Chapter Text
When the school day ends, Sprout doesn’t wait at the doors for anyone. There’s no one to wait for anymore; middle-schoolers can walk home on their own. They don’t need to wait for their big brothers to walk with them, or need their Mas to take time off work to drive them home. They definitely don’t half-jog down the sidewalk in tears because school is so fucking hard and they don’t have any friends. Middle-schoolers are too big for tears like that.
Sprout is the smallest middle-schooler in the building. Maybe they’re allowed a few extra tearful walks home.
Or, walks to Oliver and Paul’s apartment.
The walk up the stairs helps to stave off their tears, only because they have to focus their breath. The guys are at work, Sprout knows, for another couple hours. But they have a key for emergencies. Getting in is easy, settling in is not.
Sprout leaves their bag by the door with their shoes. They linger in the entry for several minutes, wringing their hands as they try to decide what to do. There’s no way they’ll be able to focus on homework. They’re not hungry, and they don’t want to steal Oliver and Paul’s food, anyway. Sprout doesn’t even turn on the overhead lighting. They walk shakily into the apartment and flick on a lamp before curling up on the old sofa Ma let the guys have when they moved out on their own. It’s pretty comforting.
They wrap a throw blanket tightly around their shoulders, getting as much pressure as they can on their own. They curl their knees up to their chest, facing the inside of the couch as they work through more of their tears.
Either they zone out or fall asleep, but it doesn’t seem very long before the lock rattles and the door opens. Sprout lifts their head up. There’s only Paul in the doorway, and he freezes, eyes wide, when he sees the tear-stained face of his partner’s little sibling. This isn’t usually how he finds them, when they show up unannounced.
“Hey…” he says, voice gentle. “Oliver’s running an errand. He’ll be home soon. That okay?” He’d call Oliver to come home early, if needed.
Sprout’s eyes well up again, but they nod. “Yeah…” Their voice comes out croaky, and they hide their face back in the corner of the couch.
Paul takes off his shoes, sets his bag by the door, and changes from his suit coat to a more comfortable hoodie. He shoots Oliver a little warning text, but he can handle this, as long as Sprout will let him. He sits on the sofa, leaving a little bit of space.
“You need a squeeze?”
Sprout doesn’t answer aloud. They push themself upright, and just tip over the other way, against Paul’s side. He wraps his arms around them, holding them close, tight. It’s better than just the blanket, and they melt.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Sprout shakes their head, hiding their face against Paul’s shoulder. He doesn’t ask any more questions, just holding them secure.
The lock rattles again, and Oliver enters the apartment. He’s saying something about his errand that Sprout doesn’t really catch. It’s for Paul, anyway; they don’t need to know about water bills or two-for-one specials on gallons of milk. Sprout lifts their head, and as Oliver meets their teary eyes, he leaves whatever he’s carrying by the door join Paul and Sprout on the couch.
“What happened?” he asks, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table to gently wipe their cheeks.
“I hate school kids,” they answer, voice croaking with more tears. They tip out of Paul’s arms, into their big brother’s. Oliver catches them and squeezes them tight.
“What happened?” he asks again, voice simultaneously softer and more angry. “Names?”
Sprout shakes their head, “Just… girls. Popular girls. Being mean.” They breathe shakily. “She… It was so stupid. I should know better… During homeroom, one of them… told me her friend was… nervous to ask me to go with her to the skating party? The fundraiser next month? So I… during lunch I went to talk to her. Not even ask her out. And then they all laughed me away from the table right in the middle of the lunchroom. ‘Cause that’s a great fuckin’ prank.” Sprout scrubs their hands roughly over their eyes. “‘Cause I’m the weird kid that brought a frog in from recess in my overalls once in fifth grade…”
Oliver pets a hand over Sprouts hair. “That’s really shitty. They shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Sprout.”
Paul’s hand lifts to rest on Oliver’s shoulder, seeing the angry look in his eye. They’re graduated from college, now; real adults. They can't beat up middle-schoolers.
Sprout chokes on a soft sob and wraps their arms around Oliver, holding tight. “I don’t wanna go to school anymore,” they croak. “I hate it there.”
Oliver and Paul share a look over Sprout’s head. Sprout’s always struggled with school. Miss Holloway had to enroll them when she took them in. As a family, they’d never been able to determine whether it was simply too many changes at once for Sprout, or if public school just really isn’t what they need. Regardless, the damage is done.
Usually, when Sprout comes to the apartment after a hard day at school, it’s because they’re frustrated with a certain class or project, and need moral support and maybe some help with their homework that Ma won’t be able to give until the diner closes. But this? This has never happened. It’s never been crying. It’s not usually this kind of bullying.
Oliver squeezes Sprout just a bit tighter. “I’ll walk you home later, and we’ll talk to Miss Holloway about it, okay? She’s not gonna just let you get bullied. She’s not like that.”
“I know,” Sprout mumbles, whimpering. They know Ma loves them. But they know, too, that Ma can’t take them out of school. “Just… Can I just… sit with you guys? A little longer?”
Paul shuffles closer, looping one arm around Oliver’s shoulder to keep close, and letting the other rest on Sprout’s head. “I don’t mind. You know you’re safe here.”
Oliver’s arms shift a bit so Sprout could readjust, and then squeeze them tight again. “Yeah. When you’re ready.”
One of Sprout’s arms around Oliver lifts so they can hold Paul’s arm, too. “I love you guys.”
“Love you, Sprout,” Oliver hums back as Paul ruffles their hair.