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Hank was pulling up outside the house after a long day, listening to the chatter on the radio. Car accident, theft… He turned it up a little when he heard the phrase “Accidentally discharged his firearm.”
Okay, Hank had to pick up after that one. “What do you mean, ‘accidentally?’”
“Lieutenant!” the officer on the other end, probably Chen by the sound of it, sounded embarrassed. “Uh—we’re waiting for further clarification on that.”
Hank sighed. It was probably Person—that guy was gonna get them all in trouble someday.
“We need to find that kid, all officers on duty report,” Chen continued, “Last seen fleeing toward 18th—”
Hank groaned and dropped the receiver, rubbing his face. But he’d already been working overtime and Fowler would crawl up his ass if he logged any more hours in the vehicle, even if 18th was in the area. Cole told him he and Gavin made dinner. Now, the house wasn’t actively on fire so it probably turned out alright. Let the other cops handle it, then. Fine. He was starving anyway (the best state to be in when two preteens decided to cook for you).
It was raining cats and dogs, the thunder and lightning rattling his car the whole drive home and making lights smeary. If Gavin forgot to bring Sumo in there Would Be Words. He turned his collar up and jogged stiffly for the front door, then swore and went around the back—he told Cole and Gavin to stop tracking their muddy shoes through the house so he probably shouldn’t either. Thankfully he didn’t see a miserable Sumo out there.
He was fumbling with the back door (damn he needed to fix the light, no wonder the kids wouldn’t go around to the back) when he heard another crash. Only there was no lightning to accompany the thunder, and it was more like the sound when the raccoons got into the dumpster in the alley than anything. He glanced back through the chain link fence—for all the havoc they caused he’d never yet actually caught a raccoon doing anything.
This time the sky did flicker in a strobe of lightning, and Hank saw a pair of eyes staring out at him from behind the dumpster.
Darkness fell again. The rain poured down. Hank stood there recovering from a minor heart attack and a pulled muscle from trying to fumble his gun out of his pants pocket. Then he came to his senses and walked over. His eyes hadn’t deceived him even in the rain. A boy sat in the alley, huddled in the remains of a garbage bag and the Fisher Price slide that Hank finally threw out last Sunday (after Cole almost broke his face trying to skateboard down it).
“Jesus!” Hank said, quickly leaving the gun in his pocket. “You okay?”
“I’m f-fine,” the boy said, soaking wet, sitting in trash, and bleeding from a cut on the side of his head that narrowly missed his eye. Yeah, ‘fine’. Hank had to tell himself firmly not to laugh.
“That’s a nasty cut, kid,” he said instead as he tried to match the wound with a means of injury. As a cop it wasn’t too hard, that looked like a bullet grazed him, but how?—
Discharged his firearm, a little voice in the back of his head said, but he promptly ignored it. He stepped over the backyard fence, which was low since a row of Solo cups could stop Sumo dead in his tracks. He squatted down, tracking the boy’s eye movements.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“M-Markus. I’m okay,” the kid said. He was breathing hard, wild-eyed.
“You don’t look okay.” Hank casually took the kid’s pulse. The kid was so out of it, he let this perfect stranger do so without complaint. “Can you tell me how old you are?”
“I’m… fourteen.”
“Ooh, a freshman! What school do you go to?”
“…Cyberlife High…”
“Hey, no kidding! That’s where my kids go.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “That’s my house. You wanna come inside and get out of the rain? We can call, uh, we can call someone?”
“I—I don’t—"
The kid’s lip started to tremble as bad as the rest of him. Uh oh. Uh. But Hank was used to dad mode. He pulled off his jacket and put it around the kid’s shoulders. “Hey, everything’s gonna be fine. Take a deep breath.”
The kid did so, and rubbed rain out of his eyes. “I think my—my legs are broken.”
“Broken?” Hank looked around, then up. “Did you try to hop the—” Fleeing toward 18th. A kid.
The kid was full-on crying now. Hank almost reached out but managed to stop himself just in time. Scared kids required careful handling.
“Markus, is it okay if I pick you up on my shoulders? We’ll just go inside so you can use the phone and dry off.”
The kid, Markus, hiccuped, then nodded. Hank carefully maneuvered the teen onto his shoulders and came up on his feet in a couple of smooth motions, then trudged the longer way around back to the front door. Mud be damned.
Markus immediately stiffened in his arms when he saw Hank’s patrol car. “You’re a cop?”
“…Yeah.” No point in lying to the kid. “Trust me, you’re lucky I found you.”
He banged on the door and was greeted by Cole and Gavin, both wearing oven mitts and grinning—at least until they saw the kid slung over Hank’s shoulders.
“Holy shit, dad!” Gavin yelped.
“Yeah, what the fuck, dad!” Cole boomed.
“Language!” Hank said, though he said it gently, aware he looked like a serial killer with his latest victim. He carried Markus inside and carefully deposited him on the couch. “Get some towels. Gavin, bring me the first aide kit, please.”
The boys went scrambling. Markus slumped on the cushions, blinking around dumbly. His eyes widened a little when Sumo wandered over to say hello.
“Sumo, sit,” Hank ordered, and the big dog, startled, immediately ran away. “Sorry, he’s a big scaredy cat.”
“That’s—that’s okay,” Markus breathed.
Cole returned with towels and frowned at Markus. “Hey, you’re in my government class.”
Markus blinked a couple of times but nodded. “Yeah. C-cole, right?...”
“How do you know everyone?” Gavin complained, returning with the first aide kit which he handed over before returning to Cole’s side.
“You’re in a class for seniors?” Hank asked.
“Dad, come on,” Cole said, “Don’t be a caveman. They let kids take stuff out of order all the time—well, if they’re good enough.”
Markus turned red but he smiled for the first time. Cole was like that with people. In the light his injury looked bad but Cole and Gavin heard enough stories, watched enough horror movies or just trusted him that much, and didn’t look horrified. Hank put on rubber gloves and pressed a pad of gauze to the gash. “So, Markus, what’re you torturing yourself like that for?”
“I want to study the criminal justice system…”
“Hey, cool! Please, put me out of a job!”
The kid giggled thickly. “Grandad always said…” but then he trailed off, his face crumpling again.
“Uh…” Hank looked away to give the kid a moment of privacy. Markus’ ankles were swollen and almost bursting out of his shoes. “Uh—Cole, get his shoes off, okay? Don't worry, they're not broken. Probably just sprained real bad. Can you make some tea or something?”
“We made dinner,” Gavin complained. “It’s getting cold.”
“I’m sorry,” Markus said, as if he'd gotten hurt on purpose. “It… smells really good.”
“See!” Gavin puffed up a little at this. “There’s enough for him, if he wants some. We can eat in here, right?”
…So, they all ate spaghetti on their knees in the living room, though Markus made fast friends with Sumo by giving him almost his entire plate. Cole talked about school in that casual way he talked about anything, Gavin provided comedic interjections, Hank asked follow-up questions. Markus, bundled in towels, the cut on his brow now cleaned and bandaged, and his ankles bathed in ice, listened intently and almost started to calm down.
Cole and Gavin left after dinner to clean up and do homework, (more likely just gossip about what they’d just witnessed). Hank cleaned up the first aide kit.
“Thank you.” Markus was clutching his phone and Hank’s cell phone, which Hank insisted he take in case he felt unsafe. He hadn’t used either of them, though. Markus probably came from a safe home situation, then. He trusted adults.
“…You wanna tell me how you ended up in that alley?”
Markus looked at him sidelong. “I…I think you have to read me my rights first.”
Hank laughed out loud at that. “Smart kid.” Oh, how did the other cops put it? But he never got far trying to trick info out of people at the station. He settled for the same honesty he tried to show everyone he dealt with in his job. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on, though.”
Markus’ nostrils flared, and he explained. Something about his half-brother stealing something, an argument, a grandfather wheelchair-bound and unable to help. “…And suddenly there were cops yelling at me… I-I was gonna get my ID so they’d know I’m his grandson, since we don’t look alike? A-and the gun went off and I…I freaked out, I guess.”
Hank nodded. “Well. I guess I would too, if I were in your shoes. Thanks for telling me.” He stood, leaving his phone in Markus’ hand. “Get some sleep. Unless you wanna watch TV, you won’t bother anyone.”
Markus blinked. “You’re not gonna arrest me?”
Hank shook his head. “We’ll take care of it in the morning.”
“You’re just gonna leave me alone. In your house.”
"You got somewhere else you can go?"
Markus shook his head slowly.
“...Anyway, it’s not like you can go very far with two sprained ankles. And hey, you’re some fancy freshman that’s taking senior classes!” he grinned. “Just imagine how everyone’s gonna feel about accidentally shooting at a kid when they find out you’re an honor student.”
Markus laughed, a look of complete relief on his face. Hank had no doubt the kid would let that cop off the hook if he could. He seemed that type.
Hank shook his head as he headed for bed, calling Sumo to him—but the big dog had taken up residence beside the sofa, his big head resting next to Markus’ arm. Markus held onto him with his other arm.
Hank wasn’t sure how, but he knew from that moment on that Markus was going to be part of the family.