Chapter Text
“I see St John's back.” The social worker put her briefcase down in the office of the state boy's home Dean.
“Did you have any doubt?” The man looked up from the paper he was reading and gave her a look, they both knew that St John Allerdyce was going to be back.
He'd been at the home since he was about ten months old and every time there was a hint that he might be adopted it just didn't work out.
He was four now and he'd been to a dozen homes in his few years and he was always returned. The social worker looked over his file for the hundredth time. “Is there anything I can do to help him?”
“I don't think there's anything you can do that hasn't already been tried on the boy. He's just not adoption material. You know as well as I do some kids just aren't.”
“But what if I try...”
“Look don't beat yourself up about him, he won't talk, doesn't hardly respond to his name, spends most days spinning the wheels on that toy car he has and the parents to be always complain when they return him that he won't connect with them.”
“Maybe we just haven't found the right parents.”
“You're still new to this job and I admire your tenacity but it looks like Johnny boy is just one of those kids that's gonna stay in the system till he's eighteen and we hand him his walking papers or have him institutionalize.”
The dean had seen it before. Every once in awhile a kid came through his ward that was just tuned out. Mostly they just bided their time and unless they beat their head on the wall or bit the other kids he just let them ride it out and then sent them on their way.
“I'd like to speak with him.”
“Knock yourself out kid just don't expect much.”
She found him in the common area sitting away from the other boys.
The other boys were playing with blocks and board games, talking and having fun with their free time.
St John was sitting at a table by himself with nothing but the toy car the dean had mentioned. He sat there just repetitively flicking the wheels of the small die-cast thing just like she had seen him do a month ago.
“Hi St John” She greeted him as she sat down.
He doesn't look at her or say hello but he does tilt his head towards her. She supposes that slight acknowledgement was something but as far as she can see he's still focused on what he was doing.
Still it was about as much as she'd ever seen him do in response to her. Other than that she'd seen him grumble at the other boys before when they were pestering him. He really doesn't react to much unless provoked.
She wishes she could get him to talk to her so she could really know what was going on inside his head.
She is frustrated that he won't talk. She thinks maybe it is relate to a trauma he'd had a small child. She's no psychologist but she knows that sort of thing happens.
She knows that before he'd been brought under state custody whoever was caring for him had done something to him.
According to his file he has scars from what appear to be cigarette burns on his legs and he'd been photographed, when social services had first been put on his case, with bruises on his back and extremities.
She cringed thinking about someone doing that to a child, a baby non the less.
“Did I tell you last time I saw you that I like the flames on your car? I bet they help it go really fast.” She tries to make small talk about something she thinks he might be interested in... but like the potential adoptive parents always seem to say he was impossible to connect with.
The state knows it's not a hearing problem. They had him tested, more than once in fact just to be sure. He's just uninterested in what anyone else has to say.
“I'm sorry to see you back here St John. I'd really like to help you out and get you adopted but I need your help to do it. Will you help me?” She knows his window for opportunity is closing fast, most people wanted to adopt babies and he isn't a baby any more, really once he starts school next year there will be very little hope of finding him a home.
He doesn't respond to her question.
“Look we've talked about this before. If you want people to like you and keep you, you need to smile at them. You don't have to talk to them you just need to acknowledge them and make them feel like you want to be there and you have got to stop with the wheels.” She reached her hand out and put it over his, stopping the incessant motion of flicking and spinning.
Suddenly St John is all action in a way she's never seen before. He jerks away from her touch and pushes back from the table with a shout.
The commotion brings all eyes to them and everyone waiting to see what the boy would do next.
He puts his feet up in his chair, curling into himself. He holds the toy car close spinning the wheels as he rocks.
She swears he's glaring in her direction.
She's hit her breaking point, embarrassed by the scene he'd caused and tired of getting no where she decides maybe the dean is right at least about this boy.
She leans close and speaks low. “I don't know if you can understand me but I just want you to know I've never met a child like you and I hope I never do again you ungrateful little monster.” She picks up her things and walks out.
He heard and he knew. It isn't the first time someone has called him a monster in his short life.
St John is assigned a new case worker the next week and that one gets fed up just as quickly. Soon they stopped trying to find adoptive parents for him and just try to get him into foster care.