Chapter Text
Doc never had any friends. Humans were too complicated, too unpredictable yet predictable enough to be easily manipulated. You can’t trust them because they’re so breakable. Doc should know. Turns out it's hard to be fixed after you break.
Doc sits in the waiting room of the social workers office. This one was new. The social worker he was used to, (Doc hacked into her computer hours after meeting her and had her social security number and her entire life history within the day,) had angrily driven him multiple hours away from the big city he had grown up in, to an insignificant country town. Something about him exhausting every family that was willing to take him. Doc didn't really care. He told himself he wouldn’t. Attachments were weakness. He couldn’t afford that. Doc had met the new social worker. He seemed like an ass. Doc wasn’t surprised, he was a problem case. A child of two immigrants who didn't teach him the proper language. He knew two languages he liked to argue, but he had to speak. He had to speak English. So he relented. If he could be loved again, he would do whatever. He kept doing it after because the only way to be heard is to talk in English. It’s a busted system, and he knew it. He couldn’t wait to get out of it. Nine years, seven months and twelve days he reminded himself as he stared at the ticking clock. He was alone in the room. It had been 28 minutes and 47 seconds. Doc had learnt to keep meticulous count of the time. It was for memorizing people's patterns, he told himself. Definitely not for remembering how long he’s been alone.
Doc looks up as he watches his new social worker walk out of his office.
“Got you a new family. Make ‘em last. Don’t need another problem kid here,” He grunts and tosses Doc a folder. “Your school records. Give ‘em to Mr. Littlewood. Surprised he agreed to take you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
Doc nods his thanks and puts the folder neatly into his backpack. He hid his worry. He was being placed with a single male. Never good. He had the scars from the prior one.
There was a creak as the door opens and a blond man with a red bandana and a military grade outfit walks in. Doc sucks back a frown. Military people are never good. Especially young ex-military.
“Hi!” The blond man exclaims. He squats down by Doc. “I’m Martyn. Your Steffen right?” He holds out a hand.
Doc stares at him. “Doc,” he whispers.
Martyn tilts his head. “Doc?”
Doc nods.
Martyn smiles. “Well it’s nice to meet you Doc.” He stands up and easily scoops up Doc’s battered suitcase. “Let’s go shall we?” He offers the boy a hand.
He takes it after a moment's hesitation. The eight year old doesn't really have a choice.