Chapter Text
The sun just started to peak over the horizon, painting her brother’s apartment in a soft gold. It was quiet, nobody else awake yet. The fridge ticked softly in the kitchen behind her, the wall clock announcing every second passing by in the tick-tock rhythm she welcomed. The door to her brother’s roommate’s room was closed, meaning she was probably still asleep.
Dakota Severide sat curled in the corner of the couch, The Spiderwick Chronicles in hand, focused entirely on the words on the page.
She liked it that way, quiet. Calm. Before anyone else woke up.
She had woken early, like she always did, and had showered before anyone else woke, like she preferred. Her long hair was still drying down her back, so dark it looked black almost. Now that it was Spring and the sun was staying out later, the soft pattern of freckles started showing along her face and neck. Not enough to notice at first glance, but enough that she noticed whenever she looked in the mirror. She had big blue eyes, the only remotely similar feature to her other brother, the one who had his own house in town.
She was small for her age, thin. But she liked it. Easier to curl up and hide away that way. She dressed in plain jeans and a three-quarter sleeve Cubs raglan tee, light gray with denim blue sleeves. The shirt her brother Kelly had given her for her birthday last year.
About an hour of peace and quiet passed before the metal staircase in the center of the industrial apartment creaked; she looked up fast, nerves firing once before coming back down.
Her older half-brother, Kelly Severide, slumped down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. He still had bed head, his short dark hair stuck up in different directions on one side, sweatpants and a t-shirt on.
“Mornin’,” he mumbled, passing her on his way to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” she said, soft and quiet, like always.
She watched him, book held in her lap, as he padded over to the coffee maker and started it up. He didn’t have blinds or curtains on the large windows behind the sink, the sun washing the kitchen in a brighter gold than the dim living room.
He just squinted through it like it was nothing. Wouldn’t have been nothing to her, though. Hence why she hadn’t wandered to the kitchen yet.
After a minute, he looked up.
“You eat yet?”
She shook her head.
“Hungry?”
She thought about it; then shook her head again.
He sipped from his mug. “How long you been up?”
“About an hour,” she said, so soft he probably hardly heard her.
He looked at the time on the stove.
“Since—Jesus, Codie, six-thirty?”
He looked at her again, laughed short, shook his head.
“You are Casey’s sister, aren’t you?” he muttered.
Yes, of course she was. Duh.
He walked around the island in the kitchen, sat down heavy on the other end of the couch. Stretched his arm across the back and balanced his mug on his knee.
Then he looked at her.
“So your birthday’s in a couple weeks,” he said.
She nodded.
“You excited?”
She shrugged.
“Got any plans?”
“No,” she finally said. Never did. Never had parties, never had friends over. Never went anywhere. But he probably didn’t know that part.
“None?” He seemed surprised. Not sure why.
Then he shrugged, laid his head back, and closed his eyes.
He was probably used to her by now, not talking much. At the very least, he didn’t seem bothered by it.
“Thirteen,” he said, almost to himself. “You’re gonna be a teenager.”
Well duh. She knew that.
“Makes me feel old.”
“You are old,” she said.
He looked at her; she hid her grin behind her book, but he probably saw it.
He just laughed. Short like before, but louder.
“You’re not wrong,” he finally said, letting go a breath.
Then he looked around — first towards the kitchen, then at the bathroom door. Then at his roommate’s door, for some reason.
“Where’s Dad?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He eyes stopped on her. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“He was gone when I woke up,” she answered, matter-of-factly, not looking up from her book. Jared had just found the first brownie in the kitchen. It was finally getting good.
Kelly dug in his sweatpants pocket, pulled out his phone, flipped it open and dialed. Held the phone to his ear.
She could hear it ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Until it hit voicemail.
“Hey Dad, it’s me—just wondering where you’re at. Give me a call back.”
He hung up, pocketed the phone.
Then looked at her again. Watched her. She could feel it, feel his eyes on her. Her cheeks started to burn a little.
Finally she peeked over the top of her book. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, too fast.
Fine. She went back to her book.
After a minute, he let out another breath, stretched, and stood up.
“I’m gonna shower. If you’re hungry, help yourself.” He gestured to the kitchen. “There’s oatmeal. And cereal and…stuff.”
She stopped reading and stared at him. Just…stared.
She couldn’t have cereal. Well, she couldn’t have milk. She had only told him this every single time she saw him. Every time he took her out for cheeseburgers and then joked with her about being weird for not liking cheeseburgers. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them. She didn’t know if she would like them. She never had one before.
But, she supposed, only seeing her a few times a year would make it easy to forget.
She dropped her eyes back to the book, the creaking of the metal staircase the only sound breaking up her now-over peaceful morning.
The soft shut of his bedroom door echoed down the stairs, around the open space. It wasn’t a small apartment, by any means; open ceilings with exposed timber beams — that was what Kelly had called them — brick walls and a modern kitchen. It was once a factory or something. She didn’t know why anyone would want to live in an old factory, but his couch wasn’t the worst place she had ever slept.
She definitely made sure not to complain this week. Usually she hated Spring Break, hated not going to school, hated being home all day with nothing to do —
Actually that last part wasn’t true. She loved being home all day, if she was home alone.
With Dad, though? Retired, too many friends who always got drunk and loud, that was a rare treat. Nighttime, sure, she was alone all the time. But during the day? Almost never.
When Dad told her they were visiting her brothers for her Spring Break, she finally looked forward to the week-long escape from class.
It hadn’t been a bad week so far. Only a couple days. She saw her other half-brother, Matt, once. When Dad took her to their firehouse, the day they got into town. Both her brothers worked the same shift. She met their crew. Didn’t remember hardly any of their names, but they were nice enough, she guessed.
That was two days ago. And Matt had been busy, filing a report or something, commanding people. Both her brothers were lieutenants, whatever that meant. In charge of their people. She knew about as much as the next kid who didn’t grow up around a firehouse, which was almost nothing. But she did know Matt rode in the normal firetruck, and the one Kelly rode in wasn’t a normal one (apparently, she made that mistake once and then never again); it was a rescue truck. Or something.
She didn’t really know the difference, but Kelly was adamant that his truck was a rescue truck and Matt’s was a truck truck and the other one, the engine, was a water truck. That was how she remembered it, anyway.
The soft sounds of Kelly’s shower upstairs shut off. Nothing but his footsteps were heard for a few minutes, then he came back downstairs. This time in jeans and a nicer shirt, more fitted. A dark blue that brightened his eyes. His were blue, too, but darker than hers and Matt’s. More gray.
“Dad still not here?” he asked, moving faster, more efficient now.
Obviously not, couldn’t he see that?
She shook her head, eyes still on her book. She was almost done with this chapter. If she could at least just finish this chapter, then she could set the book down and —
“He call you at all?”
She stopped reading, looked up.
“I don’t have a phone.”
He stopped in the middle of the floor. “You don’t have a phone?”
Yeah…that was what she said.
“What kind of kid doesn’t have a phone?”
She shrugged. Most, actually. Most of the kids at school didn’t. Some did, sure, but most didn’t.
He just shook his head, muttered something she didn’t catch, and kept walking.
She went back to her book. Only three more pages. Three pages and then she could be done with reading for a bit and —
“Hey Dad, it’s me again. When are you coming back? Give me a call.”
She watched Kelly in the kitchen, leaned against the island, staring at his phone after he hung up. He was typing something out now. Probably texting Dad. Not that he would answer, she was almost certain. She thought she knew why he wasn’t answering, but until she knew for sure, she wasn’t going to say anything.
He looked at her again.
“What are you reading?” he asked. He never asked that.
She tilted her book up so he could see the cover.
“The Spiderwick Chronicles,” she said. “These kids move into this old house in the woods, and it’s overrun by faeries, and they have to protect the house from the evil ogre.”
"Faeries," he said, emotion unreadable. "Plural."
"Yes.”
"Huh." He took a sip of his coffee. "Cool."
“I think so,” she said, quieter than before.
She went back to reading. Noise from him moving around the kitchen, pans clanging, eggs cracking and something stirring filled the background. It made it harder to concentrate, but she had read through worse before. She was now two pages away from ending the chapter, then she could set it down.
The smell of eggs drifted over fast. Now her stomach grumbled; she was hungry. She just hadn’t noticed before.
She couldn’t help herself — she glanced over her book, at Kelly in the kitchen, making scrambled eggs.
He didn’t look up, didn’t look at her once.
Oh well.
She went back to her book.
By the time she reached the last page — only half a page to end the chapter — he was walking over to the couch, two plates of eggs in hand.
He set one down on the coffee table, right in front of her.
He didn’t say anything, but he leaned back in the couch, his own plate in his lap, and flipped on the TV.
She glanced at it, watched as some sports news jumped right into the action, the noise low, thankfully.
Then she looked at the eggs. She wanted them. But she had to finish her chapter first.
She did, fast, closed the book and picked up her plate of eggs.
“Thank you,” she said softly, because that was the right thing to say.
He didn’t say anything back.
Instead he pulled out his phone again, flipped it open and called. She figured it was Dad. It rang. And rang. Went to voicemail, again.
He didn’t leave a message that time, just snapped the phone shut fast and tossed it on the table in front of him.
Codie’s whole body twitched; only a little bit, probably not enough for him to notice.
She kept eating. It didn’t take long to finish the eggs. There were a lot, probably two or three eggs’ worth, but she was hungrier than she thought she was.
She finished, stood up and walked the plate to the sink.
He was watching her; she could feel it. His eyes on her. Her chest warmed, face too. But she ignored it and turned the tap on, rinsed the plate and fork, found the dish soap and scrubbed them clean. Then set them in the drying rack.
She walked back to the couch, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans.
"You didn't have to wash it," he said. "I have a dishwasher."
Oh. He did?
She looked over her shoulder. Yep — there it was. The dishwasher she hadn’t even noticed.
Oh well.
She turned back around and reclaimed her tiny spot on the couch.
The sports thing was still on. She watched it for a minute, not really following it. But she liked it. It was the same channel Papaw used to watch.
Then she eyed her book, sitting on the table.
"Can I read?"
He looked at her. Stared at her for a second, fork halfway off the plate.
"Codie—” He said it flat, deadpan. “Yeah. Obviously." He shook his head and looked back at the TV. "You don't have to ask me that."
Well she didn’t know that. His home, his rules.
Guess she knew now, though.
She grabbed her book, opened it back up, the warm comfort from this morning slowly easing back in.
Kelly was easy to be around. He didn’t make her feel stupid, or weird, or try to force conversation out of her. He just…was.
And let her be her. That was the best part.
A few minutes later, he tried again. The ringing on the line pinged softly against the low sounds of the TV, but it was there. Just ringing…ringing…ringing.
Then the ‘Hi, you’ve reached…’ tone again.
"Hey. It's me again." He said it fast, short. "Call me back."
Then he snapped his phone shut again — her shoulders twitched fast, her hand shook once as she turned the page — and then stared at his phone.
She didn’t look at him. Kept her eyes on the book, zoned into the words.
But Kelly got up after that, moved around to the kitchen. He started cleaning — the clanking of the pan in the sink, he didn’t put that one in the dishwasher. But he put his plate and fork in it. And the spatula.
So no pans in the dishwasher, but utensils. Got it.
Then he wiped down the counter and the stove top.
He didn’t stop moving.
She tried to focus on the words on the page, but she couldn’t stop noticing his movement.
He didn’t. Stop. Moving.
Then he called again. She didn’t hear the ringing, but she didn’t have to to know who he was calling.
"Benny,” he said that time. Not Dad. Benny. He was angry. "It's been two hours. You left your kid here and you're not answering your phone, you're not calling back — what the hell is going on? Call me. Now."
He hung up. Stood there in the kitchen for a second, hand on the counter.
Now he stopped moving. Finally.
Before she could even start the next page, he picked the phone back up and dialed.
She stopped, focused on her brother. He was calling someone else now.
He stood there, let it ring. It didn’t ring long before he spoke again.
"Casey,” he said.
Oh. Uh-oh.
He turned toward the window, looked out as he spoke.
"We've got a problem. Benny's not answering. He wasn’t here when I woke up and now—he's gone. Nobody's heard from him."