Chapter Text
Nathaniel Wesninski was a quiet kid. He had learned well from years of sitting obediently and silently at important dinners, of staying stone still in the presence of his father or his men, of sobbing with no sound into his mother’s shoulder in the dark.
Nathaniel did not get into trouble at school, he completed all his work at school. If he was given homework, he stayed after to complete it rather than take it home. He did not have friends, but he was not disliked either.
He fit in exactly as he was supposed to, as he was directed. He was polite but reserved to teachers and parents.
When Andrew showed up to the small Elementary school in Baltimore, he brought trouble with him. Nathaniel had gotten good at eavesdropping, at sifting through the rumour mill that was small town school staff conversation for information that actually mattered.
Andrew was a foster kid. Andrew had gotten kicked out of his last school. Andrew didn’t speak. Andrew got held back a grade.
Nathaniel was not supposed to engage in anything that would get him looked at too closely. He was to be respectful, have dignity, be smart, make the right choices. Stay quiet, be aware of consequences.
But warning bells aside, he was drawn to Andrew. From the first day he joined class. He’d sat at the back two seats diagonal to himself, right by the window. Nathaniel had turned in his chair to look at him. He’d spent the entire hour staring out the window, and when kids had approached him at the end of the class he confirmed the rumours that he wouldn’t speak to them.
He watched him at lunch and at recess. Andrew was quiet; like Nathaniel. He sat on the sidelines. He observed, taking in the actions of everyone around him. On multiple occasions, he caught Nathaniel staring. They would hold each others gaze, Andrew’s expression perfectly blank. Neither would break the stare until forced. Nathaniel wasn’t sure what to think about that, or what Andrew thought about that.
There was no reason for him to feel the urge to so badly know someone. He wanted to know why Andrew wouldn’t talk or if he just couldn’t, he wanted to know if the other rumours were true.
Nathaniel was aware enough that his own home life was different than other kids. Aware enough that he knew to hide it, even without being instructed.
Andrew’s silence and stare gave Nathaniel the impression they shared that experience.
Recess was one of the times Nathaniel liked to get his homework done. He sat at the grated tables on the blacktop and did vocabulary or math or anything else he was supposed to take home. His teacher and the teacher’s aids had long since left him alone about it. They’d spoken to his mother about it once, a hushed conversation over parent teacher conferences; a worry Nathaniel was not socialising and playing with kids his age.
His mother had told a story of a happy little boy, who did his homework at school so that he could get home and play outside with his cousins and neighbors in the street until sunset.
In all honesty, Neil’s father got irrationally very angry when Neil did homework at home. He wasn’t sure why, as it wasn’t like he ever asked for any help; but he did what he could to stay off his Father’s radar regardless.
From his spot he had a good vantage point of the playground and the field. Sometimes he itched to run laps, but it was better if he didn’t draw attention to himself. He watched as Andrew seemingly aimlessly wandered the field, the playground, the blacktop. He would sometimes sit with his back against the wall, staring into space. He frequently sat on his heels and watched the workings of the anthill by the fence on the far side of the field near the parking lot. It had been there since as long as Nathaniel could remember, and only grown in size despite frequently getting kicked and stomped on by rowdy children. Andrew never bothered them, just watched. Nathaniel wondered if his teachers would bring that up and Andrew’s own parent teacher conference.
Nathaniel watched as his classmates began to get annoyed of being ignored. They had been scared at first, with the stories, to mess with Andrew.
But some brave idiot had thrown a crumpled up piece of paper at Andrew in class and all he’d done was give a slow blink.
Then, in the cafeteria someone had ran by and dumped his lunch bag on the ground and he hadn’t even looked to see who it was, just watched as an orange rolled across the linoleum. Andrew brought his own lunch to school, but rarely ate it. Rarely even opened the bag.
Pretty soon, annoyance and cruelty won out over any fear of repercussion and Andrew was regularly targeted. Kids should stuff erasers or rocks smuggled from the playground into the papers they wadded up and threw. They stepped on the back of his shoes in line.
The end of the term was the first time they ever interacted.
Some kids had stolen Andrew’s bag out of the cubbies they were kept in. Nathaniel had seen them run with it, so had Andrew.
At the end of the day, after most of the kids had already been picked up. Nathaniel saw Andrew’s hunched form, leaning over something in the dirt.
He stopped mid step. He had plenty of time to get home. All he ever had to say was that he was doing homework, and he’d never gotten in trouble for staying late before. His house was a 13 minute walk that he’d taken alone both ways since the beginning of the year.
He straifed closer to Andrew’s form quietly, straining to see over his back what he was looking at.
Andrew’s back pack and lunch bag were tied to the chain link by the straps with knotted shoe laces, open face down and shoved into the ant hill. The ants were all over; crawling in and out of his notebook, over every part of the lunch bag as they slowly dismantled and carried the remnants of his uneaten lunch. They; because of the disturbance to their nest, and the presence of food, were swarming.
Nathaniel glanced around. The only teacher left outside was talking with a bus driver at the other end of the parking lot. He let his feet drag slightly as he walked, and Andrew’s shoulders tensed but other than that he gave no reaction to Nathaniel approaching.
When he was next to him, hands in his pockets, he looked down at Andrew.
He’d never seen him up close like this before. Hazel eyes in the sunlight, his expression was completely blank, near unreadable. His blonde hair sticking up wherever it wanted. Andrew blinked at him.
Nathaniel crouched too then, he took the knotted part of the shoelace in his hand, uncaring of the ants that had made their way up the bag to assess the situation.
Andrew’s lunch bag had a name sharpied on it that was not his own. ‘Caden.’
He glanced at Andrew again, who was watching Neil’s hand. He released the string, shaking his hand free of the ants and then he slowly took a pocket knife from his shorts and flicked it open. Andrew’s head turned at the noise. This was a secret. Nathaniel was not supposed to show anyone this, he knew without having to be told. A seven year old with a pocket knife on campus would cause some major issues. Something in him knew Andrew wouldn’t tell.
He swiftly sawed through each shoe lace. He grabbed the lunch bag and over turned it, shaking out the food and majority of the ants. They began crawling up his wrists but he brushed them off as he went. He tossed the bag a few feet away, then tossed the notebook and backpack in the same pile.
He looked back at Andrew, who was still staring at him. Nathaniel closed his knife, dusted the ants off once more, and slipped it back in his pocket.
“The ants,” he stated. “They’ll lose interest now that there’s no food and it’s not in their home anymore. It’ll take some time but they’ll leave it to go back to the nest.”
Andrew cocked his head, still studying Nathaniel’s face. Nathaniel observed him too, he had no visible bruising or scarring, though that didn’t really mean much, he knew that well. He didn’t lash out or cry or beat anyone up, he was just quiet. Andrew was a quiet kid, just like Nathaniel.
“Bye.” He said, turning on his heel and starting the walk home. His heart was hammering.
On Monday when they returned to school, Andrew had his same backpack and lunchbox, dusty from the incident. Nathaniel wondered if he’d told anyone. He wondered if he’d gotten in trouble for coming home late. Neil wondered if someone came to pick him up late anyways, and that’s why he hadn’t seemed concerned. It wasn’t often first graders walked themselves home, Nathaniel knew this. Well enough to not tell anyone he did so. The staff thought he got picked up at the stop sign at the end of the road so his parents could avoid school day traffic. His mother and father were both listed as able to pick him up, and as far as anyone else knew, they did.
That day at recess Nathaniel had his quick maths homework laid in front of him when Andrew sat down opposite of him.
Nathaniel looked at him, and Andrew stared right back. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment and then went back to working. Andrew watched him.
The rest of the term passed like that, Andrew sat with Nathaniel at lunch and recess, and when he stayed after school to finish work. He began staying after school with Andrew even when he didn’t have anything to finish. He found out Andrew did get picked up, his family just usually didn’t come until at least twenty minutes after pick up time. Nathaniel had heard his teachers complaining about it. He never had gotten a good look at who it was the came to get him.
Andrew would just slowly trudge to the silver truck, and climb into the back seat with no expression.
They never spoke. Well, Nathaniel spoke. He would tell Andrew about his homework, about his walk to and from school, about his mother. Never anything incriminating, nothing too deep, nothing that could get him in any trouble should someone overhear.
But it was nice, to have Andrew to tell about the bugs he saw, or the one neighbor that he was pretty sure was running a puppy mill, or what he’d overheard of the teachers gossip.
He found out Andrew was a year older than him, that he had in fact been held back. Though this knowledge was just gained through occasional nods he got in response to endless questions.
He would give Andrew whatever dessert came with the cafeteria lunch, and that’s all he ever saw him eat.
Andrew never spoke, but he listened intently.
Once, Andrew had tapped the inside of Nathaniel’s wrist, alerting him to the fact a yellowing bruise was peeking out the leg of his shorts. He had pulled the leg down quickly, offering no explanation. Andrew hadn’t prodded for one.
A week before the last day of school, Andrew disappeared. Nathaniel overheard from the teachers that his foster family had sent him away. He couldn’t imagine what it was that made them not want him.
The next week passed slowly, he hadn’t realized he’d gotten so used to having someone around all day. He got chocolate pudding on autopilot at lunch before realising he didn’t have anyone to give it to. He thought about throwing it away but the ingrained lesson of not wasting food, or else; had him grimacing through each too sweet bite.
Things went back to dull, he spent his recess alone working on homework. He didn’t tell anyone about his walks, or the bugs and leaves he thought looked pretty. Nathaniel went back to being a quiet kid.
That summer, his father started having Nathaniel practice with knives.
Three weeks after the last day of school, his mother took him and ran.