man’s side, with one arm draped over the expanse of Greg’s chest. Maybe it was the little sigh, the motions, the warm of the boy’s skin as Greg held him close and felt all the invisible scars. Maybe it was the fleeting moment, that when Greg woke up there would be the real possibility that Stephen wouldn’t be there, taken back to whatever godforsaken place he was staying now.

He couldn’t think about the leaving. Greg Universe turned on his side and hugged Stephen to his chest. Despite the disturbance, Stephen only grunted and adjusted his grip, one leg raised up to curl over the man’s own, a tiny heel pressing into the back of the man’s calf. This was different. Greg closed his eyes tightly and apologized to whatever forces had taught him that this was breaking a boundary, that he couldn’t just comfort a kid like this, that he didn’t know Stephen at all and Stephen didn’t know him. 

“Buddy? Stephen, hey, before you pass out,” he blurted hoarsely, “I-I gotta ask you something.”

“ Mnf ?”

“Why me? I’m just some old guy that knows Connie, just some random...me. I know, it’s selfish, but I gotta know. You’re such a good kid, a-and you need my help, but…”

Stephen paused, but didn’t move from the man’s arms. Greg could feel the fingers drumming on his shoulder blade, words slowly coming to the boy’s mouth. With Stephen’s face pressed against his chest, Greg felt the boy smile before he spoke.

“Swimming,” Stephen murmured. “You are...like swimming. Connie is swimming. The ocean. I am feeling normal, like I...I am knowing you. I am hugging, and sleeping, and it is...the feeling like water. I am needing? But not needing. Like a home.”

“Okay. Okay, Stephen. I’m your home. I’ll be your home.”

The boy just giggled quietly, then stretched his arms and legs out like a cat, each stocky limb shuddering gently before Stephen rolled onto his other side. He must have known, and Greg was glad to not be facing him as he wrapped both arms around Stephen’s torso. Greg wanted to get him a shirt. He wanted to get a house, and drawers, and books, and a garden, and a bathtub, and light-up sneakers, and a big bed to sleep in, and at the same time none of that would be anything close to a home without Greg there. The van was only so freeing. What was this? Greg quelled his own shaking as the minutes ticked by. The overwhelming protection was seeping into his heart, the deep-seated anger at the mystery that had kept Stephen from his parents and the world.

Stephen had fallen asleep just as fast as Greg had expected. The silver eyes were shut tight, and his body was as warm as the sun. Greg closed his own as a different kind of exhaustion took over. If he slept, it would be restless. If he dreamed, it would be filled with music. Amelia was still there, and the shadow of the allmothers seemed to pass over the sunbeams, chilling the man’s skin. He didn’t know much, and had never known much, but as a teardrop passed over the bridge of his nose, he knew what he had to do.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” Greg whispered to the sleeping boy. “I’m gonna get you out of here, Stephen, I’m gonna save you. I promise.”