Chapter Text
The new place does not fill Basti with confidence.
"Don't look so glum," says Ms. Winthrop, his social worker. "Maybe this time it'll work out."
"Sure," Basti says, rather than argue with her. Pick your battles, like the therapist he saw at the last place said. Basti has forgotten his name already.
His clothes are in black garbage bags in the car's trunk. Ms. Winthrop helps him carry them inside, even though he doesn't need her help.
"One last thing," Ms. Winthrop says, once his things are on the sidewalk. She takes out a little makeup kit. "Hold up your arm."
Basti flinches back. He doesn't mean to. She's not going to hurt him, he knows that.
Her mouth becomes a straight line when she sees him move away. "This is for your own good," she hisses. "Do you want a repeat of last time?"
Hot air shimmers above the asphalt road. Like a black tar river where ships catch fire and sink to the depths.
Have courage. Hold on.
Basti swallows. He's picking his fight, and he's picking this one. "I don't want to cover it."
It is the solid black splotch on his forearm, where normal people have a soulmark. Or -- what did Eddie the Banished call it -- where the marked have it. Basti's not like them, and who wants to be normal, anyway?
Ms. Winthrop opens her mouth to argue, but then the door to the house opens.
Outside comes a guy with really shiny hair. He bounds towards them like the border collie Basti's grandma had kept. "Hi, hey," he turns to them. He offers Basti a hand to shake. "You must be Be--"
"Basti," Basti says, sharply. "My pronouns are he/him."
Ms. Winthrop gives him a wounded look that says, clear as day, Don't blow this for us. He wonders if she gets reprimanded when her placements don't work out. She says, "Yes, sorry, please don't worry about it if you get confused or forget at first, everybody does."
For just a second, the guy's face hardens. Fuck. But then he looks amiable again, and he says, "Sorry, Basti. Nice to meet you; I'm Steve."
The hand Steve reaches out to shake Basti's has a name on it, the black of it crisp and almost shiny. Of course it does.
Ms. Winthrop is still smiling, pained. "Mr. Harrington, could we talk alone for a moment?"
"I think that can wait until we got Basti's things inside and got him some water, maybe lunch." Steve's smile looks almost sincere. He picks up both garbage bags and nods towards the house. "After you."
"I didn't know what you like," Steve tells them as he opens the door, "I made spaghetti and tomato sauce — if you want anything else just let me know, it's no problem."
Basti attempts a smile. "It's fine." If that's what he's smelling, it'll be pretty good anyway.
The house is pretty big, with an actual foyer or whatever that's called, separate dining room and kitchen. Steve leads them inside the kitchen, where a monstrous pot is steaming gently, and a smaller pot that Basti assumes contains pasta.
Hopes, anyway. It's a little soon for any really nasty surprises.
"Say when," Steve says, getting out a bowl and putting a generous spoonful of pasta in it.
"It's enough," Basti says after two spoonfuls. He could probably eat half the pot, but he can put his best foot forward.
Steve puts the bowl on the table and gestures at a chair. "There you go."
"Mr. Harrington," Ms. Winthrop says, urgently. "I really need to talk to you for a moment."
Steve glances at Basti, but Ms. Winthrop basically drags him outside.
Basti sits down. He stares at the bowl. There aren't utensils.
Is he supposed to get it for himself? If he starts looking in drawers, would Steve be angry? What if he accidentally breaks something? Is it a test of Basti's manners, whether he'll just slurp it out of the bowl like a dog or something?
He can still hear Steve and Ms. Winthrop in the living room. Adults always think they're quieter than they really are.
"He's a lovely child, really." The desperation in Ms. Winthrop's voice makes Basti wince. "I've never seen him be aggressive at all, and he's got quite a lot of empathy."
There's a pause.
Then Steve says, "Annette — may I call you Annette?" His voice is low and smooth like someone on the radio.
Ms. Winthrop giggles, what the hell.
"I've worked with kids for a long time," Steve says, still in that voice. "I really appreciate your agency trusting Basti with me, and I'm going to do my best to help him out, okay? You don't need to worry about a thing."
"Oh," Ms. Winthrop says, "but—"
"Not a thing," Steve says, firmly. "You just leave him to me."
It's just as well that Basti doesn't have anything to eat with, because right now he doesn't have any appetite at all.
Ms. Winthrop does dip in to tell Basti a perfunctory goodbye, and a "Behave yourself!" before smoothing her skirt and allowing Steve to show her out.
Steve comes in. "Finally. She—" His face falls when he sees the untouched food. "Did you not like it?"
Basti shrugs. "Not hungry."
"Are you sure? I could make you something else." Steve is sort of leaning into an anxious hover. "Or is something wrong?"
And the thing is, Basti would always rather know for sure than wait for the other shoe to drop. "You told Ms. Winthrop you'll handle me. What does that mean?"
"Oh, crap." Steve deflates. "I just meant, you know, make sure you have what you need."
"Like?" Basti prompts.
Instead of Firm discipline or Clear rules, Steve just blinks and says, "Food? Shelter? Clothes? Medical care? Mostly that stuff."
"Sure." The word emerges drawn-out, slow and insolent in a way that's gotten Basti yelled at or worse more than once.
Steve nods slowly. Then his eyes widen. "Shit! Uh, sorry, language. Did I forget to give you utensils?" At Basti's shrug, he groans. "Yeah, no, I was just being dumb. Here, I'll heat this up for you and get you a fork, okay?"
By the time the food is reheated — Steve put it in yet another pot rather than just stick the plate in the microwave, which is weird and a little intimidating — Basti's hungry enough, and sufficiently well equipped, that he actually eats.
Steve sits next to him. "Once you're done, I'll show you your room and where the bathroom is. Go ahead and shower whenever you want, just let me know because if the dishwasher is on the water pressure gets weird."
Basti nods. "What about the others?"
Steve blinks. "Which others?"
"The other kids living here."
"Oh." Steve looks taken aback. "There aren't any? Like normally I do work with kids but I'm off this week. It's just me and Robin living here." At Basti's involuntary glance to Steve's forearm, Steve grins. "Yeah, that's her. She's great. She'll be back by dinner, you can meet her then."
Basti busies himself eating for a bit, trying to think. Steve doesn't force a conversation, just whips his phone out after a while and starts scrolling something.
That reminds Basti. "Can I use my phone?"
"Sure?" Steve looks puzzled. "Oh, I can help you set up the wifi if you need it. You just aim your camera at this square and suddenly: internet! Pow!" He makes an exploding motion.
Basti, who knows what a QR code is, just thanks him and goes to rinse the dishes.
"That's your bedroom," Steve says, opening a door. On the other side is… a pretty nice room, actually, double bed and bedside table and desk. "You can hang stuff on the walls once you get settled in, if you want, or whatever. Do you need help unpacking?"
Basti does his best not to hide his things like a broody hen on a clutch of eggs. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Steve presses. "It's no trouble." Then he looks and Basti, and says, "Or not, that's fine too. We eat around seven normally, I'll come and check on you if you don't show up, okay?"
"Sure." Basti's smile feels plastic, stretched and sticking to his lips. "I'm fine."
Steve gives him an odd look, but finally, finally, shuts the door and leaves.
As soon as his footsteps have faded, Basti tears through the trash bags. He finds his phone after some rummaging, scans the QR code which is printed and taped to the desk, and opens YouTube.
There's a fucking ad, and another fucking ad, but eventually it loads. Basti skips ahead to near the end.
"There isn't a lot I can do from here," says Eddie the Banished, looking into the camera, intense and soulful. "All I can tell you is, I used to be that kid. And I wish, I wish I could make it easier for you. Shit, I wish someone could have made it easier for me." He snorts, then grows serious again. "It will get better. Until then — have courage. Hold on. That's all I've got. Nobody's coming to save you, but you're stronger than you know."
Basti watches those twenty seconds over and over until his eyes are too blurry to see the screen properly. Ugh. Now his pillow's wet.