Chapter Text
Valerie Heard was none too pleased to be sitting on the rickety old porch while waiting for Sophie to arrive.
Of course, she was thrilled to be getting out of that house, away from the demons who called themselves angels.
But she was getting quite tired of moving homes, and that part of her that foolishly hoped the next placement would be different was slowly fading away.
When the familiar rumble of the run-down (but still functional, somehow) car reached her ears, Valerie sighed and stood up. She grabbed her bag and opened the passenger side, tossing it to the back and buckling.
“Evenin’,” Sophie drawled, her voice raspy and rough from smoking too much.
Valerie hated the sound almost as much as she hated the smell that lingered.
“Hi, Sophie,” she said, even as the words tasted bitter in her mouth.
Sophie Tyr was in her early thirties, single, and more than a bit unsettling. She’d been Valerie’s social worker since she first entered the system though, and while Valerie had a lot more negative things to say about her than positive, she knew Sophie never intentionally hurt her. A small mercy, practically meaningless when it happened regardless of intent, but a mercy nonetheless.
More hippie than social worker, she wasn’t Valerie’s first pick (not that she got a choice, but had she, she figured Sophie would have been near the end of her list), but she was always willing to let Valerie sleep at her house instead of in her office. Valerie typically refused the offer, purely because while the office reeked of drugs, it was nothing compared to how Sophie’s home smelled.
Not to mention, Sophie had a dog, and Valerie didn’t have the best memories with… well, most animals, really.
“Awful quiet this time, ain’t ya?” Sophie jested.
Valerie forced herself to laugh. “Just thinking, Miss Tyr.”
“Thinkin’ ‘bout what?” Sophie pried.
“My next placement,” Valerie lied, not willing to admit she was once again doubting Sophie’s abilities.
“Ah.” Sophie went quiet, drumming her fingers on the wheel in a pattern Valerie couldn’t stand.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptaptap. Taptap. Tap. Taptaptap.
“Ah?” she repeated, furrowing her brows.
“Ah,” Sophie repeated. “‘Bout that…”
Anxiety gnawed on Valerie’s insides as she waited for Sophie to continue.
Instead, the woman reached over, pulled a cancer stick out of seemingly nowhere, and lit it.
“Sophie.” Valerie rarely used her first name, despite Sophie’s insistence it was fine.
“Hm? Oh, right. Yer placement. Well, doll, ‘member when we was lookin’ for info’mation ‘bout that brotha a yers?”
Valerie nods. When she first joined the system, she spent weeks insisting her brother was coming back for her, and to just wait.
They searched everywhere they could for a record of Davon Heard, but there was nothing, the same way no search could find Amanda Heard Jr. There were no birth certificates, no photos, nothing. The only evidence Valerie hadn’t made up her brother was the criminal record under the name Davon, but even that wasn’t enough information for them to track him down.
“Well, few weeks back, we got a hit. You was with that nice ol’ family, the Smithsons?”
Valerie nods again, biting back a comment on how the Smithsons were anything but nice.
“And, well, while y’all have no birth records or nothin’, we found a boy vaguely matchin’ the description you gave us. Crazy long rap sheet, but lotta those crimes match the ones Davon had, and while some details were diff’rent, we was pretty suspicious. Had a guy head down to check it out—doncha dare tell boss, or he’ll have our heads—and after talkin’ with the local fuzz, he found the kid has the same DNA as ya. He changed his name, but he’s yer brotha, all right.”
Valerie felt like she couldn’t breathe.
They had done it. They’d found Davon.
“You found him?” she gasped out.
Sophie nodded, blowing out smoke. “Yup. An’, as it turns out, jus’ in time! We’re all outta homes for you here too, so we was gonna go to anotha state anyway.” Sophie paused, clearing her throat. “Look, kid, I ain’t gonna lie to ya. Boss is tired of lookin’ for homes for ya. I know I ain’t exactly been doin’ too good findin’ ya places, but even I know that the group home he’s lookin’ at is someplace no one oughtta go ta, least o’ all a good kid like yerself. And, well, from what I heard, Tulsa ain’t a bad place, and if yer brotha don’t want ya, there’re plenty o’ people who would. A lotta ‘em have to foster kids ‘cause the court said so. One o’ ‘em was actually a nice young man who took custody o’ his brothas and agreed ta foster kids if needed so he could. If yer brother don’t work out, I already contacted the court there and they said you could stay with him.”
Valerie realized she hadn’t actually breathed in over a minute, and gulped down air. She was going to Tulsa.
She was going to Davon.