Word Count: 4,110
Keith remembered the day his dad died.
He remembered it with so much vivid detail it hurt.
He hurt.
He didn't like this.
He didn't want this.
He'd been perfectly content staying put where he was before they found him: worn boots kicking through the dusty, and smoke-choked wreckage that had once been his house, fingers shoved as deep as they could go in his jacket pockets, nails clenching uncomfortably into his skin, the uncontrolled tears spilling down his cheeks as he fought to realize his dad was gone.
His dad was dead.
And he wasn't coming back.
Keith, he- he wanted to stay in that place, having no urge to run from this horror that stared him straight in the face. Instead, he was more than ready to live in the small shack that had remained standing during the fire, it's dusty, boarded up windows intact and standing.
He knew it wasn't the most pleasant looking roof over his head, but with a bit of fixing, it would do. His dad had taught him enough about living on his own, heck, they'd lived in the middle of a freaking desert for crying out loud. He knew he was more than capable of staying here, forced to stare out at the same wreckage that had killed his father, mind already working up a plan to keep him going for just a little long enough for him to find a job at least.
A six-year-old could find some steady place to work, right?
It shouldn't be that hard.
He'd be able to get by on his own, there was no doubt about that-
But then they showed up- social workers- if Keith remembered right- kindly knocking on the door to take him away, with fake smiles and even faker sympathy for his situation. He'd been staying with the fire chief, who had offered to take him in for the night when they barged in on him, insistent they take him away from the only town he's ever known to be "put into the system" as they put it so plainly.
The foster system.
No.
No, no, no, no.
He knew what that was.
There was no way he was going with them.
Of course, after a failed argument of not letting him stay in a burnt house wreckage on his own (and including an explosion that would make the atomic bomb look like a firecracker), he'd been drug to the car kicking and screaming, the fire chief standing uncertain by the door as the took him from the house. Keith didn't like moving away from the place Pop had died, he wanted to stay, dammit.
He wanted to stay.
But, of course, no one ever listens to the kid, so he was forced to be put in a situation he preferred not to be in (like being driven away in an unfamiliar car, seated behind two very unfamiliar people, taken to an unfamiliar place, his old town quickly shrinking out of sight from the unfamiliar back window) instead of sitting in a dirty shack on his own, watching the sunrise over the familiar yet burned remains of his old house (something he'd much rather be doing).
That burnt and smoldering wreckage was all he had left now.
It would remind him of his pop.
His pop was the only man who ever seemed to fully understand him.
And now-
Now he was gone, thrown mercilessly to the very same flames he'd fought so willingly against.
He- he was dead.
Why did he have to die?
Keith curled against the car door, feeling the dull thrum of the engine vibrate against his skin, his eyes squeezing closed as a wave of tears threatened to overtake him, the trees and fields zipping by turning into nothing but a darkened blur before he draped an arm over his eyes, feeling the fat, wet drops soak cold into his sleeve.
...
Fast forward a few days and Keith was uncertainly wandering into his new foster home for the first time, worn boots thumping against wood floors, violet eyes raking over the unfamiliar furniture, walls, rooms. Walking cautiously behind his social worker ("think of me as your special agent," she'd said with a warm smile), she looked to be truly enjoying herself dropping him off in his first home, more than happy to finally get rid of him.
She treated the word "first" as if it were some sort of treat.
He, on the other hand, had a much different idea of the word, ideas that stretched to the point of her bending down to give him a strained smile, blond hair coming untucked from behind her ear, to order in a stern voice that it'd be better if he kept his mouth shut.
He obeyed.
But not for the reason she'd think.
There was no point in trying to explain himself to her, not when he's already tried, not when she did nothing but open her mouth to tell him to shut up.
So he shut up, fists tight, and lips tighter as a door to a room was opened with manicured nails glinting. The thick slab of wood seemed old and rickety, creaking open and revealing cozy livingroom set up. Beige chairs sat around an empty stone fireplace, three figures sitting anxiously on the edge of their seats, heads down as he entered the room, all of them jerking to attention the moment his social worker's heels clacked into the room, that squeaky door closing behind them, shutting them all inside.
Sharp fingertips dug into his back after a moment or two of just blankly staring at the people who would be his new parents as he was hearded to the closest seat in the room, which just happened to be right across from the foster family that'd apparently been anxiously awaiting his arrival.
The first person Keith caught sight upon sitting down was a man, maybe in his middle or early thirties, if he had to guess an age. The beginning fuzz of a beard coated his jaw and equally warm brown eyes locked hold of his, the intensity of the stare making Keith fidget nervously with his hands, eyes diverting down to the patterned carpet that loomed under his dangling feet-
"Mr. and Mrs. Anthony, this is Keith," another light push against his back, urging him to look back up to the family that he'd be staying with, "Now remember to smile. These people have agreed to take you in, Keith, it makes for a good impression on your part."
He didn't smile.
Instead, glancing up through his hair, amethyst eyes locked hold of the small girl sitting alongside the couple. Keith could see through the color of her hair and shape of her chin she was their daughter, dark blonde locks curled and green eyes curious as she met his gaze.
She gave a hesitant smile.
He looked down again.
"I'm sorry, my husband and I are still getting familiar with fostering. Does he have his things with him or-?" Mrs. Anthony sounded concerned, and he could feel eyes raking over him, looking for any type of bag or belonging as he continued to sit there, head down.
He could feel when his social worker began to shake her head, feeling the slight bounce in the couch cushions beside him, "No, I'm afraid he lost all his belongings in the same fire his father passed in."
Thin shoulders fell even more in an attempt to make himself smaller, all eyes now diverted to him full force. At the same time, some unquenched anger began to boil in the pit of his gut at the mention of his pop's death. That story wasn't hers to tell these strangers!
"Oh. Oh my," the reply was soft and muffled, and Keith caught sight of the woman stifling the sound with a hand over her mouth, eyes now a little wider than before, the pity and concern now displayed so plainly on her face making Keith want to turn tail and run.
He didn't like their looks of pity.
He didn't need their help.
Why was he here again?
"Ah, well, we'll have to fix that, but first-" A hand was thrust into his field of vision, and Keith looked up to see the hand attached to Mr Anthony as he awaited a shake, "I believe an introduction is in order first." He smiled then, expression clearly speaking volumes that he had nothing to hide from him. Everything was on the table, "Hello there, Champ."
With a bit of encouraging from the woman still sitting rigid still beside him, Keith reached out, hesitantly grasping the man's large hand nearly completely encompassing his own over the small coffee table separating them. A rough shake later, they pulled apart in silence and Keith gratefully sank back into his seat, not helping the small mirror of a smile that grew at the man's enthusiasm for just seeing him.
His social worker took a breath, clearly itching to get out of there, "Well, looking at this scene, I'm more than sure everything is in good hands," she stood with a rush, tucking a stray piece of hair back firmly behind her ear before facing the couple, "of course I'll be coming in to check every week or so to see how he's adjusting, but I think my work here is done." He was far too used to the winning smile she shot at them before stepping over Keith's legs to better get towards the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Anthony stood up with the woman, following her out the door, "Of course. Here, we'll see you out."
"That would be wonderful, thank you."
In less than a minute all three of them were gone, leaving Keith in stuttery silence once again. He didn't look up, didn't look around, instead fixated on a small shape he'd managed to make out in the texture of the carpet below, fingers clenching, breath seizing, just trying to focus all of his energy, his very being on that one stop.
Maybe if he stared hard enough, all of this would go away.
He didn't want this.
He didn't need this.
Why couldn't he just go back to his old town? To his old house? To be able to walk up those rickety porch steps and open the screen door to find his dad still alive and well, standing in front of the stove like he always did coming home from school?
Why couldn't he go back?
As much as he longed for something- some sort of answer-
The universe didn't reply.
But, of course, he caught her curious staring in his direction a minute later. It felt so far after the grown-ups left he'd nearly forgotten she was still in the room with him, attempting to pretend to mind her own business before shooting look after look in his direction before, again shooting away again.
It didn't take long after that for their gazes to lock, the girl being the first to look away with a shy blush at being caught in the act, but Keith made no sound of protest against it and she looked back at him a moment later, blue eyes still just as wide and as curious as before, small blond curls bouncing at the cock of her head in his direction.
She smiled at him again.
He tried his best to mirror the gesture.
He watched her fidget with her fingers for a bit, dropping her gaze to the floor between then with a sigh, the first sound he'd heard come out of her mouth since he'd been walked into the room.
"Hi."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak right then, still unsure if he let the words out it'd end with him screaming about how unfair his world was, being drug from the place for a solid case of insanity-
But the motion seemed to do enough, the girl's expression brightening almost immediately and she shuffled a little more in her seat in response to his half-hearted attempt at a reply, fingers still grasping each other before she blurted:
"I'm Sarah."
Keith didn't say his name, his social worker had apparently done that already, he didn't see any need to repeat it-
"But I guess I already know your name."
Thin lips pressed together. He nodded again, the small ounce of nerves that'd managed to grow the moment they drove up to this place grew ever so slightly at the continuation of the one-sided conversation.
Her shy grin widened, revealing teeth, a black hole standing along the top row of pearly whites where one had been lost- "You know. My parents, they- things can seem pretty weird, but they really are nice."
He frowned at that, thin lips down-turning. Within the span of what felt like hours to reply, he'd just barely mustering up the courage to ask just what she meant when Mr. and Mrs. Anthony burst back into the room, his "agent" apparently already hitting the road, leaving him officially stranded with these people.
The change in Sarah's expression was like a switch being thrown, her expression once again shutting down to a blank stare at the carpet as the two adults came to a stand-still in front of him. Both of their faces were alight with excitement as Mrs. Anthony carefully clasped her hands in front of her, a look an adoration screwed so tightly onto her face, Keith was half-convinced it was a mask-
Mr. Anthony interrupted his train of thought, kneeling down beside him, warm fingers loosely grabbing his hand, the man's eyes just as open and kind as before.
"You ready to see your room, Champ?"
...
Keith's social worker had dropped him off in the late morning, giving the couple now in custody of him nearly the whole day to get to know him. The hours following consisted of small talk between them as they shopped for clothing and (they insisted) toys to go in his room. The blank walls and open floor much bigger than his old room, the white walls fresh and ready for their new tenant to take control.
Keith would be lying if he said he didn't like the distraction. Despite his firm belief in staying put on that dusty lump of property in virtually nowhere where his dad had passed, he- he knew he wasn't thinking straight.
Still wasn't if he was being completely honest with himself.
Though he'd gotten maybe a week of trying to fully understand that his pop was dead and gone (he wasn't coming back), the memories still felt as fresh and as fragile as if it'd happened that day.
Being with these people, it- it felt nice to think of other things.
Mr. and Mrs. Anthony were fast to understand Keith didn't want to talk about the firey accident that claimed his dad's life. Anytime they drove too close to the topic and saw him beginning to shut off from them, they'd quickly steer the conversation back to safer waters. That alone made the small spark of trust between them grow ever so slightly at the understanding between them.
As for Sarah, she- she was still acting odd.
That small window he'd managed to glance of her personality before her parents walked in was long forgotten when they began scrounging the city for their shopping spree. The girl had done nothing but keep her head down and gaze averted since they left the apartment, not bothering to offer another smile or word to him, or give any hint to what she had said to him earlier.
Keith was more than confused to say the absolute least. Nothing seemed off or odd with the family. Mr. and Mrs. Anthony both seemed like the nicest people he's met since he'd been thrown into the fostering system (which was saying a lot).
Of course, he- like any other person caught in this situation- had known from the start to expect something like this. Abusive homes were normally caught before fostering, there wasn't really any way to get a crazy foster family and someone not catch it in time, the whole set-up was too tight for something like that to slip in between the cracks of this sort of thing.
So what was up with Sarah muttering with an embarrassed smile that her parents were a little on the crazy side? If anything, she should be the one who's a little crazy, not her parents. The only strange thing Keith could possibly find was the fact they preferred to be called mother and father over mom and dad (he still called them Mr. and Mrs. Anthony though, they- they couldn't take those titles to him that easily, even if they had been nothing but nice to him through the day).
So, obviously, after some clear and precisive watching, Keith let his guard back down from where it had been shoved up so high during their first few interactions with each other.
Nothing felt strange.
Or off.
Er, at least until dinner.
Then things started to get a little- hard.
None of them had eaten all day, everyone far too busy with getting to know him, and, of course, him to them. But as dinner started growing closer, his attention was painfully drawn to his growling stomach, reminded that he'd eaten nothing but a small granola bar in the early hours of the morning, scrounged from the floorboards of his social worker's car on the ride over.
He was hungry.
Luckily his foster parents did not disappoint.
A quick grocery trip after getting everything they deemed necessary to foster a kid, Keith was sitting comfortably back in the family's apartment, the last bit of dinner hitting the table in front of him, the warm scent of food wafting to his nose, making his already loud stomach growl even louder.
"Sounds like somebody's hungry," Mr. Anthony commented with a smile, placing a plate piled with food in front of him a moment later. Green beans, mashed potatoes piled with gravy, and a very large, very juicy chunk of meatloaf stood on a porcelain plate just waiting for him to dig in-
He held himself back until everyone was seated, plates equally piled with food, all steaming heavily into the air, the scent alone making his mouth water profusely.
Everyone sat down.
He held his breath.
Almost as if some unspoken word had been said everyone bowed their heads, Keith stuck looking with confusion at the people around him when no one spoke for a solid few seconds after the sudden and unexpected action.
It was then that Sarah decided to look at him from across the table. For the first time since he'd been introduced that morning, she looked at him, some sort of warning flashing in her eyes before pale lips opened, voice soft, blue orbs holding steadily onto his own as the words left her mouth: "Thank you, Mother and Father, for my meal."
Dark brows furrowed at the girl's words, violet eyes flicking between parents and daughter, "Thank you, daughter, for your acknowledgment to our gracious generosity. Now you may eat."
She met his eyes once more before taking a small fork-full of her potatoes, lifting it delicately to disappear a moment later behind pale lips-
Mr. and Mrs. Anthony's gazes fell to him, expectant. Anticipating almost-
Some cold, coiling feeling settled deep in the pit of his gut-
"Alright, Champ, your turn."
Keith looked to his plate again, stomach feeling not-so hungry as it had been just a few seconds before as Sarah's almost robotic-like words settled into his head.
Were they asking him to call them mother and father?
Just to eat?
Just to rub in her face that they merely fed her out of the goodness of their hearts?
What kind of parents did that?
What kind of parent in their right mind would do that?
Going against his gut, he decided to try and push it. Instead, playing dumb and moving his fork to the generously sliced meatloaf sitting innocently on his plate inches away. Mr. Anthony was quick to scoot the plate out of reach before he could get that far, the man's expression blank as Keith met his gaze, clear confusion marking his own features and Keith cocked his head innocently to the side, a small frown coming to his expression. "What? Can't I eat?"
Both adults shook their heads, Mrs. Anthony the first of the two to look down to her plate as Mr. Anthony let a breath-like laugh escape his lips, as if Keith wasn't comprehending just what he was supposed to be doing. "I'm afraid not, Champ, not until you thank us for your food at least." He gestured to plate now pushed away from him, his tone seemed a lot less perky than before.
"Why?" Keith challenged, fingers tightening around the fork, a low growl entering his voice. He was hungry and tired, his feet ached from walking around all day in worn-out shoes.
He wanted food.
But Mr. Anthony seemed to be nothing but back to his confused/lighthearted self as he explained, the uncontrolled anger and aggression buried deep in the back of Keith's mind shifting ever so slightly at the refusal of food- "Well, come on now. Every family has their traditions around the table, right? This is ours." His smile that Keith had so willingly mirrored before, broke to the surface again as the man tilted his head to the side, almost challengingly, "You are part of our family, right? You have to play by our rules if you want to live under our roof."
The words were almost spoken challengingly to him, eyes suddenly sharp. Daring him to make a move against him. Keith was, after all, the one stuck, he'd been taken and shoved with no remorse into a situation he still would rather not be in. Of course, it was only natural that some small part of his brain whispered for him to just give in. It'd be so much easier to do what they asked of him, to mutter those words they so desperately wanted to hear and be done with it, but another part, a much bigger part, mind you, refused.
And that refusal was something he did not want to back down on.
He knew he was probably being stupid, but over all of that clarity, it was also clear that he was only here because he was forced to be. Forced to run in a game he had no interest in playing, and there was no way they would pull those words of mother and father from his lips when the memory of his own dad and nearly forgotten mother were still laid fresh in his mind.
So, no.
He wouldn't do it.
And they couldn't make him.
Not in a million years.
Those titles weren't theirs to take.
Mr. Anthony could apparently see the decision in his eyes before he even spoke, the man's green eyes growing hard and resolved in response, "I assume you know I can't allow you to eat until you thank us for your meal."
Keith bit his lip, a part of his mind already coming to the same conclusion as he had- "Fine."
He seemed taken aback by the answer, but quickly recovering with a small frown, "Keith, you are excused to your room, and I don't want to see you until breakfast tomorrow, is that understood?"
The fatherly tone edged in his voice did very little to shake him, it wasn't like his dad's voice. Nowhere close-
"Fine," he repeated, mirroring the man glare for glare as he got to his feet, chair scraping noisily against the floor behind him as he walked out.
Over the loud pounding of his feet on the floor, he could feel eyes on his back till he stepped foot in his room, door slamming shut behind him with an explosive bang.
Pale hands went up to wring dark strands as thin legs pacing back and forth the moment he was alone, mind reeling, finally taking in just what he stubbornly agreed to do.
So he just kept pacing.
And pacing.
Back and forth.
Wall to wall.
They wanted to starve him?
Fine.
He could survive that, school started up next week, he could steal food then, get by with that, he just had to make it through the next week without going mad.
He- he'd be able to make it that long.
He could make it.
-pop, where are you?-
He could make it.
...
Jeez, you guys, this thing got waaaay longer than I was expecting it to get, tbh I was actually intending on writing some more on how Keith was starving to death till he last-minute got saved but what the heck, this thing is long enough already. For the sake of my sanity, I'm cutting it off here...