Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cold of the tile floor stings the soles of my feet as I cross the hall to get to the showers. The lights go off at curfew, but it’s already been dark for hours when I get home. Someone has to work night shifts if the elite are to have their fun under the cover of darkness. 

James is already in bed. I used the phone at work to ring his school and warn him I wouldn’t be home until late. I told him not to use the shower, we only had around 15 minutes worth of water use a day, and I’d need every second to wash the filth away. 

The shock of the nearly frozen water still stings, although I’m used to it by now. We haven’t had hot water in years, James hasn’t had it once in his life. In fact, the only heat in the house comes from us. The rest is dreadfully cold, especially late in the fall like this. I can’t see what I’m doing. Everytime I’m in this house I spend my time groping around like a blind man. It was harder at first, when I hadn’t yet learned how to get it all done in the dark, but I adapted.

The soap they issue everyone once a month isn’t scented, but I’d like to imagine it smells like the woods. I don’t remember much of it, I was only a boy then. I suppose I’m not much older now, although it feels like I’ve lived a lifetime. 

My skin burns despite the cold, when I step out, I know it’ll be red and raw from how fast I drag a cloth across it in my desperation. I know I’ll never wash them off. The stink may be gone but the feeling will linger as long as I live. 

I try to pull on my clothes as fast as I can. You learn that quickly too, when you have to use your towels as blankets because the ones you have are so worn they look like thread. I give him most of mine, I give him most of everything I have. All I have to keep me from freezing tonight is this worn white t-shirt and a hoodie that cost me two weeks worth of overtime. It’s not much, I still wake myself up in the middle of the night because I can’t breathe. I still walk into work sniffling with red eyes. My boss says it makes the blue more striking, so I guess there’s a win somewhere in there. 

When I work up the courage to return to the one bedroom box I can barely justify calling an apartment, much less a home, I’m exhausted. I insisted he have the couch, but I feel myself longing for it against my will. He looks so innocent lying there, so peaceful. I wish the world would let him live like that a little longer. 

I collapse onto the pallets we have leaned up against the wall and atop the floor to resemble something of a bed. It looks more like something you’d give a dog, but it’s better than having your face frozen to the floor when you wake up. 

You’d think I’d be able to fall asleep instantly, what with the exhaustion I’ve been bitching about all day, in my head at least. In truth, I always end up staring at the ceiling for about an hour more. I know it’s a waste of time I could have to rest. Maybe if I took the chance I wouldn’t be so very tired in the mornings. Then again, what was the difference in an extra hour when I’d still barely be getting half of what the average human needs? I couldn’t sleep anyway if I tried. I’d just end up staring at the black behind my eyelids as colors faded in and out. “Insomnia”, my coworker called it when I complained. “You should see a doctor for that, there are pills you could take.” If only I could afford them.

Chapter Text

The sun is long gone by the time I lay my head to rest against the silk I sleep atop every night. I really don’t have to be up so very late, but there is business I’d rather attend to today in order to free up my schedule for the morning. I’d like to visit the city, specifically, the slums. I don’t really know what it is, but something draws me there. It is a call and I simply cannot quiet my curiosity. 

Maybe I’ll find myself a good soldier to replace the two I killed today. I’m sure there are lots of young men who’d love to have the job. Down there, all they can really do to keep a roof above their heads is factory work and a more sinister practice I’d rather not get into. With a little training, some discipline, and for gods sake more than scraps to get them to a point where their collarbones and ribcages can’t be seen through their shirts, they really don’t make bad men. They are content living here for free, even having the privilege of sending back some funds to whatever family they have left. Stupid little sheep. They think one day they’ll make enough to leave this place, to give their sisters and brothers, their children, better lives. Many of them are children. 

I sleep in nothing but boxers, not a problem, considering there are three locks on my door. If someone wants something from me they have to hop up on the intercom and disturb everybody else with the feedback and the static. Safe to say, they don’t do it often. I’ll probably have to fix it by the time my father comes to visit. 

Normally, I’d toss and turn for at least twenty minutes before giving in to the bottle on my nightstand, but something tells me I should get the rest tonight. Perhaps I’m losing my mind like my dear mother, what with listening to all these voices in my head? What would my father say? Will he have me locked in a house with doctors all around me simply staring at the boy on the bed screaming for someone to shoot him? My mother did that quite a lot before she stopped speaking all together. 

My very presence here commands power without me having to speak a word. The people I pass are stick thin, all red faced and sniffling like they’ve all got some sort of sickness from the slums. I almost want to gag at the thought of it getting on my clothes. I’ll have to burn them. 

I don’t really know where to go. The feeling has led me here but I know not exactly where or what I intend to find. I almost want to turn back, but the thought suddenly strikes me- what if this is the answer I’ve been searching for all my life?

I’d walk the entire continent if it meant finding a cure, so I pressed on. There are probably soldiers somewhere, agents trained to trail behind me anywhere I go just in case, but I don’t care. 

Eventually, my feet lead me to the more dangerous part of town. The part I was unwilling to think about right before bed. Everything here is dead already, we are past the point of no return. The men that walk are simply zombies, ghosts, spirits, parasites, inhabiting the bodies that walk around. How could I possibly hope to find life here? 

Now I really want to turn on my heel and walk away as fast as I can, but something stops me. There are noises coming from an alley just to my left, crashes and bangs and somebody lets slip a sob as a smack simultaneously sounds. It sounds like a domestic dispute, and I can’t help but inquire. 

None of them notice me at first, not the big bald guy shouting slurs as he rummages through the trash, not the man towering over a boy as he cowers, his back pressed against the wall. His face is wet with blood that comes from a cut across his cheek and an obviously broken nose. I almost feel sorry for him as she shivers, digging his hands deeper into the snow as he begs.
“I swear, I’ve got nothing on me-”

“Then hand over the coat. Your boots too, while you're at it, boy.” He drags him up by his collar pressing him against the wall with his own body.

He’s got no shot. He might be taller than me, and he looks like he lifts concrete for a living, but he’s young and he also looks like he’s a day away from dying in the street. “They won’t even fit you, what do you need it for you fucking prat?”

Suddenly, his demeanor changes as he spits at the older man’s feet. He’s angry in his body but his eyes stay the same. They flit around, looking for some sort of escape before settling back on the man above. Now that I look, I can see he has a few scrapes of his own. The boy’s nails are red with the evidence of what he’s achieved. 

I turn to leave, let them dish it out amongst themselves. Who is a man that raises hounds to turn his head for every fight between a wild pack of wolves? They’re not his business. 

Something stuns me for a moment as I realize that I feel no fear not because he has none but because I cannot feel anything at all from his direction. I don’t feel his anger, his anxiety, his fear, his motivation. I feel nothing at all, not from him, not from the men around him. I pick up a slight bit of excitement from the dumpster man, but nothing more than that. 

I grab my gun, loading it at the speed of light as I raise it with a click, “Pick on someone your own size, would you?”

The larger man turns at the sound of my voice, but the boy beneath him doesn't stray from his attacker's face. Fear flashes across it as the man looks back at him, fear that I still don’t feel.

He stumbles, trying so hard to keep himself upright as he’s released. The dirty dog signals to his friend that they’ve got to go, but not before taking his last chance to shove the kid across the alley at me, “You want the bitch so bad? Here, have him.” 

He digs his boots into the ice to keep from falling into me; how considerate. Unfortunately, in the process, he ends up on his ass with another injury to the ankle that slams against the bricks. I can see his tongue move in his mouth as he bites himself to keep from crying out and embarrassing himself any further. 

I hardly care, offering him a hand as my other aims for the bald man’s back. I hope it kills him. 

He flinches when I shoot, looking back to stare as the old buffoon falls to the floor and his blood stains the snow around him. 

He can’t seem to take his eyes off of it, but I can see the snow starting to seep into his clothes. If I don’t get him up in the next few minutes he’ll be as good as dead anyway. I reach forward, hoping to gauge a better reaction. I know in this state they won’t answer to anything else, I’ve seen how my soldiers get after their first kill.

I have to turn his head to get him to snap out of it. As soon as he registers my hand on his jaw, dangerously close to his throat, he emits a strangled sound and tries to scramble back to get away. Not very polite after all.

“I’m not going to shoot you, imbecile, I just saved your ass.”

“Why would you do that?”

I pause for a moment. How can I explain to a man no more than twenty that there’s a slight chance I have found from only a feeling that he’s the answer to all my problems? His eyes are blue, still darting around for an out. I step closer, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘thank you.’”

He’s still shivering and now his pants are almost black from the water. His face is red and I realize why he was so sluggish in the first place, why he was down on the ground. He’s hypothermic, at least on the verge of it and it’s astonishing to see that he hasn’t died of lost consciousness yet.

“I don’t think it’s fair to kick a dog while it’s already down. Take my hand, you look like you’re freezing.”

He doesn’t seem to register what I’m referring to him as, eying the outstretched arm I offer him. My hand is black from gloves, not necrosis, like I’m sure you’d see in most of these people.

His grip is weak, but I can bench three times my body weight and he can’t be more than that. I pull him to his feet, watching as the red under his eyes deepens only slightly at his embarrassment. “Thanks.”

“I nod noting how the cold seeps through the layers all the way to my own hand. He shivers, hard, and although my grip is fairly loose, he can’t seem to get out of it on his own. I tighten it only slightly, just to see what kind of reaction I can gauge. He’s caught like an animal in a trap, probably in a world of pain too. 

He sways and I have to brace myself to catch him in case he faints, but he steadies himself in only a second. “Sorry for the trouble, sir.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, kid. You look like you could use another pair of pants, though.”

“I guess I’ll have to go after my shift.” he mutters, technically to himself but I butt in.

“No, not after work, you need to go now.”

He looks back at me, alarmed, “I’m sorry? Have I done something wrong?”

“You’re hypothermic. You won’t make it to work, you’ll be dead.”

“I have to at least call out-”

“You can call out from the hospital.”

He looks like he’s about to laugh, “Look at me, I can’t afford any medical care. I’ll be fine, the winter's not that bad, really.”

“Really, I think I know more than you do. You should see someone.”

He tries to tug out of my grip, “Please let me go, I promise I’ll go if it gets worse.”

Even without my abilities, I know he’s lying. I’m finding it significantly harder to manipulate him when I don’t know what he’s feeling. I do know one thing that hits every man in these parts hard.

“Hope you don’t have anyone who relies on you, they’re about to be left alone.” 

He hesitates. It’s only a moment but it’s all I need to slam my fist into his face. Unfortunately, I don’t yield the result I intended. He looks at me with confusion on his face as even more blood- god it’s a never ending stream- falls from his reset nose. I could play it off, keep him talking until he passes out from the blood loss. 

Instead, I raise my hand for a second swing and receive a swift kick to the wrist. He’s still worried I want to shoot him. He takes off and I hesitate to follow.

That childish part of me that’s desperately holding onto hope that this is the answer to all my prayers wants to chase him down. The logical young man my father manufactured through years of discipline refrains from doing so. I have to play this right before I lose my only shot, no matter how hard it hurts to know as I stand here hesitating, my mother is in unbearable agony. 

Chapter Text

I’m in so much pain. 

I want to tell this strange man to buzz off, that it’s none of his business and I didn’t ask for his help in the first place, but I can’t. I have a kid at home, I can’t afford to be mouthy with these people. 

Despite the many layers I have to separate myself from the cold, I feel bare. The way he stares at me- like he’s looking into my soul and getting frustrated at the realization that there’s nothing to be found but a broken sense of self and a will to live tied to protecting my brother. 

He reminds me of my dad. Their hair is the same, although he doesn’t yet command the same amount of fear, the same amount of respect, that the old man did. Maybe it was simply due to the fact that I was so very small when he left, but I swear, half of the fear he struck in me was his height alone. He could’ve crushed me with one of his legs alone. He broke my wrist with only his fist, twice. Part of me is grateful James never had to see that side of him, even if he’s never known a father. 

I’ll have to think my way out of this interaction. It becomes increasingly harder to do so as my mind starts to feel fuzzy. Truly, I have no clue why this man is so obsessed with my well-being. Maybe he’s my guardian angel coming to guide me to safety. More likely he’s a demon here to mislead me before dragging me down to hell. I know damn well I deserve no less after everything I’ve done to keep my family afloat. 

I settle for appealing to the empathy that got me trapped in his grasp in the first place, “Please let me go, I promise I’ll go if it gets worse.”

How do I explain to a man who’s never known cold that I have to endure it if I’m going to keep my family from freezing to death? How do I explain to a man who’s never known struggle that I can’t afford to stop working even for a day, even if I’m dying?

He looks me over one last time and for a second, his death grip loosens just a little.

“I hope you don’t have anyone who relies on you, they’re about to be left alone.” 

Terror takes a hold of my heart, a tight fisted grip that could end my life with one little tug. What does he know? Is he threatening James? Before I have a chance to react, his fist is flying at my face and my boot rises in retaliation, knocking his gun out of his hands as I turn to run. What a foolish thing, to think that this man, this devil, in front of me has come to help. They all want the same thing, he’s no different. Everything about him screams sin, greed, lust, pride, wrath. I too sin in my envy for the life he lives. He’s clean, his skin is clear of scars and everything about him is so very perfect that I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have it all. 

I don’t look back to see if he’s followed. I don’t stop. I don’t even slow until I feel my knees start to buckle beneath me. Slowing down is submission, stopping is surrender. 

I reckon I get about a mile before collapsing onto the floor of what I can only hope is an abandoned building. A hospital is out of the question. I can’t afford it. Day after day I slave away in the slums, praying that one day I’ll make enough to give my brother a better chance at life. It’s not enough, but I’ve already sold my soul, what more do I have left to give? What more do I have left to lose?

Chapter Text

I stare at the face I hold in my hands. It’s only a photograph, an outdated one at that. It didn’t take me so long to find it. Adam Kent. He’s 17, that makes it easier. I don’t see a guardian listed and he’s underage, a younger brother too. I can justify taking the boy, James. He’s too young to be out on his own, and his older brother can’t very well file for custody while he’s underage as well. I don’t much desire to have an eight year old running around my house, but it’s the easiest way to get him on board. 

I only wish that wasn’t the extent of my information. There has to be more, even in the slums of sector 45, their lives are ours from the first minute. There’s not even half a birth certificate. It took me hours of searching and I still haven’t found where he works. The only conclusion I can come to is that someone’s tempered with his files, but why? 

I could report it, have someone more skilled in this than me go fishing for more, but I don’t want to tip anyone off. I don’t need to know everything right at this moment, only enough to get him where I want him. I just wish his father’s name hadn’t been blacked out in the birth certificate. I have no way of telling if he’ll decide to show his face after I do this. 

Without a job listed, and the assumption that he’s not in school, I’ve got to go back and look through the likely workplaces. I know the warehouses will hire teenagers as young as 14 if they’re still stupid enough to accept less than half of minimum wage. Unfortunately, there’s hundreds of them, and I have no way to narrow it down without a place of residence.  

I let my gaze drift back to the photograph at the top. Now that I think about it, I see a bit of resemblance to someone, if I could only put my finger on it. 

Dark brown hair, but it’s been bleached by the sun in the picture. Second job then, in the summer. It’d have to be outside, security guard? 

His eyes are blue, and the rest of his features don’t clue me in more than that. He could carry somewhat of a resemblance to his mother, maybe I’ve met her before.

It hardly matters. The important thing is that he’s not so much of a mystery anymore, even if every question answered has been replaced by more. 

I’m suddenly struck by gratitude as I watch people walk by in ragged, worn, and old coats that are harder any thicker than a child’s thumb. Mine is new, built for the cold even though I don’t go out much more than this.

I’ve got two ways to approach my current dilemma. The easy way would be that I offer him a chance to enlist and serve as a soldier under my command. If he says yes I can get him to do whatever I want, simple as that. The other way would take a lot longer, and it’d be a foul thing to do to someone who’s known nothing but independence. I hope it won’t come to that, but a dog that can’t accept a collar or at least refrain from biting the hand that feeds it has to be muzzled. Everyone has a place in this world, he damn well knows how far below his is than mine. 

I do feel slightly sorry either way, then again, I’m rescuing the guy from the slums so it’s not like he’s living any better here. Everybody wins, he’ll have a real shot at life and I’ll have a shot at giving my mother her own back. Still, I’d rather not force his hand, but what else can I do?

I only have one soldier with me at the moment. There are more scattered throughout the city always, but the rest of my regiment I’ve ordered to disperse. He’s a good man, as stupid as he is sometimes, I have to give credit where it’s due. He’s much better at talking than I am, and he knows what it’s like to come from nothing.

I haven't had any more tell-tale dreams, however stupid that sounds, so I have to rely on pure instinct to drive me. I keep waiting for that little tug, but it’s driving me mad trying to make it out in a city of thousands. Every emotion pelts me so I feel like I’m finding a snowflake in a blizzard.

He hasn’t been emitted to any hospitals in the last week, nor was he still in that building when I went to check. All I need is a sign, something to clue me into this kid’s location, his workplace, his place of residence, anything really. My head hurts and I stop to pinch the bridge of my nose. 

“Everything alright, sir?” the soldier asks.

“Fine.” I snap, still in pain, “I just need to find this fu-” I shake my head, “I need you to tell me where you think a 17 year old could find work.”

“Well there’s always the warehouses, what does he look like?”

“What does that matter?”

“You can learn a lot about where someone works from the way they look.”

I fish the photo out from my pocket. Now that I think about it, he looks rather irritated in it. 

He cringes, “What clothes was he wearing?”

“Some cheap, ratty coat, blue jeans, boots.”

He looks relieved for only a second, “It’ll be the warehouses you’ll want to check then. That’s your best bet, if not, the mines.”

I have to stop myself from sighing, I’ve got a long day ahead of me.

Chapter Text

It takes me three hours of searching, trudging through piles of snow, to track the guy down. He works in a car factory, ironically enough. 

Once again, I repeat the routine of going to whoever holds the highest position present to ask. I've  never realized how easy having access to records of every little detail of a person’s life was, but it's much harder to track people down without it. 

“Yeah, I hired the kid a few years back. Is he under arrest?”

“I can’t disclose anything. I need you to call him up here, now.”

He does as told, although it takes twenty rings for someone to pick up the phone. He holds it to his ear with one hand while using two fingers to remove the cigarette from his lips with the other. It's difficult to hear anything on the other end over the screech of saws and blades and machinery.

“Do you have Adam Kent with you right now?”

There's a brief pause as the other man speaks, “Uhh, about six foot, brown hair, blue eyes, 17.”

Another pause, “Yeah, if you could just send him up to my office, thanks.”

Adam looks like he wants to bolt the second he steps through the door and takes in the sight of his boss, a soldier, and the man who punched him in the face the other day.

He directs his attention towards his boss, avoiding my gaze as he visibly goes stiff with fear, “You asked to see me, sir?”

“If you could take a seat.”

“I’ve got oil on my uniform, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I suppose not. I have to file something, I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Sorry?”

The manager smiles at him as he passes, patting him on the shoulder when he looks taken aback, “I’m sure it’s not serious, kid.”

Adam keeps as much distance between himself and us as he can without seeming rude, “Am I under arrest?”

I step forward, “No.”

“I’m sorry for-”

i cut him off, holding up a hand, “It doesn’t matter. I understand why anyone would be scared in that position, it’s my apology to make. I shouldn’t have been so insistent. And I probably shouldn't have punched you. You're nose was broken, I wasn't trying to hurt you.”

“It's fine. Is that it?”

“No. I’d like to make you an offer, Adam.”

He glances at the soldier behind me, “Yes, I work for the reestablishment. I want you to enlist.”

“You want to offer me a job in the military? Why? The only thing you’ve seen of me is being beaten in an alley and then this.”

“I need someone with your skillset.”

“You call that a skillset?”

“Are you really in a position to refuse a job?”

“I have a job.”

“You’re working two at once, even more in the summer. I find it hard to believe you have any time to sleep.”

I don't even need my powers to see the panic that overtakes his features, “I didn’t say I worked two jobs.”

“You can’t afford to live off the salary you’re receiving now, especially not with a little brother in school.”

“So you’re just guessing I have a second job?”

“I’m assuming based on experience.”

“With having two jobs?”

“With hiring people of the same sort.”

“Okay, none of that explains why you’d want me to work for you.”

I resist the urge to grit my teeth. I hadn’t expected it to be this difficult, and I certainly hadn’t prepared a convincing excuse.

If I go with the only convincing lie I can come up with on the spot, I'll have to play the waiting game. I can't just offer him the position and then drive him to his mother’s house without an explanation. I also don't want to drive him off by telling the truth about my suspicions. 

My mother has been in pain for years, what's a few more months to get the kid through boot camp and lower his guard? Maybe I can rush his training and do it in weeks.

“I need younger soldiers, people who know the area well. My men are older. The youngest I have is 19 and most of them don’t come from poverty. They’re large and intimidating, I need someone who’s not if I don’t want civilians to panic every time they’re questioned. Plus, you can hold your own, I stepped in but you probably didn't need my help.”

“There’s not a big difference between me and a 19 year old.”

“You look innocent enough.”

“Civilians don’t trust any of you, regardless of origin. Hell, they don’t even trust me now, they all think I’m going to steal what little they have.”

“I’m sure someone would rather confess to a teenager than a grown man.”

“Age doesn’t matter to them, once you’ve got those tattoos and the uniform, it’s over.”

“Then you don’t get the tattoos.”

“I just don’t understand-”

“You don’t have to understand, just accept the offer and eventually, you will, unless you’d rather waste another winter working in a factory and whatever the hell else it is you do.”

He looks stunned for a moment. I've never lost his temper like that before, but I've also never realized how much I rely on being able to feel what the other person is feeling to manage my own emotions.

I sigh, holding out my hand, “Do we have a deal then?” 

He looks a little nervous, but he glances away and nods, “Yeah, you’ve got a deal. If I don’t finish this, my boss will kill me, though.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Kishimoto shifts on his feet, “I don’t think we’re in that much of a rush, sir. Maybe you should let him handle quitting. Plus, we’re not going to just send a letter to the kid.”

I know he's right, even if it is just another day wasted, “Fine. Put your notice in and tell your brother. I’ll have someone at your door tomorrow.”

"How do you know where I live?"

I stop, realizing he's right. The little information I recovered didn't say anything about his address. I don't want to risk letting him think I won't find him if he doesn't show up, so I decide to take a risk.

"Have you moved since your parent's last filed their location?"

"Same apartment complex."

"Same apartment?"

He looks hesitant and I wonder if I'll be forced to send someone to follow him home or I'll just have to intimidate it out of him.

"Can I meet him back here? I don't want my kid seeing anything to do with the military, it'll freak the neighbors out too."

I can't even stop myself from looking shocked, "Your kid?"

He looks startled at his own slip, "My brother."

He interrupts me before I can even get the question out, "We have parents. My dad is dead, so he's kind of my responsibility, but my mom is there too. I don't want either of them to worry."

I couldn't find his parents names anywhere in the files, and his reaction leads me to believe his lying. I have no way of proving it when I can't sense his emotions, so I let it go for now.

"How far is your apartment?"

"It's a fifteen minute walk."

"Six A.M. Don't keep me waiting."

Chapter Text

I don’t know what to think of the interaction I’ve just had. Did I really just agree to enlist in the army? To work for a man who scared the shit out of me days before?

With nothing better to do, I go back to see if they need any help finishing up with the last project.

“What was that all about?” One of my coworkers, Miles, asks.

Something tells me I shouldn’t tell anyone the truth about what just happened, “Something about my brother. His school called, shouldn’t be that big a deal.”

“Well we’re just about finished here,” he looks around, “You can go ahead and get him if you need to.”

“Did you see where the manager went?”

“I can let him know for you.”

“No, that's alright. Thanks anyway, Miles.”

It takes me another fifteen minutes to find the guy right back where I left him. He looks up from his papers as I approach, “How’d it go?”

I should’ve let the blond guy handle it. I don’t even know his name and I let him pressure me into enlistment. “I can’t work here anymore.”

He furrows his brow, “What’s wrong?”

“My brother let it slip I was working here. I’m in violation of child labour laws if I don’t quit now.”

“Under what law? They can’t force you to quit.”

“Apprently it’s only a violation if there are significant health risks, which includes being exposed to gasoline and oil.” I hand him the card he gave me, “He said you can take it up with him if there’s any problems.”

He glances it over before tossing it, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

I have no idea how I’m going to have this conversation with James. I mean, he already barely sees me at all, and we get no more than ten minutes to talk each day, but this is different. I’d have to live on the other side of the city, there'd be miles between us. James has never lived on his own before, I don’t know how he’d handle it.

I'll worry about it on the walk back home. I have bigger things to worry about at the moment, including telling my other boss that I can’t work for him anymore.

I cover my nose as soon as I step into the place. I hate the smell, it’s one thing I definitely won’t miss. It’s a mix of perfume and the kind of cologne only rich old men wear.

One of the girls at the front looks at me weird as I stand there, until I flash my badge at her, “You’re here early. Looking for an extra shift?”

“No. I need to see Daniels.”

She nods towards the door in the back, “Where he always is when he isn’t out here watching us.”

I know not to use her real name here, “Thanks Ellie.”

I force my nausea down and ignore the urge to flee as I cross the room one last time. I wonder if any of us would recognize each other in public without all the face coverings and the makeup.

I don’t even knock now, knowing it will elicit no response. He’s smoking a joint when I walk in and I cough as it hits me in the face.

Instantly I can see he’s high out of his mind, “What can I do you for, boy? You want a job?”

“I already work for you Daniels.”

“Oh-” he coughs, “Sorry, I don’t pay much attention to your faces.”

“Right. I just wanted to give you a heads up. I quit.”

“What?” instantly he sounds sober and he stands up, hands planted against his desk.

“I can’t work for you anymore, find another bitch.”

I throw my badge at his chest and leave, ignoring his protests behind me. I worked for this asshole for two years straight. I didn’t take breaks off for the holidays, didn’t take off for the weather or when I was injured from factory work. I did the worst job on the planet for two years straight to make enough money to support my little brother and I never want to think about any of it again. 

On my way out, I catch Ellie again, “Could you tell the other girls-”

“Go. Get out and don’t ever let me catch you within a mile of this place ever again.”

She’s not being malicious, there’s pain behind her eyes but it’s not accompanied by anger. She’s happy for me.

Walking away for the last time feels odd. It’s not quite like freedom, for I’m practically walking out of one prison into another, but at least the next one won’t leave such awful memories. 

James is shocked to see me home early, but he jumps up from the couch to tackle me with a hug. I usually never let him touch me after work, even though I don’t wear the same clothes all day. Maybe he knows because I don’t smell like alcohol.

“You’re home!”

He’s getting big, taller than I was at his age, but I still pick him up. Most kids around here end up short, their growth stunted by years of deprivation and illness. I guess we’re somewhat lucky in that aspect.

“Hey, bud.” I run my hand through his hair, “How was school?”

“Fine. Mrs. Banner was saying something about railroads but I don’t remember.”

“You gotta pay attention in school, bud,” I mumble, setting him down.

“Says you.”

That does it, I tackle him onto the couch, “Yeah, says me. I dropped out to keep you in, you little shit. Pay attention when your teacher talks about trains.”

He giggles and for the first time in a while there’s an actual smile spread across his face. He’s happy and I want to freeze this moment and replay it over and over again for the rest of my life instead of ruining it.

“Okay, okay! I’ll listen!” 

I let him up, still in a fit of laughter, “Why are you home early?”

“I quit.”

“What?”

“I quit my jobs.”

He grinned, “Really?”

“Yeah. We have all night, whatever you want to do.”

“Anything?”

“Jesus, you ask a lot of questions.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

"You asked to come up here. Yes, I’m sure it’s safe, I came up here all the time when you were little.”

“But I’m not little anymore, and neither are you. How do you know the roof won’t cave in?”

“It’s a roof. And mom used to take me up here way back before you were born. Do you want to see the city or not?”

He relents, watching intently as I pull myself up over the edge of the hole. 

James is bigger than I was at his age, but I have no problem lifting him up through the hole after all those hours of lifting car parts.

When I was little, I used to get mad when my mother would bring him up here with us. It was our thing, just her and I, and nobody could take that away. After she got too sick to lift herself, I used to climb up myself. I wasn’t tall enough, so I’d use my neighbors old boxes to get up. 

I started doing it a lot, whenever I knew Paris was coming over. Usually, he didn’t announce his visits, but I could almost sense when he’d be in the area. He’d notify my mother maybe twenty minutes before, and she could never hide it. She’d get all tired and sick looking, she looked as nervous as a man awaiting trial for manslaughter. 

It made him angry sometimes when he couldn’t find me, on those days when he’d slam the doors of his car and looked all red in the face, but she never revealed where I was. She’d tell him I was out playing with other kids and usually they’d leave it at that. He didn’t really like having me around anyway, and I knew by then the only reason he still came around was to be with her. I never understood why he hated me so much. I looked just like her as a child, had her eyes and before it got darker, her hair color. 

He usually only came over when he was drunk or angry. I always hoped he was drunk, because that meant there was a 50% chance he was angry, but also a 50% chance he just wanted to be with my mother. If that was the case, I’d make myself disappear after dropping James off at the neighbors. For whatever reason, he detested his younger son a little less, which was why I resented him for a few years. 

Eventually, she got so sick she could barely move around more than an hour without pausing to take a seat. Paris’ visits got more frequent by the end. He was so angry each time. Eventually, he told her to stop letting me leave before he came over. She begged me not to run when I saw his car pull up outside the window, even grabbed me by the elbow and held on as tight as she could. It wasn’t enough, she was too sick, and by eleven, I was too strong for her to hold on. 

She looked like she was on the verge of crying or just passing out by the time I made it to the door. I felt horrible, but the fear of my father was stronger. I knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He had before, but not as much since she’d gotten sick. If he had to take anything out, he’d look for me, and if he couldn’t find me, he’d go for the wall. I’d been terrified that he’d hurt my mother or James when I was younger, but after the tenth time he beat me and left the two of them unscathed, I cowardly started to hide when he’d come around.

I think he may have only wanted one punching bag specifically because I was more durable than the both of them. He loved my mother, and for the most part, that deterred him from slamming his fist into her face until she started getting sick. My brother was too young, and after years of watching him mistreat me, she was protective of him. He hated having to pay for it when he threw one too many punches. 

The first time he broke my arm, he’d just left. My mother had to beg him for two days straight to take me to the hospital because she couldn’t afford it and I couldn’t sleep or eat because of the pain. 

“I’ll tell him where you are!” She snapped, “He’ll be angrier if he has to go bet you himself than if you just stay put!”

That didn’t deter me either, so she made one last desperate attempt at keeping me in the house, “If you keep leaving, he’ll just go after your brother!”

My brother has always been my weakness. Even then, she knew I wouldn’t leave if I was worried about him, so I stayed. I ran into the bedroom where I knew he’d be sitting, playing with trains on the floor, and I waited.

After my mom died, I debated moving to a new building, just so he’d have no chance of finding us ever again, but I couldn’t really afford it. Moving apartments was enough.

The scene isn’t as pretty as I remember it. There are less stars because of how many lights pollute the sky. The view of the city is clouded by smoke and much of what used to be big skyscrapers is rubble. There's an ugly wall surrounding the city to fence us commonfolk in, but it’s home, and I love it all the same.

“Holy shit.” James looks up, starstruck.

“Watch your language.” I tell him, but I’m grinning from ear to ear all the same.

We stay there for hours. I press him about school, about friends, neighbors, trying to gauge if there’s anyone I can get to take care of him while I’m away. He’s happy to share as long as it keeps us both up here. I finally have the time to teach him how to play all the games I loved as a child, although he’s learned many from his classmates. 

Eventually, he ends up settling next to me and rests his head on my chest as I pull him closer. The sun has already set, and he watched it for hours, trying to point out constellations he learned about in school.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Then he moves his hand just an inch and it strikes me that this might be the last time I see my little brother in months. I’m leaving him behind, just like my parents left us both years ago. Sure, I barely see him anyway, but I still knew he was doing okay. I still wake up to hear him snoring softly across the room. 

“I’ve enlisted in the military.” I whisper, hoping he’s not actually awake, as much as it needs to happen.

His eyes open and he moves his head off my shoulder in an instant, looking up at me like he did when mom was dying as a toddler. It hits me in the chest and for a second I can’t breathe.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, we need the money. The warehouse won’t cut it anymore, I’m about to lose the apartment.”

Tears fill his big blue eyes and my heart skips a beat, “No!”

“James-” He pushes against me, slamming his hands against my chest when I won’t let go.

“No, you can’t! I can drop out, I-I’ll get a job! I don’t care if we lose the apartment, you can’t leave me!”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Let go of me!”

I relent, struggling to find some words to comfort him.

“You’re going to work for them? You’re leaving me? Just like dad? Just like mom?”

“I don’t have a choice! I’m not letting you freeze to death out here huddled up next to a goddamn dumpster James!”

“I hate you!”

“Fine! Fine, James. Go ahead and hate me, but you’re staying in school and I’m not hearing otherwise.”

He storms off to god knows where and my heart sinks. I had to go and ruin his day for what? Isn’t it better than him finding out when I don’t come home tomorrow?

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I still have to ask my neighbor, Benny, if she’ll look after him while I'm away. 

“You can’t stay up here, it’s not safe.”

“I’ll get down on my own.”

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You did it all the time when you were my age.”

He might be old enough for me to get away with the lie, “How do you think I broke all those bones?”

“I’m not stupid, Adam. I know it was him.”

“Dad left us before you were born, you know that.”

“I have the same teachers you did, and one of my friends' older brothers knew you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. All my childhood I tried as best I could to hide it from him, my mother too at first. I wore the shirts with long sleeves, the pants down to my ankles. If he hadn’t started aiming for the face I might’ve gotten away with it, although my mom found it odd that I wouldn’t let her help me get dressed or go to the bathroom before I was old enough to read.

“Come back here, please.”

It takes me ten minutes before I decide to just do it the hard way. He’s not hard to find hiding behind a pile of old bricks. 

“You can either listen to me, or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you back like a toddler.”

He glares at me, but allows me to grab his arm and lead him back. I go first, off the assumption that he won’t bolt the second I let go of his hand.

“Move out of the way.”

“You’re not big enough, I need to catch you.”

“I’m not coming down unless you move.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There's a tiny part of me that wants him to get hurt just a little on the way down, so he knows learns.

The walk back is silent. I’ll talk to Benny in the morning.

I stare at the ceiling, still wide awake as if I don’t have to worry about joining the goddamn army tomorrow, or today. I can’t see a clock to tell the time.

I’m just about to nod off when I start at the feeling of a hand pressed against my arm. I don’t move, just let him crawl into bed with me and get settled. 

“When do you leave?” He whispers.

“Tomorrow.”

He doesn’t say anything, just lays there until he passes out. I fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and the rise and fall of his chest against me.