Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Memphis, Tennessee, July 25th, 1999

Michael sat back down on the soft red rubber seat next to the window the bus had. The bus also had those seats the opposite way so Michael made sure he was facing the way the bus was going so he would puke again.

There were three other foster kids that had come along with him plus their social worker. He only knew one of them though: Carly.

Carly and he had met a few months in their previous foster home, all the way back in Philadelphia. She and him hadn’t gotten along, they’d been complete opposites. Carly was loud and always let herself be known, while Michael was more reserved and preferred to stay out of things, it only made sense that they would but heads now and then. Until they found out that they had common interests and decided to get along neutrally before that neutral friendship became closer than just neutral.

Carly had his back, and he had hers.

The other two kids, one guy was sixteen and the other was a girl around eight or nine, weren’t from Philadelphia since they'd been picked up in Memphis and then in Nashville respectively. This should be the last stop before reaching Tulsa, so this was all of them. No matter what foster kids looked like, after spending half of their lives in the system, you know better than to assume that someone isn’t a threat.

Currently, neither Carly nor Michael knew if they would be put in the same house again, though both of them greatly hoped for it. It was better than being stuck with the two strangers or, worse, being alone. It was harder to defend yourself from a crackhead when you’re alone, weapon or no weapon.

”Can we know now where and who we’re going to be with now ?” Michael asked the social worker.

So far, whenever anybody’s asked such a question, the social workers revealed nothing other than being bossy and badgering, always using the excuse that everybody should be here first before revealing it. Michael’s just glad that he didn’t have to sit next to the social worker and was with Carly instead, while the two other kids sat next to each other and the social worker sat in a seat in the row parallel to them.

The social worker gave Michael a pointed look, one that would’ve made any normal kid back down, but after a decade in the system, the social worker’s glare on him looked like a cute puppy compared to the meaner and uglier looks he’d gotten from others beforehand.

The pointed look didn’t go away on the social worker's face, but the glare did as she started looking and turning through her pages.

“Carter will be with Molly Hill on 47th Road.” That must be the lanky and sleep-deprived sixteen-year-old, who simply nodded in agreement; Michael wondered what hole (in other words, basement) in Memphis he was dug up from. “Sarah will be staying with Jessica and Brandon Moore on Lacey Street.” The name of the street rang all kinds of rings, all that spelled out “rich” and “fancy”. It wasn’t a mystery. Sarah was a child and still cute-looking, of course, some people would want her over the angst of teenagers who may steal from them.

At least that would mean that Carly wouldn’t be so far from him, or they might even be in the same house for a little while.

”Carly will be with Erin Scott on Southern Street, and Michael will be with Maria Williams on Southern Street, too.” She finished, as secretly, Carly and Michael had held their fingers together as if they were hands in hopes of it. Now they both had small and subtle smiles at the news that they were at least on the same street

Michael nodded in acknowledgment.

Now, of course, after spending his whole life in the system, Michael had learned early on that you have to let people go because it’s just better that way. Don’t make strong bonds with those around you; you aren’t family, only kids stuck together. Alliances and truces were the most Michael had been given.

Maybe there was a small chance that Carly and Michael were a bit closer than from all the other mutual relationships Michael’s had before, but there was no point in putting too much hope into it. For now, Michael knew that Carly counted on him, and she knew that Michael counted on her.

From now on though, the train continued on its course to Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

For the last leg of the trip, Michael looked out at the window. Eventually, due to it being late in the evening, Carly would fall asleep on his shoulder, the blonde tips of her brown hair going from her ear to his shoulder. However, just before she had completely fallen asleep, Carly had tapped on the back of his neck three times.

It’d been a code they’d made up the third week of being in a friendship in Philly for whenever they slept close by anywhere. It was a sign that meant that the other hadn’t been knocked out or drugged or anything like that. It also meant that after an hour of sleep, Michael would wake her up and then she would have to be on guard as it would be his turn to sleep.

That’s what they did, and the social worker never batted an eye.

When Michael was still an innocent kid, his favorite thing in the world was trains. Getting anything related to the engine was enough to make his day good. Now after moving around from places like Chicago to New York City to Philadelphia and now to Tulsa, it really isn’t that exciting anymore. Now trains were just as mundane as a car to him.

As a young child, there were a lot of small and sometimes deemed weird things by others that he liked, like books, sketchbooks, and even going to church; something that soon ended as not every foster worker didn’t like doing. Now all Michael liked was fresh food of any kind, Carly, the switchblade a respectable guy had given him back in New York, and the small Bren ten he’d been given by the guy who’d “taken care” of him back in Philly.

The Bren ten gun was now in the small, donated by a stranger, dark turquoise Jansport backpack he’d been allowed to bring, not like he had much to bring anyway.

The hefty bag they all had was another thing entirely. Every single kid Michael has ever met had a hefty bag (in other words, a trash bag) where they would stash most of their stuff like court bears for the smaller kids whenever their parents would go through the reunification process—before falling flat on it at the worst possible moment—or just bring everything they possibly could. 

You haul your whole life in it practically.

There was a running joke practically everywhere Michael went: you could recognize a foster kid when you see a kid dragging a hefty bag around with their whole life in it

…

Yeah, not exactly the best joke.

After an hour of sleep, just as expected, Carly had woken Michael up after his hour of sleep. However, instead of taking her turn to sleep for the next, she nodded towards Carter, whose hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jean jacket.

Carter was a dealer.

After spending a lot of time in the system, Michael had been able to somewhat categorize the kind of dealers he’d come across. There were the drug dealers, who were self-explanatory, typically sold to the youngest ones who had no idea what it was, and older ones who already looked like they’d been hooked on stuff. Micheal never bought anything from them because he rarely ever had some sort of income and refused to spend the money he did have on drugs that weren’t medicine. Next were the contraband dealers, these varied by city but they generally sold movies (Michael wanted actual movies, not porn), CDs, music, candy, and the kind of stuff the foster parent wouldn’t allow in the house either because they were crazy or just didn’t care. And finally, there were the food dealers, who sold exclusive non-expired and fresh food, these were the people who usually scammed others because, sadly, not every kid knows what good fresh food looks like most of the time.

“How much do you got?” Carly whispered to him, making sure to keep Carter in the dark of her words.

”I got sixty bucks, you?” Michael whispered back to her.

“Fifty-five.” She replied, and then turned back to Carter, nodding to him. “So what you are?”

Carter looked at both Carly and Michael, then eyed the very much distracted social worker, before saying, “I got some music tapes—four AC/DC, two ABBA, one Madonna, three Bob Dylan, and five Michael Jackson.”

”How much does each tape cost?” Michael asked.

”For AC/DC, it’s gonna be nine bucks for each one. ABBA is four. Madonna is ten. Bob Dylan is seven. And Michael Jackson is eleven.” Carter said.

Michael and Carly looked at each other and then they looked back to Carter.

Carly raised her hand. ”Give us a moment.” And then started whispering again.

“Michael, I need those ABBA tapes,” Carly said. “I know for a fact that this Erin Scott isn’t gonna have shit from ABBA. If I’m going to be stuck under his house, I’m gonna need something. Wait.”

Quickly, Carly turned back to Carter. “Which ABBA songs do you have?” She asked.

”Dancing Queen and Slipping Through My Fingers.” Carter replied.

Carly looked back at him with a pleading look. “I’ll find you a place with good milkshakes and buy you one, regardless of the price, I promise.” She said lowly.  

Michael sighed, he never could turn down the promise of a good milkshake. “Fine. So, in total, that leaves us at one- o -seven.” Michael pondered his options for a moment. “I’ll take two of the AC/DC ones. Which songs of ‘em have you got?”

”I got Back in Black, Jailbreak, Highway to Hell, and T.N.T.”

”Mmh,” Michael carefully thought about it. “I’ll take Highway to Hell and Back in Black.”

”Eighty-nine in total left.” Carly said. “I’ll take forty five.”

”That sounds good to me.” barely a difference anyway, and if they do need something from each other, they can both be sure that they’ll be there for each other.

Carly and Michael looked back at Carter. “We’ll take the ABBA and two of the AC/DC ones.”

And a simple trade was over and done with.

Taking the hint, Carter nodded and backed. The social worker didn’t and wouldn’t know any better; Sarah wouldn’t know any better as she had fallen asleep a long while ago, probably back when Michael had been sleeping on Carly's shoulder.

Tulsa, Oklahoma, July 25th, 1999

Sometime later, the train had finally stopped in Tulsa. By that point, Carly and Michael had gotten enough sleep and now had four tapes in total, along with a lot of money left, to survive whatever hell hole they would be stuffed in for the next couple of months to possibly even a year.

Once they’d gotten out of the station, the social worker had gotten them inside a van, where there was another social worker in the driver's seat, and drove them to an office building. Michael’s eyes narrowed in confusion. This was all wrong. Usually by now, they’d be in either a neighborhood full of small and green valleys with two-story mansions, a house with a white picket fence with a blossoming garden, or a neighborhood with old and rusted houses that were not going to be the best households for kids.

 However, they weren’t there. They were at a Child Protective Services office building instead. Michael went up to the social worker and tapped on her shoulder. “Excuse me, miss?”

The social worker looked at him pointedly with her brown, hazel-like eyes. “Yes?”

”Aren’t ya’ supposed to be taking us to our foster homes as of right now?” Michael asked, making some distance between him and the social worker as they continued walking down the hall. Finally stopping once they reached a cubicle office, presumingly hers. 

The social worker went on the computer as she angrily typed on the keyboard. “There was a mistake in Carter’s place that I was only just notified of and now I need to reprint and officialize the papers all over again.” The social worker complained.

”Oh.” Good luck, I guess. Michael thought. He then walked away and joined Carly, who sat on those office rubber chairs placed by the corner of the room in every TV show; Carter and Sarah were already, too. Carter was counting how much money he had now and Sarah had her knees to her chest as she looked to the ground, somehow deeper in thought than most kids her age were.

Michael plopped down in the chair next to Carly. “Looks like we’re going to be here for a little while.”

Carly snickered. ”You reckon that’s enough for us to leave this dump and then come back in less than an hour? Get some snacks if their whackos we get stuck with starving us?”

Michael shook his head. “How do we get back in without getting yelled at by the social worker?”

”Oh, come on. That lady is a cute little itty bitty baby mouse compared to the assholes we’ve seen.” Carly countered.

“True,” Michael admitted. “Yet, we don’t know our way around Tulsa or who’s cool and who isn’t, and if we go stupid with this, we’re gonna get in some deep shit real quick, Carly.”

Then Carly hit him softly on the shoulder as she looked in a specific direction. “Hey, look at that. Over there.”

Looking in that direction, Michael could see the computer the social worker had been on was still turned on and, even more interestingly, the files on all four of them were open for anybody to read with just a few clicks of the mouse. 

Michael realized what Carly was suggesting to do when he looked back at her and all she had was a smug smile, or she had a grin instead depending on who you asked, on her face; the freckles on her cheeks almost disappeared.

”This is a horrible idea.” Michael immediately said.

”Come on, that old hag won’t be back in a while anyways, so let’s do something… productive in the meantime.” Carly argued. “Plus, a small peak won’t hurt.”

Michael contemplated it for a moment. It would be nice to see what the system had on him and what reactions to expect from the foster parents when they see that file. If they'll hate him or assume he’s a thief they’ll rob them and then book it.

Michael sighed sharply. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Carly and Michael looked around the room, it was obvious that Carter and Sarah wouldn’t snitch, and kept a lookout for the other fellow social workers as they answered calls and were glued to their computer screens in their cubicle office. 

Since the cubicle office that was their target was only across the hall from them, it was easy to get in unnoticed. Carly took hold of the mouse. “Okay, let’s see.” And with a few clicks of the mouse, they were in Carly's file.

Full Name: Carly Garcia

Age: 14

Sex: Female

DOT: June 8th, 1985

Native State: Illinois

Background: Mother (Patricia Garcia; maiden name Martinez) was murdered by Nicholas Garcia (currently serving life without parole in a mental institute in Chicago) in 1993. Carly’s grandmother was from her mother’s side (Jennifer Martinez) and took care of Carly until she died of a heart attack in 1994. Carly has been in the system ever since. No address for either one can be given.

Notes from previous foster parents:

• Loud, kept stealing my music tapes.

• Bratty and loud.

• Will steal and possibly become a cult-leader

• A lot to handle.

”Okay, I’m done reading.” Carly said as the remaining five notes or so were read by Michael, causing him to laugh.

“Well, at least you know now. You know, I’m surprised you’re not so surprised by your family’s history here.” He said, causing Carly to shrug.  

“Not the first time I was able to see what they put in my file. Saw it all the way back when I was in Albany.” Carly replied. “Just annoying how stupid my previous foster parents have been is all. As for my pops? I don’t know, maybe one day I’ll just give the old man a visit. See why he killed my mom and all.”

Michael put a hand on her shoulder, a small smile on his face. “If we still know each other by the time that happens, I’ll be there with ya’ every step of the way.”

A smile formed on Carly’s face, causing the freckles on her cheek to disappear. “Thanks, Michael.”

Michael turned to the computer next. “Alright, let’s see mine now, I guessed.” He said, taking a deep breath as he felt the cold anxiety crawl up his spine.

Full Name: Ponyboy Michael Curtis

“‘Ponyboy’?” Carly reiterated. “That’s your name? How come I never knew?” She questioned.

Michael sighed. “People already think we foster kids are dirty animals. I’m not gonna go around sayin’ my name is a fucking horse of all things. If I ever meet my folks, I have to know why they named me that of all things.”

Carly nodded understandably so. ”You know, you can always change it when you’re eighteen.”

”That’s the plan.”

Age: 14

Sex: Male

DOT: July 22nd, 1985

Native State: Oklahoma

“Well damn, guess we’re going for a visit back to your home state, huh?” Carly said, faking and exaggerating a "southern cowboy" accent. “Say, you got your cowboy hat and boots on?”

Michael scrunched his nose. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” Carly laughed in response.

Background: Mother (Elizabeth Curtis) and father (Darrel Curtis Sr.) were reported on August 9th, 1985, by their neighbor on the charges of extreme parental neglect. Sodapop Curtis (currently 16) and Darrel Curtis Jr. (currently 17) were also transferred to foster homes in both Oklahoma City and Tyrone, Oklahoma, respectively. However, unlike his older brothers, both Sodapop and Darrel have been returned to Elizabeth and Darrel Curtis in both 1986 and then in 1987. The family still lives on Southern Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Michael’s eyes went wide as he took a step away from the computer, yet his eyes stayed glued to the computer screen. Specifically to the last two or so sentences.

”Hole shit,” Carly said, as she read over the words on the file.

Holy shit indeed. 

His parents, his biological parents, lived on the same street as he did. Now what were the chances of that? The answer was close to nothing, zero, absolutely nothing, and yet it had happened. Not only that but they were alive and completely accessible to him by just walking down the street. Furthermore, he had two older brothers who… were already home for years now while he was still trying to survive out here in the streets.

Michael started to feel light in his head and felt his eyes get wet.

“Michael? You good?” Carly asked calmly, slowly approaching him, worry and concern in her voice.

Before Michael could even think of an answer, they both heard the click of heels approaching the cubicle. Of course, they’d heard other heels come by and nothing happening, but those would grow loud and then quiet as the person walked further and further away from them, however, these weren’t doing that. Instead, they just kept getting louder and louder.

Michael and Carly looked at each other, knowing exactly what to do next. So they zoomed right out of the cubicle office and back to the office rubber seats they’d left a bit earlier. Carter and Sarah were still there, Carter finally being done counting the money he now had as he placed his hands behind his head Sarah now looked like she’d fallen asleep now.

As the two fourteen-year-olds sat back down and tried to look like they were there the whole time, normally bored as they waited. Michael caught a glance at Carly, who had that face on again, the face that told him they were going to talk later on. Michael bit his tongue in frustration, a common habit of his that he’d developed early on. Then he realized that he didn’t even get to finish reading his file as he wasn’t able to read the notes written about him from his previous foster parents. Damn it.

By the time the social worker was back with new files in her hands, she knew no better than to think all four children had been there the whole time as she turned the computer off and walked them out of the building and into another van.

Inside the van, Carly and Michael had purposely gone to the two seats in the back row as Sarah and Carter sat in the first row, and now there were two social workers, one a driver and the other being the lady they’d been stuck with the whole time. 

“The parents who were going to take Carter canceled at the last minute.” The social worker told them. “So he’ll be on River Road with the Fords instead.” 

Five minutes into the drive, they were already in the kind of neighborhood with green grass and two-story mansions. Sarah would be dropped off here to hopefully a picture-perfect family that someone her age could live the rest of their lives easily.

Michael was looking out the window as the van drove through the streets of Tulsa, trying to see how this city kind of worked in a way. Michael wasn’t exactly a fan of cities like this one, he’s been surrounded by them his whole life and didn’t have the best memories with them. The few good ones he had most were recent with Carly in Philadelphia (like when they stole that old man’s money and went around to the local mall, even went into a photo booth, photos they’d split evenly. Sure, they’d gotten an earful, no food for a week, but still worth it) or those few and rare times his previous foster siblings would help him out. If he were forced to pick a favorite, his favorite foster sibling would be his technically former sister Carly. If he was forced to pick a second, it would be from that guy he met while in Brooklyn, the one who gave him the Bren ten he still had in his bag.

A gun only Carly knew about.

If there was a place Michael could go to without question, it would be the countryside, where he wouldn’t have to think about what crackhead he’ll end up with next, won’t ever have to worry about money, the chance that he won’t have a meal for a day, and the one place in the world where he’ll be able to sleep without a switchblade under his pillow.

No, instead, in the country Michael could lie under a tree, an olive one, and read a clean book or draw a picture with a pencil that wasn’t half the size of his finger, and not worry about hunger or about the next crackhead he’ll end up with up, or get unlucky one day where he would get hooked on drugs. Michael would have a yeller cur dog, just like that one neighbor had in Chicago, except it wouldn’t be so mean looking or half-starved, but have beautiful golden hair as she or he ran through the countryside lushes green grass. Carly would have every album and song ABBA would ever make without the worry of them being broken in retaliation again. Since he was making up a fantasy world, in the countryside, neither Carly nor he would have to worry or concern themselves about crackhead adults. Carly and he could run around with their dog (Carly would probably name him or her as she talked now and then about owning a dog) around the green grass fields before stargazing into the beautiful, clear night sky. Hell, because he was dreaming, maybe, just maybe, that one guy from Brooklyn could join in and see the good in the world.

A thought then occurred to Michael that he should start referring to the guy by his name instead. Maybe D— 

“…So, what are you gonna do now?” Carly asked him curiously, snapping him right out of his thoughts.  

 Michael took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Turns out, I have two older brothers and my parents still live in the same house after all these years, married with two of their kids who they got back only a few years after. The last one was in 1987, a whole twelve years ago. And within that time, they could’ve gotten me, too, you know.”

”Heh, I may have a skeleton and a crazy guy for parents. But I’m pretty sure you don’t just dump a kid when you don’t like ‘em.” Carly said. “If you’re a parent anyway.” She added.

Michael shook his head. “No, maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong.”

“How’s that?”

”I don’t know. There’s gotta be another reason. We both know how fucked up and messy the foster system is. Maybe there was a mistake and my parents are still waitin’ for an answer.” Michael explained. “They don’t know I’m going to be here, I could get to know them.” Michael could feel the hope in him rise as he looked at Carly's concerned face.

Michael could tell she was concerned, although she would never admit it. After spending so much time with her, it's easy to tell that she was, the way her eyes had gone big and round, the way her mouth bit into a straight line, and the way her fingers would start rubbing back and forth on whatever was closest.

”I don’t know, Michael. If there’s one thing we can be sure about adults, is that they’re confusing and inconsistent as hell, man. How can you be so sure that they actually love you?” Carly said, bluntly, but it was just a way of showing her concern, it’d taken Michael a little while to figure that out.

Michael thought about it for a moment. “Well, then… how about this: I will try to meet them and act like I know nothin’, that I’m just the new kid on the block, and see what kind of information I can get out of them if they’re good or bad or maybe somewhere in between and then I’ll make my decision.”

Carly looked at him. “You serious?”

Michael nodded firmly. “Very much so.”

Carly's hand went through her hair as she sunk back into her chair and looked ahead. ”Carter and Sarah are gone. It’s anyone’s guess which one of us is next.” Her attempt to change the subject was fruitless.

Michael gave her a look that said ‘Just tell me what you think before I do something stupid and reckless’.

Carly sighed. “I’ll be there when you call, just be careful.” Then she looked out the window and her face only hardened once she took one good look at the neighborhood. When Michael looked out, he could see what she saw: dirty and old one-story houses with wire fences, some with dogs barking in the yards, thousands of cigarettes in the gutters, and everyone who was outside with their heads down and hair greased.

By now, though, it was already getting late and the sun had already started setting, so the darkness was most likely concealing small yet important details.

Yep, they were definitely not in the best area for a loving family, more in a gang area. What a surprise.

By the time the van stopped again, they were in front of a dirty red two-story (surprisingly) house with a wire fence. The social worker, the one who’d been with them since the train, looked behind her and straight at them.

”Ponyboy—”

” Michael .” She promptly ignored him.

“This is your stop. You get out now only.” What was the foster parents' name again? Marie? Marrón? Michael though. Oh right, it was Maria Williams.

“Hold on, isn’t my stop on this street, too? Can’t I just get out with him?” Carly asked, it would make it easier to know in which house specifically they would be now.

”Standard procedure.” The social worker said flatly as Carly clicked her tongue in frustration. 

Michael sighed as he clicked the seatbelt off and then looked at Carly before giving her one last handshake and a side hug as he got out of the car with his bag. However, right as they were side-hugging, Michael had snuck his switchblade into her pockets because, while he had a gun, she didn’t have much to defend herself with. Right as he left, Michael looked at Carly and knew that she knew when she nodded gratefully to him despite this being their plan in the first place.

You could hear the wood creaking as the social worker went up the steps and walked on the porch, even when the social worker knocked on the wooden door.

“They’re here!" Shouted a young (most likely a child) voice from inside the second the social worker knocked on the door. Michael gripped the straps of his backpack even tighter.

The earliest moment Michael could vividly remember of a foster family was in New York when he was seven, before that, he knew he had been in Chicago, the first city he was in as a foster kid (there were three, four now kind of, Chicago, New York City, Philadelphia, and now Tulsa). So, yeah, he’d been incredibly nervous when he was in some sort of middle-class neighborhood because back then he still looked like a cute kid.

The folks had been nice and it was the first time he had foster siblings, being alone in a foster home is the worst thing that can happen to you, so it was nice to have a warm bed and meal and some gifts, like his first sketchbook which he still had. In fact, it was with those folks that he found his love for reading and writing, hobbies he still had to this day. 

Until the adults thought they were too much and it was back to being with crackheads and assholes.

Even after all these years, it still kind of hurts being unwanted by such nice people. It was a wound Michael could never truly be rid of, and that was something he had accepted about himself a while ago: that he was too much of a curse, a burden for people to care about.

A standard truth foster kids had to accept in his eyes anyway.

Now all he did in a new house was look around for clues about what these people would be. Would they ignore him or would they make him work or would they actually try to be a family and then dump him by saying that he’s too much to deal with?

The door opened to reveal a short woman wearing skinny jeans and a white tank top. She had curly auburn hair—similar to his, except his hair was a more reddish-brownish kind of hair. Plus, it was way less curly than hers. 

“Hey, I'm Maria," Maria said as she forced a smile and shook his hand.

Maria looked around to be mid-forties, with dark brown hair that's been cleaner on brighter days and dark almond brown eyes. She had on a striped blue and black sweatshirt and casual jeans.

“Michael." He said flatly, as they finished shaking hands. He was not going to let his guard down at all.

The social worker beside him just sighed and looked at his watch. “Ma'am, I'm on a tight schedule right now. Can we hurry this along?" The social worker asked. “I still have one more kid to drop off.”

Maria put on another fake smile, and this one was even more obvious than the last. 

“Well then, come on in, Michael." She said as she gestured for me to come in.

Michael shrugged his shoulders and walked past her and entered the house as the social worker got out some papers to sign. 

Inside the house, it was a complete mess. There were cigarette boxes everywhere, empty liquor bottles, trash, broken glass, and a bong sitting in plain sight on their coffee table.

These people were the slob kind. The smell can't even be described because of how god-awful it smelled. Internally, Michael wondered if they had a meth lab in the basement. He’s heard of how kids got stuck with meth dealers and became sellers. He has been lucky so far, so it wouldn't be so surprising for that to end.

“Alright have a good day," Maria said as she closed the door, or more like she slammed it closed that the hinges almost broke off themselves.

With one hand in his pocket and the other holding on to his hefty bag as it slung over his shoulder, Michael walked into the living room as the TV was still on and playing a soap opera.

“Fuckin dumb ass old man telling me how to raise a goddamn child," Maria muttered as she walked past Michael and gave him a kind of look that said she was angry at everything despite that thing not being the problem. “Brandy, get your ass in here!" Great, Maria had a boyfriend or something that the social worker neglected to tell him about.

So far, not so good. What was wrong with this lady?  

"Jesus, Ah'm coming!" A man yelled as he walked down the circular metal staircase, someone who Michael assumed was Brandy.

"Meet the new kid." Maria yelled from the kitchen, "Horseman or somethin stupid like that. I got to work, deal with him." Instinctively, Michael’s hand went to his bag to the specific part where the gun was.

Brandy rolled his eyes at her and then walked over to me.

“Hey, I'm Brandy." He said as he shook my hand. The man’s hair was a mess, like a rat's nest but then that would make the rat nest into a masterwork of art from the Renaissance. 

“Michael." He replied with a small fake smile.

“Sick man,” Brandy said in response for whatever reason because last checked, Michael is a normal name. "Come on, I'll show you to your room" Nah, Brandy’s just most likely high on something.

The layout of their small house was weird. The bottom floor has a living room and a kitchen. Then there was a small metal flight of stairs that led you to the upstairs, where there were two bathrooms and three bedrooms. 

"Here it is," Brandy said as he gestured for me to go into his new bedroom for the next year or two, or if he was lucky, a couple of months.

Michael walked into the tight space, it was barely big enough to fit a twin bed. The bed he had now itself was fine, at least it had a frame and mattress now, it was vertically from the door and pushed to the left wall. Meanwhile, there was a window facing straight out into the front streets with a wooden desk with a wooden chair right next to it. At least the foster parents had the slight decency to give him some blankets for his bed and lamp desk.

An old lamp desk, but a lamp desk nonetheless.

“It's not much, but it works," Brandy said. "Anyway it's late, you should get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, tomorrow we’ll tell you how things work around here and how work will be administered and all that crap." 

Then Brandy closed the door to his new room before another word could be uttered.

Michael sighed and then threw himself on the wooden chair as he finally took off his backpack and hefty bag and laid it against the side of the desk. A hand went through his hair as he looked around his room. The walls were old to the point where the paint was starting to peel off in some spots. The fan was a nice touch. Next to the door was a closet with white doors that had seen days where they didn’t look yellow. Looking out the window didn’t show much either, just street lamps and a different perspective to the outside of the other houses on the street. Maybe this view had a good view of the sunset.

Michael would have to find that out tomorrow though.

  Distantly, as he looked out the window, Michael wondered which house his parents and brothers lived in.

  Michael’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud sound of glass breaking from downstairs.

"Fuck you!" Yelled Maria. 

"Shut up!" Brandy yelled back "Fuck do you think you know? All you do is sit on your ass smokin' pot all fuckin day!"

Oh shit, they’re fighting already?

Usually, whenever his foster parents fought, Michael would just leave and not come back for a few hours. Back in Philadelphia, Carly and he would leave and look for something fun to do in the meantime. Back in Brooklyn, Michael would just stay out on the porch or the balcony or the roof or sometimes the local library every time he could. He was too young to remember how it went for him in Chicago, though it couldn't have been good people with him if he had moved to another city like New York.

That’s what he did when it was summer.

During the school months, he didn’t worry about it much since he would spend most of it in school whenever the foster parents argued. If they were arguing when he got back, he would just go to the library until it closed, and if they were still fighting even then, Michael would have no choice but to either risk going to his room and blockading the door or to go to a neighbor’s or another adult he trusted enough to crash at their place for the night.

That last one was very rare though, so most of the time he would just be reading, writing, drawing, and studying, especially in his time in Brooklyn and the short period before he met Carly. That would kind of explain how a foster kid like him got smart enough to skip a whole grade and be able to take AP and honor classes in freshman year, scoring excellent grades and getting a five on each AP exam he took.

By no means did any of that completely stop with Carly though, if anything, she started doing better in school when she met him and bothered to show up more because she knew she would be having a better time there than out on the streets where she could get kidnapped.

Eh, who knows? Maybe an excuse he can have now is that he’s tutoring a student from his school whenever Maria and Brandy decide to fight again: Carly.

  As the shouting and throwing of objects continued, Michael got up from the chair and looked out the window. yeah, it would be very easy to go on the small roof over the porch and just run across the streets. He was a fast runner, after all, barely anybody could catch up to him.

Michael shook his head though.

 He just arrived in Tulsa today, he doesn’t know what the rules here are m where to go, where it's safe, and where it’s guaranteed death for you. Additionally, he does need to start unpacking his things.

So, instead of doing that, Michael grabbed the wooden chair and planned to blockade the door, there was a soft knock on his door. The yelling was still happening downstairs so this wasn’t Maria nor Brandy, so this was someone else.

Michael got the gun out of his bag and pressed himself against the wall from the door, his right hand carefully and quietly taking hold of the door handle and the other behind his jacket on the handle of the gun.

If these people were drug dealers, who knew what kind of people would be in their houses?

Slowly, Michael opened the door and then placed his second hand close to the gun for a better aim in case he needed to shoot them.

Michael had been looking up, expecting someone taller and older, instead, they were around five feet shorter and much younger than he expected.

Two big curious green eyes looked up at him. “Are you my new brother?” She asked as she quietly closed the door behind her.

Carefully, Michael put the gun in his pocket as he got closer to the girl. She had dirty blonde curls and looked to be around eight or ten, Sarah’s age. Bastards already had a kid of their own, whether or not she was another foster child like him or not was something he couldn’t exactly tell. The only difference was that this little girl had a tooth gap between her two front teeth.

Michael shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so. What’s your name?” He asked.

“Lauren.” She said flatly, she’s definitely seen some things around these parts.

“Hey, Lauren, I’m Michael.” He said a small smile on his face. “What brings you to my room? Other than to meet your new brother, of course.”

Lauren’s eyes went back to being dead and silent as she slowly looked out the door where one could hear the muffled yelling of Maria and Brandy Williams from downstairs, at least the sound of objects being thrown around and the shattering of glass had stopped.

“Oh.” Was all he could say, then an idea came to him. Michael opened his hefty bag got out one of the court teddy bears he’d gotten, back when the middle-class folks deemed him being "too much", and gave it to Lauren. “Do you know who this is, Lauren?”

Lauren softly shook her head as his hands gently gripped the bear plushie.

”Well, this is Mister T. Whenever I get sad, scared, or lost, I would always hug him and it would make me feel so much better.” Michael told her softly. Honestly, he would’ve given her his pair of Walkman's so that she wouldn’t have to hear those two fights, but he wasn’t exactly sure if those songs were for her age.

When Lauren tried to hand the bear back, Michael didn’t take it back. “No, this is yours to keep.” 

”But what will you do when you’re thad now when I have Mithter T?” She asked. 

Looks like she had a lisp, too.

“Then I’ll just come and hug you, is that okay?” Michael asked, plus, he had a few more bears in his hefty bag anyway.

Lauren icky smiled, probably for the first time in a while, too, and hugged Mister T tightly with both her arms against her chest. “Okay.” She replied happily.

Then a thought occurred to Michael concerning Lauren, a rather important one. “Lauren, have you had dinner yet?”

The house was sloppy and a mess, he didn’t need a college degree to figure those two things out. Not only that, but the foster parents were crackheads, preferring to yell and shout and throw things at each other rather than take care of their own daughter. Additionally, they had willingly signed up to have another kid in the house who they also weren’t going to take care of and instead exploit for their gain it seemed. It wouldn’t surprise Michael in the slightest if the only reason they’d gotten him was to deal with Lauren and do work for them.

Usually, Michael would see the other kids spite their foster parents for not doing what they had been signed off on, like cooking or cleaning. Michael had done the same thing before, however, this was a whole other situation. This was a child, and in no way should a child have to lose their childhood just because of an incompetent parent.

Not like he lost his.

Lauren lightly shook her head. “I tried to athk Mom what wath for dinner, but she jutht told me to go to my room and eat thomething there.”

So if Maria and Brandy won’t be there for their child, then Michael will gladly take their place.

“You wanna go get something to eat.” The only problem is that Michael is new to Tulsa and doesn’t know where one could go get a cheap dinner for two—now, one child. But Lauren could know. “We can go to your favorite restaurant.”

Lauren had jean overalls on with a yellow bumblebee shirt, the only thing she needed was her shoes and she’d be ready to go out. Maybe she’d need a hat, too, now that he thought about it. Much preferably a baseball cap.

“Really?” Lauren asked, her smile growing wider.

Michael nodded. “Of course.” And that seemed to set her off as she started jumping up and down while holding on to Mister T’s hand as if he were her best friend.

”Wait, how will we get there? Mom always taketh her car to go there when we can.” Lauren said.

Michael looked out the window. “I have an idea.” 

“Then I trust you!” This part may have almost concerned Michael the most, what kind of child with these kinds of parents trusted so easily? Lauren was lucky he wasn’t a drug dealer or worse, a pedophile. That kind of person would’ve already gotten her hooked on something and already given her errands to run in the morning.

”But first,” Michael said. “Go put on your shoes and get your jacket on, it’s cold out, I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

Lauren left his room running and giggling, yet eerily quiet for a child her age shouldn’t be.

Once Lauren was back, Mister T. in her hands, Michael had found a NASA baseball cap he’d been given for a class field trip in Brooklyn. It was for Lauren, just in case anything went wrong. Michael would be fine.

See, back in Brooklyn, the cool guy who’d taught Michael all his tricks had stolen him a cool jacket with a hood just before he left.

The jacket was blue and red, the whole topside being blue and the down part being red and both sides were separated by a white line while the hood was also white. Back then, it’d been too big for it to fit on his properly. That had been intentional on his part, it was so it would last longer for him. Even now the jacket was a bit too big on him, though it was much more wearable now than before, so he looked kind of mysterious when he wore this jacket and put the hood over his face, which would cover most of his face at an angle.

”Are you ready?” Michael asked Lauren as she put her NASA cap on.

She nodded eagerly. “Ready!”

Before leaving, Michael had turned off the light and placed the chair on the handle of his door, so that the foster parents wouldn’t be able to steal from him.

Michael was the first one to get outside and stand on the roof, testing whether or not it was safe. Once he deemed that it was, he gave a nod to Lauren who was climbing out of the window on her with Michael hovering his hands around her, however. The next part may be the hardest though.

”Let me go first.” Michael told her. “Wait here.” 

It would’ve been easier to carry her, but there was no way that Michael would be able to carry her and properly get down from the roof without at least twisting an ankle first.

Michael carefully walked down the roof, almost slipping once, before grabbing the edge of it with both arms and then swung down to the side of the porch like a Spider just barely hovering over the wood of the porch—even from outside, he could clearly hear Maria don Brandy still fighting from inside—and then he let go from the roof and safely landed on the ground.

Michael then looked up. “Now you go.”

”But what if I fall, Michael?” Lauren cried.

”You won’t!” Michael told her. “And if you do, I’ll be here to catch you, I promise!”

After a minute or so, Lauren finally started walking towards the edge of the roof, bending her knees and churching downwards to maintain her balance just like she’d seen Michael do. She almost slipped many times, but was always lucky enough to not fall right off.

Carefully, Lauren’s tiny fingers gripped the roof, Mister T. was still in her hand, and gripped the wood tightly as she started swinging to go back down to the porch, However, Lauren slipped and lost her grip on the roof, but Michael caught her just in time.

”See? I promised that I’d catch you.”

For that, she hugged him tightly. Almost like she was dependent on him and on nobody else.

No, not almost, she was dependent on him.

Later on, Michael found himself writing in line inside Lauren’s favorite restaurant: Dominoes. A pizza place. 

The place was two blocks away from the house and because it was still summer the place was full of people. The good thing was that the pizzas themselves were a fair price. So at least now the two of them could eat instead of it just being Lauren.

”So, Lauren, what do you want?” Michael asked once they were nearing the cashier.

”Mmmh, I want cheethe.” She replied.

”Okay, yeah, I can afford that.”

A couple of minutes later, Michael and Lauren were sitting down at a small table with their medium-sized cheese pizza.

Lauren was eating the pizza like a horse, almost burning her tongue on her first slice because she was so hungry that she forgot to at least blow on the slice first. On the other hand, Michael ate slowly though and actually blew on his first slice so that it wouldn’t burn on his tongue.

“So, Lauren,” Michael said. “Do you know anybody called Elizabeth Curtis or Darrel Curtis?” He asked her.

Lauren thought about it for a moment, Mister T. was on her lap as she chewed on her fifth slice of pizza, then she nodded her head cheerfully. “Yeah, I know ‘em, they live two houses across from us.”

”Is there anythin’ you can tell me about ‘em?” Michael continued. “The good folks? Do they ever mess around? That kind of stuff.”

Lauren nodded again. “Yep, They’re nice. Thomtimeth they like to give me a piece of the chocolate cake. It’th good, real good.” Alright, so far, so good… maybe a little bit too good.

Michael took a deep breath.

For practically his whole life, Michael’s never had somebody looking out for him. Sure, maybe the rare and occasional nice family, however, it never took too long for them to leave. Other than that, he’s only had Carly and the cool guy from Brooklyn really looking out for him, Carly lasting longer than the other guy. Usually, in the movies and shows Michael’s watched, older siblings are either protective of the younger ones or outright annoyed by them (before getting over that ‘phase’ and loving them unconditionally), so he’d like to know which category Darrel Junior and Sodapop were going to be in.

“I don’t talk to them a lot, but they’re nice, they alwayth wave back at me with a thmile when I wave at them!” She added as she stuffed the slice of cheese pizza in her mouth.

Michael nodded. The information wasn’t much to go off on, it was kind of nothing actually. “Who? Darrel Jr. or Sodapop?”

Lauren thought about it for a moment, leaning back in her chair as she was finally done eating for the night. Michael knew that he wouldn’t be eating more than two pizzas for the night, he’s not used to having too much food, so they could take it back to the house and put it in a fridge or something depending on how that was. 

“Mothly Thodapop, but Darry waveth back to me thometimeth, too,” Lauren replied.

Michael nodded, guessing that "Darry" was a nickname for Darrel Jr. “Do you know anybody called Erin Scotts?” This would be the man who Carly would be with.

“Are we playing twenty-one quethtionth?” She asked lowly.

Michael shrugged his shoulders. “We can if you want to.” If he was going to be her older brother, then he needed to know more about her. That probably should’ve been his first action.

She smiled and then asked excitedly, “How old are you?”

Michael smiled softly. “I’m fourteen, turned just three days ago to be exact.”

Lauren gasped. “Tho your birthday wath on the twenty-thecond?”

Michael nodded.

”Awww, I mitehd it.” Lauren said sadly.

”It’s okay. You just met me today. it ain’t ya’ fault, you hear?” 

Lauren slowly nodded.

”Alright, uh, my turn. How old are you?”

”I’m eight.” Lauren replied, her cheerful nature coming back out again, her smile showing her tooth gap.

“Uhm, what’th your favorite color?” Lauren asked.

Michael didn’t have a favorite color. “Uh, my favorite color is gold. What about yours?”

”Mmmh, mine ith orange! It’th alwayth in the thky when the thun ith in the eatht and wetht.”

”Yeah, that’s a very beautiful color, Lauren.”

A couple of minutes later, the two kids left the pizza place with a warm box of leftover pizza in their hands.

The rest of their walk home was filled with Lauren holding his hand tightly and telling him all about her, the things she liked, the things she disliked, those kinds of things. Michael simply just listened, sometimes putting out the things he liked or didn’t like, though ever becoming the main talker in their somewhat one-sided conversation.

As they were walking down Southern Street, Lauren momentarily stopped talking and pointed to an old, yet still-standing one-story blue house from across the street. “That’th them, the Curtith’th.” She told him.

Michael stopped dead in his tracks as he looked towards the home. The house was surrounded by a fence and green and yellow grass, and the wood on the porch was long overdue for retirement as though even the tiniest of splinters could be seen because of the lights still on inside.

Inside…

Which meant that the Curtis household was still up and awake at this time. Michael thought about what was going on there, if it was just another normal family dinner, if their two sons had done something remarkable at school and they were celebrating that instead, or maybe it was a birthday. Michael would’ve liked to have his fourteenth birthday with his real parents and brothers.

Michael wondered if he should go up to the house, knock on the door, and tell his family that their youngest son had finally returned home after being a decade in the system and crackhead homes and rejected by others over and over again. Would they be surprised? Reject him because they thought he was a prankster? Or reject him because they simply didn’t want him back and just their eldest sons rather than their youngest.

Michael wondered how his life would’ve been had he just never been put in the system and had grown up here. He definitely wouldn’t have been the same, but it would’ve been nice to never have to worry about getting a hot meal or a warm bed or whether or not the next person you’d be handed off to would be worse than the last. 

Then he glanced over to what appeared to be Erin Scotts’ house, the place where Carly was right now, and realized that without being in the system, he would’ve never met Carly or the cool guy from Brooklyn, and that stopped his train of thought indefinitely… for that night at least.

Chapter Text

Tulsa, Oklahoma, July 26th, 1999

The next morning, Michael woke up early, instinctively, just as the sun was rising. You had to develop that skill quickly unless you wanted to find something “fun” in the morning, however. Last night, he’d hastily organized his clothes in the closet after he and Lauren climbed the roof again to get back up to his room.

Michael still kept most of his personal belongings in his bag, like his sketchbooks, composition books that included notes from classes he deemed important for future classes, two pencils, one half-dead eraser, the music tapes he bought yesterday, and walkers, which were now under the mattress after he made sure that there weren’t any big bugs anywhere. 

That morning, he put on a loose ashy red jacket he hadn’t worn the previous night, over a short-sleeved, blue and white, buttoned-up shirt over a plain short-sleeved white shirt, and a pair of jeans along with the donated red running shoes from Philadelphia, which were so worn out that they were falling apart at the seams.

Classic fashion from most of the places he grew up in.

Michael looked out his window and enjoyed the sunrise, with its bright shades of red, orange, and yellow, as a large bright dot peered out from the front neighbor's rooftops. It hurt his eyes a bit whenever he looked directly at it, it hurt way less whenever he looked at sunsets though. Though he never felt safe looking at those like he could with sunrises.

After all, everybody was awake at sundown, at least during sunrises he could be sure that there were very few people awake or not reeling from a hangover. Whatever meant less danger for him.

He quickly fixed up his hair to look less messy enough with his hand since he didn’t have a proper hair comb before going downstairs, where there was nobody there but him. Seeing this, Michael took full advantage, he brushed his teeth for the full two minutes. He would’ve showered had there been a third towel. The fourteen-year-old decided to wake Lauren up to get her ready for whatever this day had in store for them.

If memory serves right, Brandy had told Michael yesterday that this morning was when they would tell him how things worked around here. 

In the meantime, however, Michael opened the fridge and saw containers upon containers of leftovers, whether that was mac n’ cheese or some kind of soup he didn’t recognize and wouldn’t dare touch. Instead, just to be safe, Michael got out the box of pizza from the night before and heated that on a plastic plate for Lauren, one slice for each.

An hour later into the morning, Maria had finally gone downstairs, but by then Lauren was watching cartoons on the TV while Michael had made himself comfortable on the rubber brown couch reading Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. He’d gotten the book back on his eleventh birthday in Brooklyn by Dally, who’d “borrowed” it, as he always told him. The pages by now were kind of dirty and the corners were a bit bent after being stuffed in his bag for all these years.

It’s not like Michael had taken almost seven years to finish a single book, especially one that was so easy to read. It’s just that this was the only book that was truly his. He’d protect it with his life, plus the story’s good. If he wanted to read something new, which was almost always the case, he’d often go to whatever school he’d be in once August started and go to their library every chance he got. If they don’t have one, then Michael will just go to the public library.

But for now, Gone with the Wind will have to do. It always did.

”The hell’s going on here?“ A somewhat tipsy Maria asked with a cigarette in the side of her mouth, causing both kids to turn their heads and face her.

“You know what?” Maria said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth as Brandy went down the stairs, his hair was barely better than it looked yesterday. “I don’ care. Turn the damn TV off and get over here now, the both of you.”

Lauren sighed sadly as she got the remote and turned the TV off. Michael simply closed his book, bending a small corner of the page he was on so he could continue later, and placed the book in his pocket.

The four people who most likely lived in the house all sat around the circular wooden table by the window in the kitchen. Brandy and Maria were eating some leftovers from the fridge and even had the least decency to offer some to Lauren and him, but both refused on the excuse that they had already eaten.

A couple of minutes into breakfast, Maria dropped her fork loudly on the plate, causing Michael to flinch and stare right up at her, and wiped her mouth with her hand and wrist.

”Alright! Here’s how things work around here, kid.” Maria said sternly. “I don’t fuck with you, you don’t fuck with me. Which means I don’t mess with your stuff, you don’t go snooping in mine, ya’ hear?”

”Yeah, I hear you.” Michael replied, just not lazy enough to the point he sounded sarcastic. Maria seemed to be satisfied with this.  

“Next thing, you’re fourteen, way too old for me to be taking care of ya’, so you get to do whatever you want to take care of yourself as long as it’s not stupid, and if it’s illegal, you tell Brandy or me, ya’ hear?”

Michael nodded firmly.

“Brandy and I own a small convenience store a few blocks from here. Lauren’s too young to be workin’,” Of course . Michael’s not surprised that the couple needed a babysitter for who seemed to be Lauren’s daughter, so should he be surprised when they start pressuring him to take a no-paid part-time job? And if he refused, he'd get hazed every hour until he did?

Michael bit his tongue, just sitting in anticipation. 

“So if ya’ want money, ya’ work for us or get some other bullshit job somewhere,” Maria said. “And ah’m sayin’ it now, if you get a job somewhere else, I ain’t drivin’ you there, and I sure as hell ain’t payin’ if you damage anythin’.”

Michael raised his eyebrows in suspicion and suspense. These people are most likely just tricking him into thinking he had a choice in this situation to pressure him into it instead.

“Fine… When does school around here start anyway?” Michael asked. It was worth a try, after all. Maria seemed like she was a local to the area anyway.

There are three kinds of foster parents Michael’s used to running into when it comes to school: the kind that cares that you’re actually in school because, if not, they might get reported to the state, the kind that cares because they care about their education—in other words, the rarest kind—and the ones that do not care whatsoever as long as no attention is brought not because of it. Michael’s been with all three throughout his life, the second one only lasting for barely a year.

Now Michael isn’t stupid, he knows that education is important for survival to get out of houses and neighborhoods like these and to get a job that pays at least three figures a year. Enough books had taught him that, and no kind of foster douche would stop him.

“Starts in the first week of August,” Maria said. The most likely reason why she even knew that was because of the social workers probably. “And listen, I don’t care if you do or don’t give two shits about the school, on Monday mornin’ we’re going down there to enroll you so the state can get off my ass.”

Michael nodded again, internally smiling. “Alright.”

“And as for those shitty permission forms for field trips or whatever, just forge my signature, make it unique and consistent 'cause I don’ wanna be dealin’ what that shit. And, no, I’m not goin’ to give you any money for those stupid fees. You want money, you work for it, simple as that.” Michael honestly did not expect anythin’ different.

“Got it, Miss Williams-”

“And none of that Miss or Mrs. bullshit,” Maria snapped. “It’s Maria for you, same thin’ for Brandy here.”

“...And what about Lauren?” Michael asked, noticing how Lauren looked up a little at the mention of her name. “Is she gonna go to school, too?”

Lauren was eight so she would be going into the second or third grade as of right now.

Maria scoffed. “School? No, Lauren can’t go to school, have you heard how she speaks all the time? It’d be a waste of money for us anyway.”

“She’d be lucky to make it past pre -kindergarten!” Brandy added in as a joke, causing both the adults to laugh with each other like a pair of annoying and high-on-weed hyenas.

At that, Lauren deflated. She tried to look smaller in her chair and tried to blink away the small tears from her eyes. Michael wanted to glare at Maria and Brandy so badly for the rude comments, but first impressions are everything, and some foster parents don’t always like mean or hating glares coming from teenagers.

The fourteen-year-old knew it, too, he’d been slapped right across the face for it once back in New York. Left a red sting on his face that took days to heal. 

He was seven years old at the time, only a year younger than Lauren was right now. Lauren might not be a fighter, but knowing from experience how violent adults can get when they're high, it wouldn't surprise him to know Lauren's been slapped around, too.

“Alright, Maria,” Michael said flatly, doing his best not to give away any emotion on his part. “...What about cleanin’ up this place?” He asked, a part of him regretting it as well. Foster kids were seen as free cleaners by a lot of foster adults. He shouldn’t have added fuel to the fire.

Instead of having some mean look on her face, Maria just looked at him all confused. “What?”

“You know, in case I want to clean this place up a bit? Make it look nice and all,” Michael's mouth continued. “Maybe the kitchen or the living room?”

A second later, Maria seemed to understand what he meant. “I don’ give a shit. Do whatever you want, just don’t burn the fuckin’ house down, ya’ hear me?”

“Loud and clear. Could I get some keys to the house?” Michael's mouth asked.

Depending on the foster parent, Michael wouldn’t even be asking this and would just resort to pick-locking the door or crawling back in by the window or backdoor. However, Maria seemed pretty chill so far.

Maria got something out of her purse and slid it across the table to Michael. “One step ahead of ya’ kid.”

Michael nodded firmly, placing his key away in the pocket of his jacket.

“That’s it? No more bullshit questions?”

“None.”

This time, Maria leaned and sat upright from her seat. “Listen, kid, the only reason ah’ even have a foster certification is to be able to keep Lauren in the house. You’re just a steppin’ stone in my path, you mess that up for me, and me and you gon’ have some problems around here, ya’ dig?” 

Why do you even act like you care so much? Michael thought. You've made it clear for a while now that you don't.

A small, very tiny, part of him wanted to cry or feel some kind of despair and rejection at the bluntness of Maria’s words. But after getting the same speech over and over again, Michael can’t find it in himself to even be fazed so extremely as to cry right now.

“Sorry, kiddo, we thought we’d be ready, but… you’re all just too much.”

“We can’t because  we, uh, uh, c-can’t afford to-to have you right now, uh, yeah, so, uh, we’re going to give you to somebody who can, okay honey?”

“You’re not the one we were looking for our family.”

“You’re too much for us to handle, always crying and whining every minute of the day. I can’t handle it anymore with you!”

“We don’t need you here anymore, we’ll just call your case worker tonight and you’ll be gone in a day or two.”

“Yeah, I dig.” Didn't mean that it didn't hurt at all either.

“All right.” And before anything else could be said, Maria just up and left the table. Not in a polite way either, just scratched the floor with the chair as she left the room, and shook the entire table, too. Brandy left in hot pursuit of her, too, but not before saying, “Nice meetin’ you new kid.”

Michael turned back to Lauren, who was sitting as quietly as possible, looking down at the floor. Too scared to look up.

“Hey, Lauren.”

It was his voice that got her to hesitantly to look up at him. 

Michael gestured to the TV in the living room. “Wanna go back to watchin’ cartoons?”

A smile instantly bloomed on Lauren’s face. “Yeah!”

“All right, you get the TV on, I’m gonna get some stuff from my room,” Michael told her, standing up from his seat. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Okay,” 

Once Michael was back downstairs, he found his spot back on the couch he’d been sitting in before Maria came storming into the room to talk about her shitty rules of absolute negligence. Whatever, it wasn’t like Michael hadn’t experienced worse. For a house like this, it was a pretty good deal anyway. He’d rather run into his biological family looking all clean rather than covered in bruises and cuts the whole time.

In the meantime, Michael wanted to plan out some things for the future and how to go about this. Unfortunately for him, he knew next to nothing about the city itself, let alone all the social circles in the city.

…That should be his first move then: keep his head low and as neutral as he could before having to pick a side. School would be his best bet, it was everybody his age and a little older would be. He could get some valuable information on people. Maybe even some stuff on his biological brothers and parents.

As for right now, Michael thought he should just stay as low as possible, maybe go to grocery or convenience stores, and not talk to anybody who may be too suspicious for Michael’s liking. Drug dealers, obvious people who were just batshit crazy, or just anybody who may look way too high for it to be normal. 

Thankfully for Lauren and him though, Maria and Brandy did seem like the negligent foster parent type, which was fine for him honestly. More time for him to just do what he wants and when he wants rather than follow stupid curfew rules. Perhaps when he was younger he would’ve been sad at the thought of being alone in a new place again but he was too used to it now to truly care.

As for now, Michael just planned to hang around the house. Maybe find a job somewhere to get money to buy food and some other essentials, like cleaning chemicals or whatever they were called to wash floors and fridges. Another thing he should start doing is to casually walk around the neighborhood in case the worst came and Maria kicked him out for the night, he’d know where the best place to run to.

Further along, he knew where Carly was now. However, as fun as it would be for Carly and him to hang out again as soon as possible, Michael wanted to knock on her door but didn’t want to risk getting hurt by some possible drunkard or worse. Maybe later, when they meet up by coincidence somewhere or in school, they could go around town together and find their hangout place with an abundance of food and a place where they could do almost anything they wanted. Like back in Philly, it was an old Denny’s place two blocks from their foster house.

The place had been sold and the wood holding the structure together felt like it was quickly coming apart, the white paint from the walls was quickly chipping away, and on the worst days, if you bravely pressed your ear against the walls, you could hear the rats and cockroaches going around the pipes and wires in between the walls.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

It was in that Denny’s place did Michael felt like he didn’t have to have his guard up as much as he usually needed, too. He could tell Carly felt the same way.

Not to mention that as shitty as the place looked, the food was top-tier; some of the best food Michael had eaten his whole life. Or maybe that was just because of the usual trashy scraps of food he was so used to eating all the time.

In the worst-case scenario though, if he doesn’t see Carly in the next couple of days, then he should probably text her on his cell phone.

See, if good food was seen as a luxury for a lot of foster kids, then being able to have your phone was like having tons and tons of solid golden bricks at your fingertips. In most foster homes Michael’s been in, the foster parents usually check if the kid has anything that could get them in trouble, and that usually includes a cell phone because that means they can record or even call the cops if a foster kid wants to.

It’s why Michael always made it a rule for himself to never use his phone on the first day in a new foster home. Depending on how the foster people were, then maybe the self-imposed cell phone ban could last a whole month.

The first cell phone he got was from a middle-class family, who, as their last kind act for him, gave him a cell phone that already had 911 on speed dial.

But Michael had been too young then to know what it meant.

So, when his next foster parents found out about it– Oh, it was horrible for him. 

Thank God he didn’t get crippled in his leg as a result of it.

But it did teach him a very valuable lesson. When he arrived in New York and was able to get a Nokia cell phone, he had it from his other technical foster siblings and parents there. He waited for weeks in his first Philadelphia home to even think about using it. Then, once in his second Philadelphia home, he waited for a week to get it out; soon after, he would meet Carly, they would become friends, they would get a cell phone for her, and they exchanged rules and tricks and tips to follow that each had to learn the hard way, and then they would exchange numbers.

However, even then, both were hesitant to use them as a primary communication method, instead relying more on Hangouts to tell each other about things rather than their cell phones. Yet it was an unspoken agreement that, no matter what, cell phones were a last resort for the worst of situations since neither one wanted to risk the freedom the cell phone offered.

For the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon, Michael simply sat on the same brown couch reading, writing, and, on occasion, drawing while Lauren simply sat down on the bigger couch and laughed and pointed at the characters on the television. Now and then, however, Michael would look out the window that faced the front yard, and by the corner, one could see a one-story blue house with an old porch from across the street.

In one instance, there would be nobody on the porch and the house would look dead if not for the fresh flowers in the yard and the dim lights shown through the windows. 

In another, Michael spotted two guys, one with sandy greased hair and the other with a Mickey Mouse shirt who also had greased hair, entering the house very casually, not even needing to knock or get out any keys or anything. Maybe the front door wasn’t locked? In which case was incredibly idiotic, what happens when a robber or some kind of criminal decides to enter in the middle of the night?

Then Michael thought that maybe those two guys could very much be the Darrel Jr. and Sodapop Curtis, his two older brothers who he didn’t even know or even know existed until he looked at his file.

Older brothers.

It was a weird thing for Michael to have now, or to know that he had them now or whatever. 

He’s never had an older sibling in general, not for long anyway if you count Dallas Winston. From what he’s seen and heard, most older siblings–the good ones at least–protect the younger ones, and Michael knows he’s barely ever had anything resembling an older sibling. 

Would Sodapop and Darrel Jr. be good ones or would they be bad ones? Michael thinks they have to at least be decent enough since they’ve been out of the system for over a decade now compared to him.

And what about having decent and real parents for once? Would he accept or fight against it? It would be a weird feeling though, that’s for sure.

His whole life he’s been looking out for himself, having to worry if his other foster “siblings” or parents will steal his stuff to sell, if the foster parent will be some kind of kid diddler, a drug dealer, or just who’s somebody horrible in general, or maybe if he’ll lose the ability to use his body properly for the next week or so.

Having other people look out for him, as good as it would be, it sounded like somebody was about to stab him in the back soon.

Sure, he had Carly and he once had Dally in his corner, but those were made for necessity rather than out of mutual love or likeness for one another. Yes, one could say that the case had changed between Carly and him, but with the Dally? The guy skipped several towns times six years ago and vanished off the face of the Earth.

Michael hasn’t heard anything about or from him ever since.

Dallas Winston could very much be dead right now and Michael may never know. It’s okay though. Dallas Winston isn’t the only person he’s grown fond of and never heard back from, he’s used to it by now.

He only had Carly in his corner now though she still had her problems to deal with now that she was with this Erin guy. Who’s to say Carly got as lucky as he just had to get stuck with foster parents who may be neglectful yet non-violent as his foster parents had turned out to be?

No, Michael was on his own, and he always would be.

Then there was Lauren, a kid he was already getting attached to within a day; he guessed it was safer since she wasn’t old enough to steal his things. The kid was eight and she had already started seeing some of the worst this world had to offer; just like he did at her age. Now Michael wasn’t sure if she was a foster kid or Maria’s actual daughter, but either way with the way seem to go around here, she would need to take of herself eventually.

Who knows? Maybe Michael would become the equivalent of Dally: A distant yet important figure in her life who had taught her the fundamentals of what she needed to know to survive this hell hole.

But she’ll hate and miss him, too, just like he very much does with Dally. 

With him alone Michael learned three lessons: First, don’t get attached, you may like or even love that person and want to be with them every day because it’s the best and most positive thing you’ve had in your whole life despite only being seven. It’s every man and foster kid for themselves in this world. 

Second: you can still respect somebody despite hating them. A part of him has always felt cursed to experience so little joy growing up, and unfortunately for him, Dallas Winston, as mean as he always said he was, was in it.

And third: Get tough and you won’t get hurt. If you’re smart, then nothing can touch you. You wise up, then you don't get caught in anything.

Dallas Winston’s parting words to Michael, the last time he ever saw him.

To this day, Michael wasn’t sure what to do with those words or even knew what Dally wanted him to learn from them. In retrospect, Dallas Winston was always a complicated figure in his childhood and someone Michael just didn’t know how to think about most times.

Therefore, he always just used the facts instead of what he interpreted from ambiguous actions and double-meaning words and phrases. Dallas Winston didn’t care for the law yet tolerated Michael and kept him around a little bit, even teaching him how to throw a punch and the stances in fighting. Dallas Winston skipped the populous city with parting words, a switchblade, and no trace of where he’d gone, how to contact him, or if he was still alive.

…Additionally, it wasn’t like Michael was guaranteed to be in here with the Williams’ until he aged out of the system or graduated high school. He’d been in Chicago from being a literal infant until he was six; New York City was from six to nine, only a year after Dally left did he get to leave the city; and Philadelphia was from ten to fourteen.

Long periods in each major city, yes, but it felt unpredictable every time he was picked up from state to state; loads and loads of paperwork were always involved, too. However, even within those cities, he was moved from home to home, too many for Michael to bother keeping count.

All in all, to be cared about by other people who, by all standards, were technically strangers to him, seemed weird and a bit flat-out wrong–

“Michael,” Lauren called out, snapping Michael out of his thoughts, as the teenager was sketching the one-story blue house from across the street.

Michael looked up from his sketchbook where he was halfway through sketching the same one-story blue house from outside. “Yeah?”

“Do we have anything to eat for dinner today again?” Lauren asked. “Like yethterday?”

Michael inhaled sharply, pondering the question in his head.

Earlier, Lauren had asked the same question about lunch. Just like last night, Michael checked the fridge (and made a mental note to take some time during the summer to clean it and properly organize it), and looked in the back more properly, Michael was able to find some leftover tater tots and broccoli for the both of them, served on plastic plates. Not exactly the best lunch Michael could cook up but it was better than having the two of them starve.

Right now for dinner, however, Michael doubted he could cook up something even half as good as tater tots and broccoli. They didn’t even have any pizza from last night because Maria and her stupid boyfriend ate the rest for lunch. Michael didn’t even know about it until he was looking around the fridge for it and found the box in the trash.

It was his fault. The first thing foster kids always learned was to hide stuff like food, a cell phone, special belongings, or even money if they had it. It was stupid of him to forget that rule and now there was a big chance that Lauren might go to sleep hungry tonight.

Michael sighed and guessed he would have to leave the house on his first official day to somewhere he didn’t even know into a city he was a stranger in; moving from city to city was the one thing that Michael never seemed to get better at. At least the sun didn’t go down yet. “Lauren.” He called out from the kitchen as he closed the fridge shut.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know anywhere nearby where I could get somethin’ quick for us tonight?” He asked. “Somewhere maybe even closer than the Domino’s place from last night was.”

Lauren thought about it for a second. “I think Mom mentioned there being a DX gathtation with a thtore full of food a few blockth away from the high thchool.”

“And which high school is that?”

“I think it’th the Will or Till Rogerth High Thchool,” Lauren said. “In 5th place, I’m thure.” 

Michael nodded and wordlessly went back upstairs to his assigned room. He took out the money he had from his bag and counted how much he had left.

Forty-four dollars in all. A good amount of money for a foster kid without a job.

Dang, Carly truly did owe him that milkshake when they saw each other again.

Let’s see, Michael wanted to save thirty dollars for any school-related fees that Maria wouldn’t pay, for when he joined track again he could pay for the uniforms, for whatever required textbooks and notebooks he would need for his classes, for the inevitable moment his red shoes would fall apart, for the day that his cell phone breaks or gets stolen again, or maybe even for the day Maria or Brandy snap at him in a more physical way than just the usual yelling they like to do.

Maria and Brandy.

Come to think of it, Michael had no idea where those two had gone off to after this morning. They came back once during midday only for the pizza. 

Michael rolled his eyes. Whatever, adults will be adults, especially foster parents.

Alright, so that left fourteen dollars to spare.

It’s every man and foster kid for themselves in this world.

…

Fuck it, Michael never liked that rule anyway.

He may understand it, but that didn’t mean that he had to love it either.

With fourteen dollars stuffed in his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, Michael went back downstairs, from where Lauren still sat patiently in the living room.

“Lauren, you said that the DX gas station was two blocks away from here, right?”

Lauren nodded. “Yeah, it’th two blockth to the eatht from here.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back with dinner then,” Michael said. “You just stay there watchin’ TV, but if Brandy and Maria start arguin’ again, just go hide in my room under the bed, but don’t touch my stuff, got it?” 

Lauren nodded knowingly and looked back to watching her animation cartoons on TV as Michael left the house and locked the front door. Michael used all his might to ignore how sad she sounded at him leaving.

Admittedly, Michael thought he got lost a few times on his way there. 

Thankfully though, he didn’t thanks to making sure five different times that he was reading and following the street signs correctly. At least he found an empty lot behind Southern Street, where he could sleep should the worst happen, he also passed by a park with a fountain and monkey bars.

Although he somehow made it to the school first instead of the gas station. Will Roger’s High School. Not Till.

The school was quite large looked fancy, and even had a football and track field, so it seemed like he had a shot of being able to join the track team again this year.

Walking into the DX gas station, it was clear that Lauren hadn’t been exaggerating about the amount of food inside the place… for a gas station such as this one anyway. Michael’s been to Walmart before and all that and man had those been some eye-openers for somebody like him: one giant building stacked with food and other necessities for months on end if an apocalypse broke out.

There was a man at the front desk with dark blonde hair, wearing a plain white shirt under a light blue, short-sleeved vest of some kind.

Must be the work uniforms or somethin’. Michael though. It even had the worker's name tag on the guy's left, though it was too far for Michael to be able to read it properly.

“Hey, uh, do you guys have frozen foods, Lunchables, or something like that in here?” Michael asked. If there was frozen pizza, maybe he’d buy those but he wanted to see if there was something for Lauren to eat. Perhaps something healthier for her, she was a growing kid after all. The teenager wasn’t stupid, he knew neither was traditionally “healthy”, but it was all he could afford.

He just had to choose something that looked to have a lot of vegetables.

“Back there, in one of the last fridges in the corner.” The cashier guy replied, pointing in said direction.

“Thanks.” and nodded.

Looking into the fridges there were many types of TV dinner options with some involving meatloaf, french fries, vegetables, spaghetti, green beans, and some kind of weird egg thing in the corner of some of the packages.

The prices were just right, the cheapest being half a dollar and the more expensive ones being ten dollars, and those were the more exclusive versions of TV dinners.

In the end, Michael took out one box that looked to have meat and nothing else but vegetables like green beans, baby carrots, and broccoli. Four dollars, he even had enough to buy two bottles of water for two dollars total.

Six dollars plus whatever tax or fee he would have to pay.

So like the law-abiding citizen that he was, Michael walked to the cashier counter with the money ready to be given. “These, please.”

“Alright.” The cashier guy said before glancing and analyzing Michael. “You ain’t from around these parts are you?”

Michael, who’d been looking around the place, looked back at the cashier guy.

This guy should’ve been a famous actor or something. Was the first thought that popped into Michael’s head upon seeing him closer. He was handsome with a face freshly drawn, sensitive face. His hair was a dark silky gold. He looked like the kind of always able to see the positives.

Michael shook his head. “Nah, I’m new around here. Just got here yesterday.” He didn’t want to say he was a foster kid, not so soon anyway. Most people would think he was a stealer or some kind of animal then–

As Michael was glancing up to look at the cashier guy, he caught the name tag and subconsciously read it.

Sodapop Curtis

Michael read it again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

Sodapop Curtis

…

What were the fucking chances that my real brother would be working at this gas station?

He couldn’t even say ‘No, there are a ton of Sodapop’s in Tulsa’ because one: Sodapop might not even be a traditional name. Two: there was only one Sodapop Curtis in town, and that was the guy in front of him.

“You don’t say.” The cashier guy–Sodapop—said.

Okay, okay, okay, Michael this one of the older brothers you never even knew existed. Act natural. He thought to himself.

“Dang, what gave me away?” Michael asked jokingly, a small smile on his face.

“The accent mostly, but the clothes, too. Not too many people around these parts wear three layers here in the summer.” Sodapop responded. “Want my advice? I’d go for less layers in the summer.”

Michael nodded. That made sense. In New York or Philadelphia, it could be summer but still be pretty cold during it, and it always snowed once the winter months rolled. Sure, it could get sweltering hot during the summer months, but still be cold for a few days if it rained even once.

“And you also don’t have any grease in your hair,” Sodapop added.

Michael looked at him weirdly. “Pardon?”

“Most people in this area are greasers and they style their hair with grease every day, just like me,” Sodapop said, gesturing toward his hair, all greased and smoothly styled.

Michael nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty tough.” The teenager hoped that was the right wording around these parts, he knew they were in New York.

On the other hand, Sodapop grinned as he finally had a mind to ring up the two water bottles. “Knew you could see good taste.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks, man.” Internally, Michael was beaming, not even bothering to care that it took around five minutes for three simple items to be rung up.

“I’m Sodapop Curtis, says it right on my birth certificate, too.”

“At least it’s an original one. Name’s Michael.”

“Michael what?” Sodapop asked with a soft chuckle. “Otherwise, you’ll just be a part of a million other Michaels from around here.”

Oh, crap.

The fourteen-year-old never truly had a last name, or it didn’t like it. It’d always been with what family he’d been staying with at the time.

He’d been: Michael Hill, Michael Scott, Michael Johnson, Michael Smith, Michael Erins, and even Michael Baker at one point.

This time would be barely any different. “Michael Williams.”

“Williams.” Sodapop reiterated lowly. “Oh, you that new kid stayin’ with Maria Williams on Southern Street?”

“Uh, y-yea, that’s me. Just came in yesterday.” Michael mentally slapped himself for the hesitant answer.

Great, now Sodapop knew he was a foster kid, and now most likely believed that he was some kind of stealer or animal and wouldn’t want to do anything with him, and then Michael would lose this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to reconnect with his real family.

"Yeah, the accent ya' got gives it away," Sodapop explained.

"Yeah, I guess." They did sound pretty different when you compare them to how the two of them said 'yeah'.

Sodapop looked like he had wanted to make a small joke on his accent, but he had instead caught wind of nervousness and interpreted it as something completely different. “Listen, everyone knows how much of a crackhead Maria is, how her no-good boyfriend is, and how abusive they can both be. You know where the one-story beautiful blue house is on the same street you’re on?”

Michael pretended to think about it for a second and nodded his head. He’d sketched the place almost twice now in his book, and that was without counting how many times he tried to sketch his real family with his ideas and observations. For obvious reasons, though, he planned on keeping his mouth shut about all of that.

“Our doors always to people who need it ‘cause they got nowhere else to go and have shitty parents. I’m not kiddin’, all you need to do is walk through the door and just crash on the couch or floor for the night. Shit man, you stay up late enough in the mornin’ and you scored yourself some free breakfast from Ma', and trust me, Mama makes good breakfast.” Soda added, once he saw the disbelief forming on Michael’s face. “Hell, you could during the nighttime or the middle of the day. Momma doesn’t ever turn away kids who need it, and she knows who Maria is, so you'll have no sweat in trying to convince her of your troubles.”

Michael couldn’t believe his ears. His brother, whom the former didn’t even know was his younger brother, was already inviting him to crash at their house if he ever needed that, and to top it off, he was offering him good and free food!

It was a dream come true. Almost too good, and Michael felt the slightest urge to punch himself and test if this was a dream.

Right now, the fourteen-year-old wanted to just rip the bandage off and just tell Sodapop that his kid brother was standing right in front of him, that he was hanging out with a brother he hadn’t seen in almost fourteen years. If memory serves right, Sodapop was sixteen, currently meaning he probably wouldn’t remember him from when he was two years old.

But he can’t.

He can’t because then he would probably get called crazy, get kicked out of the gas station, and never be able to talk to any of them ever again. Not to mention that Michael still wants to know why Sodapop and Darrel Jr. were back in the custody of Elizabeth and Darrel Sr. For years now while he’d been stuck in it fore more than a decade now.

He needs to know if he’s actually wanted back home. Not pitied and feeling forced to be back.

Instead, Michael just nodded. “Thanks, man, that means a lot.”

“Anytime. Totals six dollars and three cents.” Sodapop added, looking at him sharply, probably wondering if he’d even bother to pay. Michael gave him a five-dollar bill and two one-dollar bills. He got two quarters and two dimes as change.

“And make sure to bring that kid with you, too, if you can,” Sodapop added. “The one with the blonde curls.”

“You mean Lauren?”

“Yeah, I don’t see her around a lot, but I wave back whenever I can. Told her about our house being a safety house for those who needed it a while back,” Sodapop responded, placing his now bought items in a plastic bag. “But she hasn’t shown at all and I know that place ain’t good for the kid, is it?” That was phrased more as a question, though Sodapop sounded confident that he was right in his assumption.

Michael shook his head. “Nah, not in the slightest.”

Sodapop mmh’ed knowingly as he handed him the plastic bag.

“Anything else I should know about this place?” Michael asked.

“Careful with the socs, they hate us, greasers, and we hate ‘em back. Though, not so sure what they’ll think of you since you don’t have any grease in your hair, still, I’d be careful if I were you. Got a buddy of mine who got jumped a few months back,” Sodapop visibly grimaced as he remembered. “It wasn’t good, kid.”

Michael sighed, understanding the implications in Sodapop’s tone. “What do these socs look like then?” He didn’t think they had any socs in New York, not that he had cared to find out anyway.

“Rich guys from the west side of the train tracks with a lot of madras and mustangs.” Okay, so just a weirder word for rich pretentious assholes, Michael could work with that.

“All right, thanks man, for everything.”

“It ain’t a problem. Just make sure you know what you’re doing around here and don’t go joining the wrong kind of people, ya’ dig?”

“Yeah, I dig,” Michael replied. “Again, thank you for everything, I’ll see you around.”

Sodapop nodded. “See you around, Michael Williams! Take care.”

Just like when he first entered the gas station, the doors rang as the door closed behind Michael.

He had a lot to think about now. Sodapop, his second older brother, seemed like a decent and good person, being all cheery and inviting him for free food at his house if he ever needed to. Sodapop wasn’t too quiet and didn’t seem nervous, just casual for talking to somebody for the first time, so it looked like there wasn’t any abuse happening within the Curtis house. A step in the right direction.

Made him wonder what Darrel Jr. would be like. He would be a senior next year if he was seventeen right now, so that’d be interesting. It’s too bad he’ll be heading off to college so soon though, if he turns out to be good, he’d want to spend more time with him.

But if he’s good, then maybe Darrel Jr. can help him out with high school, the college admission process, and stuff.

But it made him wonder, what was Sodapop doing working at a gas station at sixteen?

Sure, the guy was sixteen and by that point most teenagers want to make money for themselves and now have the age to do so. Maybe it was just a summer job.

Either that or the Curtis were having money problems. It wouldn’t be surprising since they lived on this side of town after all. It wasn’t like they were living in luxury, and from a distance outside, it didn’t look like the house could house three kids plus whatever people they helped for the night.

On the other hand, they have to be doing a little bit for them to be able to give free food to teens and kids who need it, right? They wouldn’t be that dumb to give away free food to strangers. Michael’s smart and he knows that he’s smart enough at a young age to have gotten some of those from his genetic makeup.

And from those smarts, Michael decided that he wanted to stay here.

He doesn’t even mean that he wants to stay in Tulsa in general. No, he wants to stay on Southern Street, get to know the place better, and get to know his family better. Michael didn’t want to stay in the same town for the next few years while being moved from one bad home to another during those few years. He wanted to stay somewhere.

Most times he’d been moved from house to house, it’d been either because the city caught wind of the mountain pile of unpaid bills and taxes, they got arrested for whatever petty crime they’d committed and been caught for, and in one rare instance, the foster parent had died from AIDs.

Michael didn’t even know why exactly he got moved from state to state because every time it happened it always started as him just leaving to another home within the city like any other moving day. It was only when he noticed the amount of time it was taking for the paperwork to be done would Michael realized he was being moved to a different state.

From the looks of how Maria and Brandy were, it looked like Michael would have to do a lot around here to avoid that.

He’d have to clean the whole house and get fresh food for the fridge, though he probably shouldn’t throw anything because, if Maria and Brandy to judge off of, they probably may have illegal substances in there somewhere that they’d be pissed if they were to find out Michael accidentally threw it away.

To buy the food and cleaning stuff and to pay for the bills and taxes, he’d have to get a job somewhere and there was no way he could work at that convenience store that Maria and Brandy allegedly owned somewhere. If those two were the high party horses they always seemed, it wouldn’t be long before the store would be closed. No, Michael would need a more stable job somewhere than that. 

He would also need to pay a lot more attention to what his case worker says most times on the phone—the last time he’d seen or heard from his case worker, Jesse Robinson, had been in Philadelphia when she told him that he was going to be placed in Oklahoma and the two then bid their goodbyes. That was because every time Michael was sent to another state, it felt more like he was being passed to be somebody else’s problem. He didn’t even get to meet his casework this time, the lady on the train had confirmed that to him the second he asked.

His first caseworker had been a man called Earl Clark in Chicago, then a lady called Lindsey Lewis in New York, Jesse Robinson in Philadelphia, and now he doesn’t even know who it is just that it’s somebody from around the area.

Using the key, Michael opened the door to the Williams’ house, and as he closed and locked the door he heard small footsteps getting closer and closer to him. Before he knew it, Lauren wrapped her hands around Michael. “You’re back.” She said, relieved.

For a second, Michael had no idea what to do, whether he was meant to hug her back or if he should just stand there like a dunce was something he couldn’t decide. He’s not used to being hugged or getting hugs at all. It’s something he reads, sees in movies, and sometimes sees it in real life, but it’s unfortunately something he’s barely been able to experience.

Instead, Michael placed a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder. “‘Told you I’d come back. I brought dinner, too,” He added, lifting the plastic bag in one hand. “TV dinner.”

“Yay!” Lauren laughed.

“Go back to watchin’ TV, I’ll get the food ready in a minute.” He said.

“Okay.” And the kid walked back to the TV simply.

Michael slowly shook his head sadly. She’s too trusting for someone in her situation, He thought, She’s gonna get herself killed one of these days.

Barely half an hour later, the TV dinner was ready. Michael happily handed the tray to Lauren with a fork, a real one, too. She asked if she was going to eat dinner tonight, too. Michael easily lied and said he’d eaten dinner on his way back to the house; Lauren easily believed him.

It would be an hour or a few later that the TV would be turned off and both kids would decide to go to bed for the night. Maria and Brandy were nowhere in sight once again, maybe they were the type to disappear for weeks on end until the case worker showed up or something.

Eventually, Michael found one right by the furthest corner of his bedroom door. Carefully removing the wooden tile, he took the Bren ten gun and placed the gun in between the floorboards before placing the tile back in. Now if Lauren, Maria, or Brandy came snooping in his room, they most likely wouldn’t find the gun unless they were really looking for something in the room. At least he still had the switchblade for protection.

Michael wasn’t even as good with a gun as he was with a switch. However, if push came to shove, Michael would prefer the gun over the blade any day of the month.

For now, though, he had to be the best law-abiding citizen he could be in his situation. He’d get a job, take care of the house, take care of Lauren, forge the signature for whatever forms were needed, and he’d be a model student once he was in high school.

Whatever he needed to do, he’d do it.

Chapter Text

Tulsa, Oklahoma, July 31st, 1999

It was the day of July before August rolled in, and how would Michael be spending that day? At the public library, of course. 

After all, the public library had always been Michael’s favorite hideout ever since he could remember. It was somewhere he could hide away for free from whatever violent, abusive foster parents he’d been stuck with this time, but also be able to read and learn whatever he could and wanted during that time. It was heaven for him after he’d decided Michael just didn’t want to go to church anymore.

This time, though, unlike all the other times when he’d go to the library alone, Michael decided to bring Lauren with him because the public library would be a much better place than the so-called home where Maria and Brandy had come back from, God knows where, that morning.

Michael had a list of things he wanted to research while at the library. So he decided that he could just leave Lauren in the kids' section of the library, filled with books for kids her age. At the same time, he’ll research the essentials needed to clean the house, how to get a job as a fourteen-year-old in the state of Oklahoma, why foster kids may be in the system their whole lives, and why biological parents may not be able to get their kids out of foster care. Any new articles that may, on the slightest of chances, report the incident fourteen years ago, from when he was first taken? If there is any uncertainty regarding the legality of those who have grown up in the system, he’ll look it up.

There just had to be something about it somewhere. He just has to look for it.

“Wait, Lauren, you know how to read, right?” Michael asked.

They were holding hands as they walked the sidewalk on the way to the public library. 

Like almost any other time that Michael had the chance, he had started out daydreaming and being stuck in his head about what he’d research and take notes on during his stay at the library for the whole day. It was only when he heard a car passing by them that Michael snapped out of his thoughts and remembered what Sodapop told him about mustangs being a symbol for rich douches in the area.

He remembered that Lauren was with him right now. He already wasn’t that good when it came to skin-only fighting; it’d be difficult trying to defend himself and Lauren against a group of tough fighters. In New York, Dallas had discussed how having no blade or gun made for a fair fight, and how all of them were important in the grease/gang world.

Michael took that evidence and shoved it through one ear and into the other because there was one simple fact that he never felt that Dally quite understood: Dally is big, lean, tall, and has actual muscle, on the other hand, Michael is scrawny at best, thankfully an inch above average height for his age, and little to no muscle stemming from parental neglect from a young age. Michael’s lucky he’s made it as far as he has when you account for everything he’s been through.

If push came to shove, Michael would be using the switchblade and gun he had he could to get out from being brutally beaten or not outright killed.

“Fair fight”, no, it wouldn’t if the opponent was a small, scrawny foster kid against somebody built like a brick wall. Now, those people were the ones Michael always looked out for. If there was some kind of foster kid in the house with him that was also built like that, Michael would steer clear of them, especially if they were prone to violence and impulse rather than rationality and reason.

It was even worse if the brick person turned out to be the foster parent of the house; now, those truly scared Michael. Those were the ones that were more prone to irrationally lashing out without reason; it could be at night, day, it didn’t matter, you’d still get hit.

Michael had a home like that back in Chicago and in New York.

He didn’t remember much from Chicago; all he knew was that from then on, there would be a crooked thumb on his right hand. He couldn’t even use it as much as he wanted to without getting an intense feeling of pain from it now. Seriously, screw whoever did that to him.

The one from New York had been worse since this guy, Kenneth Smith, had a big and nasty dog who loved biting him all the time, especially when he was egged on by his owner. Not to mention that he was the only foster kid in the house, so all of Kenneth’s wrath would be thrown onto him.

Apart from the usual beating Michael would sustain, the fourteen-year-old now had permanent cigarette burns on his left shoulder trailing down from the bottom crook of his neck down to his forearms, along with a nasty, jagged dog-biting scar over his right calf.

It’s why he shouldn’t let his guard down.

One brick-built guy later, and both of them would be dead, and that was assuming the guy would be on his own; it was most likely that whoever the rich douches were, they were probably going to show up with a whole group. At least he brought his switchblade. 

From then on, Michael had been on alert while Lauren had been none the wiser, wondering inside her head. It was clear that Lauren had seen things and been through some stuff on her own, but it was also clear that she still had wonder in her. She still had some innocence left in her. And Michael had no interest in ruining that for her.

But as the two foster siblings walked up the stairs of the library, that was when Michael remembered how Lauren wasn’t enrolled in school, if Brandy and Maria’s words from the first breakfast the entire family had together were anything to go by. Lauren pondered the question in her head for a second before slowly nodding her head, making Michael relax in relief. “I learned from the cartoonth on the TV.”

Michael had a small, warm smile. “That’s good, Lauren. Don’t listen to what Maria and Brandy say, just because you were born a little different, don’t mean you can’t learn anything, got it?”

Lauren nodded her head. “Got it.” Although it still looked like she wasn’t able to believe it.

Michael wanted to say something, but the two of them had just stepped right in front of the lady who looked like she was the one who ran the place. Well, damn, guess he’d have to tell her later.

The head lady herself looked like one of the classic library ladies Michael would see in movies with her sharp, small chin, small glasses, white hair that spoke on its own about her longevity, and she even had the classic formal and modest black dress on with a white collar. Now, sometimes these ladies would be the sweetest of angels in the movies, but other times they would be complete bitches. A literal toss of the coin.

“Excuse me, miss, do you know where I could find the kids' section here?” Michael asked. “And do you know where all the computers are?”

The lady looked at him and then at Lauren and then back to him over and over again, as if she was analyzing how much trouble they both would be to her during a Saturday. Maybe they looked like they were from the east side or the worst side of town; it was probably the clothes they had on then.

This time, Michael had followed through with Sodapop’s advice and decided to lower it with the layers he wore during the summer. Instead of wearing three layers, he decided to wear only two: a white tank shirt under a long-sleeved buttoned-up blue and white striped shirt, like a cowboy would wear. He was also wearing jeans and the same red shoes he always wore.

…Yeah, probably not the best he could do with the advice Sodapop had given him, but all his life he had lived in the eastern and meow colder region of the country. Places like Oklahoma were different grounds for fashion for him. If he were lucky, he might get some donations from the locals during a foster care festival again.

Lauren was the one who was dressed like she was actually from around here, with her shirt-sleeved shirt under blue overalls with daisies sewn on. Her curls were the hardest part to deal with.

Sure, Michael's hair was slightly curled, but not to the extent that Laurens was. The first night he met her, the hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks and was incredibly wild, even for him.

When Michael figured out that Lauren’s hair probably needed one of those hair products he remembered once seeing in a magazine, he went to check the bathroom, only to find nothing resembling hair products.

He was tempted to go check Maria's bathroom to see if she had something to help tame Lauren’s unkempt hair because she looked like she had the same kind of curls as Lauren did.

And then he remembered that he wasn’t allowed to go checking through her stuff or otherwise… Well, Michael wasn’t sure. Maria had only gone over the rules of what he allowed to do; she didn’t mention at all what would happen to him if he did end up breaking those rules.

Then he thought that it didn’t matter if he definitely knew or not. Maria and Brandy were foster parents; they would either beat him up for the night or kick him out of the house for a little while, and all the other extra details wouldn’t matter.

In the end, Michael just settled on tying all of Lauren’s hair in one ponytail and used some hair gel he had on her to make it look as neat as possible.

Now here they were, in front of the library lady’s desk, and Michael was just hoping that this lady would be understanding enough for both of them. Michael did not want to get banned from his first in Tulsa’s public library, thank you very much.

The kids' section is by the fiction and fantasy area. The computers will be, too.” The library lady said with absolute neutrality in her voice. Now, those were the rarest kind of library lady that this world could give you.”

Michael thanked her with a curt nod and walked away before she could even say You’re welcome.

A minute later and Michael and Lauren were right in front of the kids section, and just like any other kid section Michael was used to seeing in public libraries, the kids section was filled with bright pastel colors like pink, green, and purple with mythical animals like unicorns and dragons and royal characters decorating the place.

They even had big and comfortable, working bean bags (yes, that’s right, plural) in the corners of the kids' section. It was a perfect place for Lauren to have fun in.

“Alright, stay here the whole time, got it?” Michael said firmly. “I don’t want to come back and find that you’ve gone missing, you understand me?”

Lauren nodded diligently, like she was the student at school she was supposed to be. “Okay. I underthtand.”

“And, hey, you get to read whatever you want,” Michael said, trying to connect the word he wanted Lauren to hear from him. “It may be an easy book or it may be a hard one, I don’t care. You ain’t dumb, Lauren Williams, you may be slow or. Have a hard time getting things, but that does not mean that you are dumb , you understand me?”

This time, instead of robotically nodding her head, Lauren looked like she actually wanted to understand what he was saying. 

In a second, she was slowly nodding her head. “Okay.”

Michael gently and slowly rubbed her upper back and arms in a way he thinks is comforting for somebody her age. Man, Michael didn’t know, he could only count on one hand the number of people who’ve even tried to comfort him. Let alone actually have succeeded. Four were middle-class parents who thought they’d get the child they wanted back when he was still young and cute. The other one was Dallas Winston, surprisingly, and that had been because Dally had been drunk and something bad had happened to him.

It was pity, not comfort or genuine love, that had driven the emotion in those moments. It was the only thing that Dallas Winston ever did have in common with his wealthier foster parents.

…Whatever.

For the first hour or so, Michael had spent the whole time researching the foster care laws when it came to the state of Oklahoma and any reports on the Curtis family fourteen years ago.

What he found was a can of worms he wouldn’t wish upon any lawyer to solve on their own. Not even if they had caffeine to help them out as a speed boost. And Michael usually disliked lawyers for all their icky tricks and schemes just to add another number to their win streak.

To start with, the law stuff first before the actual Curtis case, it’s very rare for a child to be moved out of their native state unless it’s deemed “in their best interest” and “specific legal procedures requirements are met”. Not knowing what either of those things implied, Michael researched it even further and the circumstances listened as the most usual ones were: adoption, which Michael knows dang well that didn’t happen, reunification with a parent, alos something he knows hasn’t happened and he knows isn’t the case since in his file Darrel Sr. and Elizabeth Curtis are listed as his biological parents, placement with relatives, an option Michael also knows hasn’t happened, and finally the thing simply listed as “other”:

Getting the child the specialized needs and treatment that the current state may not be able to provide. That one may be possible, but Michael was only giving it the benefit of the doubt simply because the other options were just not possible, if memory served right, and common sense was followed. So that only left the question of what kind of needs or “special” treatment did Michael need for him to leave Oklahoma as an infant?

Guess he’d have to look at his file for that one. Which means he’ll probably have to either ask Maria for it or he’ll have to sneak into her room and get it himself.

As far as Michael knows, every foster parent is handed a file containing every documented and imperative moment about the child. Medical records, legal records, social security, school files, test scores, legal records, birth certificate, and a copy of their driver's license or permit if the kid has one. Which means, for Michael’s case, that his reason for being out of state was a “rare treatment” plan for something, it’s most likely going to be in there. It would have to be something incredibly rare, too, for him to have been moving to all these states his whole life.

But what could it have been? It wasn’t testing accommodations because, for the fact that he could’ve gotten those in Oklahoma. He knows he doesn’t have any kind of mental or any rare physical illness of any kind. If he were visually impaired, then all he needed were glasses, and he’d be fine. So what was it?

It had to have been something small and something that the states of Illinois, New York, Pennsylvania, and current-day Oklahoma all had in common when it came to special treatment. But Michael can’t think of anything, except…

Were his foster parents always just ignoring the “special treatment”? Was that it? And is that why Michael was always moved, because they always failed to comply with it? (Ha, adults failing him his whole life. How incredibly weird for him. It must’ve been expensive and incredibly detailed, then for every single adult he has as a foster parent, ignore it.

Now, for the actual case for the report on Curtis’s fourteen years ago, or at least, what the public news on the internet would provide for him.

Michael wasn’t expecting much. The couple lived on the east side of Tulsa and didn’t seem like they were rich or famous, so kids being taken into the foster care system by CPS didn’t seem like it would be all too unusual for the area.

And he would be right.

The incident only made it to one newspaper and wasn’t even mentioned on any of the local news stations on TV. Even in the newspaper, the best the incident received was just a small column on the second page. It was obvious why it couldn’t be the “center of attention”, too, because the week that the incident took place in was the same week that the Titanic had been discovered on September 1st. Not to mention the previous major things from August of 1985, such as the whole Michael Jackson buying the Beatles' catalog, and Samantha Smith, a child actress and peace activist, being killed in a plane crash.

As for the small section in the newspaper that mentioned the whole incident? It was a basic repeat from what his file said, only that this article made it a spectacle out of it. “The same ol’ story” with people from the east, that it was a daily thing for people there for them to be neglected and abused. Which wasn’t a lie, but it left a bitter taste in Michael’s mouth at how simple the newspaper wrote it out to be, even adding statistics to prove their point.

The fourteen-year-old couldn’t even find anything else on his parents because the other times he searched for their names specifically, all he found were old high school moments of Darrel Curtis Sr. back in the late 70s and Elizabeth Curtis, then Elizabeth Davis, in the same time period, too.

Michael sighed in defeat as he leaned back in the chair. Not only did he find barely anything on the case itself, but he still didn’t know much about his parents or his brothers.

His files said they were all removed after an anonymous tip saying that they were severely neglected by their parents, and yet Sodapop looked quite normal if that was the case. But Darrel Jr. and Sodapop had already been returned more than ten years prior. Were the Curtises still being flooded in debt from legal fees or something? Was that why they couldn’t get him yet? But if so, then why was he immediately placed so far away in Chicago, while his brothers were still placed within their native state? Why was he sent away? Why was he still alone? Why were they home, and why was he still looking out for himself? Why did they get to be loved and cherished, and he was still treated like trash?

…Whatever .

It didn’t matter anymore to Michael. He’s been on his own his whole life, so why should that change now? Because he got incredibly lucky to have been placed on the same street as his biological family? No, they failed him a long time ago; he should probably stop holding out for the chance to get a real family now, especially when he’s so close to graduating and aging out of the system. Michael getting himself involved with people like this wouldn’t do any good for him.

Sure, maybe he’ll talk to the folks and their sons now and then, especially since they are neighbors and possibly even classmates. But for now, Michael should just stay away from them. They looked like they were a happy family without him anyway.

For the rest of the afternoon, Michael put away all the newspapers he had picked up to research, along with other similar tabloids from past high school years, and closed every tab on the library computer. A sad and tired look on his face, the entire time he did so.

The teen would be able to find a pen lying on a table nearby and decided to look for places that would be willing to hire somebody of his age, and a foster kid on top of that. He’s aware that in some states, fourteen-year-olds can work with restrictions, but he’d still get paid, and that’s all that mattered.

He found various jobs across the city. Cashiers, waiters, lifeguard duty, and the general gist of what a teenager's first job traditionally was.

Later on, as he went to pick Lauren up from the kids' section, the sight that awaited him would make his day much better than how it was going. Lauren had a pile of books surrounding her, ranging from children's books to old folktales that were a condensed version for kids her age to read. She looked so happy about it, too.

Lauren could read; she’d been reading without any help whatsoever this whole time. She could read perfectly for somebody her age and do it all happily despite everything she’d been through with Brandy and Maria. She was a survivor, just like him, and Michael knows now that, with the right guidance, she’ll live through this. They’ll both make it so far that nobody will even dare to think about holding them down ever again.

In less than ten minutes, Lauren and Michael had left the public library and were on their way to Maria’s house, or whoever owned the house. Who knows, maybe the biggest plot twist will be that Brandy, of all people, owns the house. Which made Michael think. He knows for a fact that Maria is his current foster parent, judging by the way, on the first day, she was kept outside a little longer than he was; she probably had to sign whatever the social worker needed her to sign so that she could be on her merry way. As for Brandy? Michael wasn’t sure if he was or not, although he seriously doubted it. Maybe he was just Maria’s boyfriend and nothing else, or maybe one of those couples who always broke up and got back together within the same hour.

Jesus Christ, if the ladder ended up being the truth, then Michael is glad that Brandy isn’t one of his foster parents. Those were the kind of couples who would always find a way to make it the kids' problem in the end. Whether that be directly or indirectly. Michael just hoped that those problems would be relatively minimal.

By the time Lauren and Michael got back to Maria’s house, the sky had already started to darken, with a bright orange streaking from underneath the sky. An ember was glowing from above the dirt all around them. Never let it be known that Michael Williams hated sunsets and sunrises.

This time, however, Michael did his best not to look at the little blue house, which had its lights on with tiny silhouettes of people seemingly having a good dinner on this warm evening. Michael just rolled his eyes.

…Whatever, he could go through some of the daily newspapers and just try to get a job later on. He needs to start getting Lauren and himself real food after all, all those TV dinners aren’t exactly healthy anyway, and Michael needs real food to make something.

All this house currently had was past-expired and rotting, most having a weird, small, or even texture to them.

As the foster siblings went back inside, there Brandy stood, like some kind of animal, silently waiting for them to come back. It’s the kind of eyes and body stance that Michael is all too familiar with by now. The house is now a mess again, with living room pillows on the floor and every cabinet and door open in the house. Judging from the way Brandy is right now, it is most likely that it was he who had done all this.

Michael couldn’t even try to sneak behind the guy and hide out in his room until the storm passed over them, but he can’t because said storm is looking right at them. However, neither child dared speak, and it felt as if they were just standing there with the front door to their backs as Brandy simply looked at them both with wide and furious eyes as if he was trying to look into their very souls.

Unfortunately for the children, Michael couldn’t even try to turn back and hide out for the night with Lauren because he didn’t know where to go yet. Sure, he had ideas for where, like that lot in the street over, but the fourteen-year-old still wasn’t completely sure if those were safe places to be in. If people had already claimed those spots, yet.

They were stuck here.

… Where was Maria when you needed her?

“Where was she?” Brandy asked.

Michael was taken aback for a second. “...What?”

“Lauren, where has she been today?” Brandy asked again, sounding more irritated than he had been before. "Maria and I have been looking for her. Where was she?”

Michael gulped, holding onto Lauren’s hand even tighter than before. She was scared, he could tell she was. She was trembling ever so slightly, and Michael would like to bet that eight-year-old probably had wide eyes full of fear. He didn’t dare look though, because he knew that all it took was a second for somebody like Brandy to get his hands on him.

“We went to the public library,” Michael said, in the firmest voice he could manage.

“ What? ”

“I said that we–”

“Yeah, I know what you said, you little shit.” Ah, so Brandy was of the bipolar kind. Sweet and chill when you first meet him, but easy to piss off and have him be pissed at you for the smallest of things.

Before the fourteen-year-old knew it, though, Brandy already had his hands on Michael, grabbing him up from the collar of his shirt, and he felt Lauren’s hand scurry away from his. In less than a second, Michael has his hands up as a sign of peace, and that he’ll listen to Brandy as long as he lets go.

“Man, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know!” Michael tries to explain.

Instead of saying anything, Brandy swings Michael and throws him on the cold floor, throwing him down like he was a ragdoll rather than a human being. He thinks he hears Lauren gasp and start softly sobbing, but he also hears himself slightly wheeze and already feels the iron-tasting fluid in his mouth from a cut on his upper lip, along with bruising somewhere else on his body.

Brandy kicked him twice, once in the ribs and the other on his head, which was thankfully being protected by his arms and hands, before yelling at the top of his lungs, “DON’T TAKE LAUREN ANYWHERE OUT OF THIS HOUSE! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

The best Michael could do in this situation, he couldn’t reveal weakness or vulnerability of any kind; however, he also couldn’t try to be the hero, otherwise, that would just make him an easier target for Brandy to deal with.

“I understand,” Michael said, biting his upper lip– and, yeah, that’s where he tasted the blood coming from.

With a couple of more kicks to his back and legs, Brandy was satisfied with his answer. “If Maria and I ever hear about you taking Lauren out of the house without our explicit permission again, we’re going to fucking kill you, you little shit.” And Michael barely doubted it. 

The man walked away, the terror and wrath finally being over for now. He survived his first beating. That’s good news, it means he’ll survive the ones that have yet to come, too. Though he’ll still have to see how Mia does it to see who would be the worst foster parent to get caught by.

Michael still didn’t dare look up, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the cold floor. He didn’t know where Lauren was right now. All the fourteen-year-old was doing was lying on the cold floor as still as he could, intently listening to the loud and echoing footsteps of Brandy that rang throughout the house as he went upstairs, probably to whatever bedroom Maria and Brandy had up there.

He hears a door swing open with its creaks and then slam shut within the same second, the sound being so loud that Michael knows he flinched from it.

Slowly getting up, Michael can’t find Lauren anywhere in his sight. She must’ve left when the beating was getting bad. Good, usually foster parents tend to go for whoever's closest.

Soon enough, Michael hauls himself back upstairs into his room, quiet as a mouse as he trudges through the creaky stairs and somehow even creakier floors. Fortunately for him, Michael can make it back to his bedroom unscathed… well, more unscathed than from what could’ve been had Brandy or Maria stepped out of their bedroom again.

Brandy must’ve hit his head too hard, though, even if his hands and knuckles took the brunt of the hits, because he didn’t use his head and, while he did close the door, he forgot to lock it or use anything to block it with anything. It was too late, though, Michael had already lain on his bed and convinced himself that it would be fine. Brandy already put him through the wringer, and Maria hadn’t even shown herself again, even when she had the chance, so she probably felt like Brandy had done enough for his first offence.

Michael knew that he should probably get some disinfectant and some kind of band-aid for his bruises and busted lip. But honestly? He was too tired. He spent his whole day researching things, taking care of Lauren, and then getting beaten up.

Maybe that was why it took a little while for him to notice the other person in the room.

“Michael?” Lauren asked, her voice low and full of fear and sadness. “A-Are you okay?”

Not wanting to move around a lot, Michael just slightly moved his head and neck to look a Lauren, whose eyes were red-rimmed and recently dry.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Lauren,” he said curtly.

Quite frankly, Michael was a little mad at her. Lauren must’ve known that she wasn’t allowed, for whatever reason, to be outside of the house. Because if Michael had been told, then they would have returned to the house sooner, or he would have come up with some kind of plan to avoid getting caught by Maria or Brandy. So why did Lauren stay quiet when Michael had told her that they would be leaving for the public library?

Lauren bit back a sob. “I’m tho thorry.” She cried. “That I didn’t tell you about that rule.”

“...The rule that says you can’t go outside at all ?” It’d been a while since Michael had met a kid with absolutely insane parents like Maria and Brandy, foster or not.

Lauren just looked like she would build a wall around herself, yet it also looked like she didn’t want to do that. Such a complex look for somebody so young.

“I-I-I jutht thought that maybe Brandy or Maria would t-tell you.” Lauren cried, her sobbing and stammer only getting worse by word. “I-I didn’t think they’d be-be th-that mad if we came thith late. I’m tho thorry!”

And as the eight-year-old child silently cried in his bedroom, it was incredibly obvious to Michael that she desperately wanted a hug from him. Michael wonders how many times Lauren wanted a hug from Maria and was pushed away for it.

Ignoring the pain in his body, Michael sat up properly in his bed and opened his arms wide, nodding his head in a way that he made sure said, “come on, it’s okay”.

Lauren hesitated for a second, but within five minutes she was in his arms and crying on his shoulder, her dirty blonde curls on the bottom of his chin; he should probably look for a woman’s magazine or something like that to find a way to clean it and get it properly styled.

Lauren’s muttering words like “sorry” and “she just wanted to go out again” with her ‘s’ sounding more like a ‘th’. It makes Michael wonder, though, why Maria and Brandy are so overbearing with this kind of rule when it’s clear that they don’t care about her basic needs, such as education, cleaning her hair, or getting her a proper meal.

The fourteen-year-old can’t promise anything. As long as they both live under this roof, the best he can do is food, maybe education, and hopefully a lot more with her hair. Giving the eight-year-old actual comfort is one thing he’ll always do, no matter what.

Comfort will be easier for him since all he has to do is treat Lauren the opposite way he was treated when growing up.

Maybe he can’t have a normal family with the Curtises, especially if they don’t have any interest in getting him back. Sure, maybe he’ll talk to them eventually and one day find out the reason why he was taken away from them and placed so far from Oklahoma. Plus, Michael won’t lie and say that he wouldn’t find it interesting if he told his biological family that he is here and just wait for their shocked faces to bloom.

But right now, the only promise he’d make was that he would try his best with the time he had with Lauren.

Because Lauren Williams was a survivor, she had the talents and natural ability to make it through despite Brandy and Maria’s awful words. She’ll make it out of here, just like he will. Not just out of Maria’s house, but out of the system entirely.

They’ll both be out of here. He vows it.

Chapter Text

Tulsa, Oklahoma, August 10th, 1999

That morning, when Michael got up, the first thing he did was check over the list of jobs he’d written down in his notebook the previous morning. Lifeguard duty was crossed off. It was fall, and school would start up again for most schools in Oklahoma on August 20th. That left the cashier and waiters at a nearby restaurant or fast food chain.

Based on experience, Michael has always preferred to work as a cashier at grocery stores or, rarely, at fast food chains, simply because there’s less interaction with people compared to waitering. A lot less stress, too.

The DX Gas Station is most likely one of the last places he wants to work. As much fun as it would be to hang out with his previously unknown older brother, Michael knows he’s just going to be all awkward with him, or be stupid enough to panic and just spill everything he knows. Sure, maybe nothing bad would happen if Sodapop knew the truth, but it’s sure as hell going to make it awkward.

Imagine you're getting a new friend who attends the same school as you and now works at the same place you do. Turns out to be the missing and unwanted child of the family from fourteen years ago.

… Awkward.

However, Michael still needed food and money, so if the situation became dire, he’d take a job at the DX. Otherwise, Michael would rather live in the same house as Harold Smith again.

…

Okay, so that may be a lie. In truth, Michael would rather die than live in the same house as Harold Smith ever again. That was more accurate. If anything, should Sodapop ever find out that way about the truth, especially before he finds out the truth of his abandonment? Michael would prefer that his current social worker relocate him to another state.

California, this time. Michael hears they have better weather, which would certainly beat the weather he’s dealt with in New York and Philly. Additionally, from what he hears, tornadoes here are no joke in Oklahoma, so they’re something that he does not want to deal with. Fortunately, though, he hears that those occur mainly in April or in May. It’s July, nearing August, so it’s not a problem at the moment.

Speaking of current social workers.

Michael decided to leave the safety of his room and take a peek at the file Maria had on him. That would probably have information that Michael hadn’t been able to read over when Carly and he had been sneaking around the first time.

A few days after the incident with Brandy, Michael deemed it safe enough to approach Maria, at least, to ask her if he could see the file she had been given on him, as it would probably give him clues as to why he had been moved so far away in the first place.

The fourteen-year-old never looked at his file before because, one, he never had a reason to in the first place, and two, most of his “providers” were unpredictable douches who he could never rely on to ask for such a commodity. One word would be enough to set one of them off, and he’d find himself sleeping over somewhere else for the night because of it. However, Maria seemed calm enough to ask her for this. 

Sure, maybe not as nice as she could be, but you have to get used to licking love from sharp and cold knives instead of gentle and warm spoons if you want to make it out.

He found Maria a few minutes later, sitting in the living room's armchair. She was smoking cigarettes while reading a magazine; she’d been doing that for a while, if the strong smell of tobacco in the air was one strong sign of it.

“Maria.” He said, making sure his voice was firm.

The woman turned her head away from the magazine, a familiar apathetic look on her face. “Ya’?”

Michael forced his hands down the pockets of his jeans, a method he’s used before to hide how nervous, sad, worried, or scared he was. Right now, he was as nervous and just did it out of habit. A place to put his hands to rest.

“Foster parents always get files on the kids in the house, you got mine, right?” He asked. “Could I take a look at it?”

Maria raised a brow; she was confused. Not irritated or mad, just perplexed at his choices. She was confused by it; it seems that she put down both the cigarette and the magazine on the coffee table. “I’ve been housing kids for over five years now, and ain’t one of ‘em has ever asked to see their files. What makes somebody like you so different, huh? Why do you want to see it?”

Surprisingly, she wasn’t patronizing or even demeaning. Maria looked genuinely curious as to why he wanted to see his file.

That’s so odd for an adult, especially for a foster parent.

“...Do you know your neighbors well?” Michael asked. It was a gamble, a big one. He wasn’t sure what kind of relationship the Williams family had with the Curtis family. All he knew was that Laure had an okay relationship with their two sons. Although chances were that Brandy and Maria either had a non-existent or crappy relationship with them.

Maria pondered his question for a minute. “Well, we got the old lady with AIDs, the old man who got a foster kid, too. Uh,” Carly’s foster parent. Man, he needs to find a way to get in contact with her. “Oh, ya, we also got the Curtises’... and yeah, those are all the ones I can remember… But what the hell does that have anythin’ to do with your file?”

Okay, it was the former. Good.

“...If you look at my file, you’ll see who my biological family is and where they live,” Michael explained, a pool of absolute dread growing inside him. Like an empty void full of hands trying to grab his ankles and pull him. “I saw it in my last foster home, and realized that I was placed on the same street as them.”

Now, at this, Maria dropped the magazine and then a cold cigarette on the floor. Her eyes were wide in shock, and her mouth was open agape, but speechless.

Meanwhile, Michael just stood there, standing still. He wasn’t huddling over himself, though he certainly wasn’t standing tall with his chin held high either.

“... Well… shit, kid.” Yeah, that’s one way to put it. “And you’re sayin’ that these ‘parents’ of yours are one of my neighbors.”

“Yeah.” Michael nodded slightly.

Maria takes a second to place the now dry cigarette and magazine from the floor and places them on the coffee table before walking past him with a simple, “Follow me, Michael.”

Michael did so.

The pair went upstairs, all the way up into her bedroom in fact, passing by Lauren’s, who was still asleep at this time. Brandy was missing, and, quite honestly, after Michael’s recent interaction with the guy, he preferred it that way. Now, of course, Michael’s no fool. Just because Brandy had shown his violent side first doesn’t mean that Maria won’t flip as well the second he says or does the wrong thing.

Every house he’s ever lived in has had minefields everywhere. Some are less than others, but minefields are all the same. A never-ending war for him… but it’s a war he intends on surviving.

For the next ten minutes or so, Michael stood in Maria and Brandy’s bedroom as the woman looked through the bedroom closet for the files she was given just about a week and a half or so ago. 

The bedroom itself was just as messy as the rest of the house, a pure reflection of the people who ruled it. The bed was left undone from the morning, the curtains still hid the sun away, leaving the room dark, as if not even the lights were turned on. One nightstand lamp was broken and in desperate need of repair, while the other lamp was nonexistent.

There are spots of dirt and dried-up food all over the place. It was disgusting, and it smelled that way, too. Michael’s just thankful he isn’t able to smell any of it from his bedroom.

Thankfully, Maria brought him his files and practically harshly shoved the white papers into his hands. It looked like Maria’s generosity had run out on him. Kindness, compassion, and patience running dry at the worst moments was a common thing that always happened to him. Regardless of what kind of foster parent he had or if he’d done something bad at all. He was just unlucky, and the universe hated him, too.

She crossed her arms and looked at him sharply, almost like she was glaring at him. “Alright,” she nodded her head to the bedroom door. “Now scat.”

Michael didn’t need to be told twice.

He firmly nodded, keeping his hands firm on the file, making sure that no sheet of paper fell out.

The kid stayed quiet and quickly left the room. He didn’t run away, but he certainly wasn’t slow in leaving either. If he went too fast, that would be seen as a sign of fearing her. If he went too slow, it would be seen as a sign of disrespect. Michael wasn’t sure if Maria hit or got violent like Brandy did, but he sure as hell didn’t want to find out.

Michael sat on the wooden chair, the desk lamp on as he opened the fluorescent yellow file. There were page markers on the edges every couple of pages or so. Nearby, Michael had his notebook out where he had taken notes of his previous findings in the library. After the first time he’d gone out with Lauren, two days later, he’d gone out on his own this time, re-examined the previously mentioned reasons as to why a child may be taken out of their native state, like he had been. He wrote them in his notebook.

But he’d also found out about something else. A new law on the foster care system came out around two years ago.

The Adoption and Safe Families Act (ASFA).

The law was aimed at “reforming” the system and prioritizing the permanent placement of foster children rather than family preservation. 

According to Yahoo!, the law mandates a permanency hearing within twelve months of a child entering the foster care system, and then every twelve months to visit the child and determine their living situation. A key aspect of the ASFA Act was the 15/22 rule, where states are required to initiate proceedings to terminate parental rights when a child has been in foster care for fifteen out of the most recent twenty-two months, unless specific exceptions apply.

While the act did increase the number of adoptions from foster care nationally, critics pointed out that some research suggests that the ASFA Act potentially prioritizes adoption over family reunification, causing harm by severing family ties prematurely, and by disproportionately affecting certain populations of people.

The ASFA Act is a federal law, so no matter what state Michael lived in at the time, he would be affected by it.

Michael felt like a whole lot of that was bullshit.

The law is a tricky thing, especially when it comes to state vs. federal. It’s another, albeit more minute, reason as to why Michael didn’t want to be a lawyer or prosecutor, or any kind of law person.

While reading the basic information over the act, Michael delved further into whether it was an act being used because he doesn’t remember any of his social workers mentioning it to him… or maybe they did, and he was just ignoring them. Michael isn’t sure since he usually ignores them anyway.

Anyway, the fourteen-year-old had decided to look further into it.

According to Yahoo!, while the law was signed on November 19, 1997, in 1998, many states began enacting their own legislation to implement ASFA, with some changes becoming effective in that same year. Some states were still implementing their changes this year, but by now, all states had enacted their law in July of this year. New York enacted the ASFA Act in February of this year.

…From 1985 to 1991, he was in Chicago.

Around October of ‘91, he was moved to New York City.

From 1991 to 1995, he lived in New York City and then moved at the end of July of that year, right after his birthday. 

From 1995 to 1999, he was in the care of multiple Philadelphia residents.

Michael couldn’t find the exact date the act went into effect, but he knows that by the time he was moved again, the act was most likely in effect. The same thing went for Oklahoma.

The fourteen-year-old didn’t know what to think. Sure, the law now applied, but did it count the past fourteen years of his life? Or was it resetting the clock? And now, if he stays in Maria’s care for twelve to fifteen months, will he be officially under her care until he ages out?

Had this been any other time before Tulsa, Michael would’ve been fine with it. After all, he had believed that his parents had been dead, or worse yet, had outright abandoned him. Staying with foster parents like Maria and Brandy for four more years wasn’t too bad, after all, there were hiding spots he could stay for the night, there was a library within walking distance, a gas station for emergency food, and while he may not be in school yet, he hopes Will Rogers won’t be so bad.

But this biological family is here. Right across the street from him. Sure, so far he’s only seen his second-oldest brother and doesn’t even know what his parents and oldest brother look like, but if these people turn out to be good parents and had an understandable reason for leaving him behind– ( No, no, no, there is no good reason for leaving him behind in such places. He’s their son, for crying out loud, they should’ve protected him, brought him home and actually give a damn about him. )

…If they truly were good people, then Michael can’t get himself adopted by Maria and Brandy, if the process for that hasn’t started already. He just has to hope that the law isn’t counting his whole life, and that he has at least several more months to try and get reacquainted with his biological family… That is, to hope that their parental rights over him specifically haven’t been terminated yet. Hopefully.

Full Name: Ponyboy Michael Curtis

Age: 14

Sex: Male

DOT: July 22nd, 1985

Native State: Oklahoma

Background: Mother (Elizabeth Curtis) and father (Darrel Curtis Sr.) were reported on August 9th, 1985, by their neighbor on the charges of extreme parental neglect. Sodapop Curtis (Currently 16) and Darrel Curtis Jr. (Currently 17) were also transferred to foster homes in both Oklahoma City and Tyrone, Oklahoma, respectively. However, unlike his older brothers, both Sodapop and Darrel have been returned to Elizabeth and Darrel Curtis in both 1986 and then in 1987. The family still lives on Southern Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Notes from previous foster parents:

• Quiet brat, always sneaking off and causing problems for me.

• The kid is smart, but quiet, not weak, though.

• Don’t bother with him, as long as you don’t care and mess things up with him, he’ll reciprocate.

• Too much of a bother to deal with.

Michael sighed.

He wasn’t surprised by any of the comments, although now he wishes he were. Either by cruel comments made on him, or some that were kind. There was only one found, and that was the second one.

• The kid is smart, but quiet, not weak, though.

But the fourteen-year-old already had an idea about who made that comment: the middle-class foster parents he remembers.

The next few papers detailed his previous foster parents, including who they were, contact information, and how long he stayed with each of them. Unfortunately, not one of those papers revealed why he was moved away from each home, let alone why he was moved out of state. He didn’t care about why he moved from home to home, only why he was moved out of state four times now.

The next paper depicted his medical records, including previous times he’s gone to the doctors and mandated vaccinations for school. He didn’t go to the doctor a lot as a kid because he wasn’t prone to getting fevers.

Something that had proved to be useful was a copy of the police reports on the night his biological parents had been reported by a neighbor of “extreme child neglect”. According to the report, the police at first hadn’t taken it seriously, believing it to be just the bitter words of an annoying neighbor.

Further investigation proved otherwise.

The cops would go on to contact Child Protective Services. The rest was history.

However, something interesting was that had been implied in the report: that Elizabeth Curtis had been arrested before this incident, and most likely, it hadn’t been that long before this. It didn’t specify what crime or the severity of it, only that she had already spent some time in jail before.

That part interested Michael for a variety of reasons. Namely, it spoke on his mother’s character, whether she was a good citizen with good morals or not. And it might explain the ease with which the system took their three children and the trouble with getting them all back. The courts might not trust his mother with three children with such a criminal record, let alone having a husband working day and night.

Unfortunately, and probably because of confidentiality policies, that was all the police report said.

A minute later, Michael found his previous school reports and grade records, along with the few troubles he’d gotten in trouble in school. Whether that be getting into petty scuffles or getting caught smoking at school. He also had a couple of notes from previous teachers and a letter of recommendation to the coach of Will Rogers High School from his previous high school, stating that he was an incredible and talented track runner for his age. Michael smiles warmly as he reads.

He liked Coach Burke. The guy cared about his students, regardless of sport; it was always clear to everybody that he had no “favorite” sport, no matter what he told them. It was an inside joke within the school athletes about how one day, if you asked Coach Burke what his favorite sport was on Wednesday, he’d tell you it was lacrosse, despite the school not having a lacrosse team. If you asked him on Thursday, he’d swear to you it was “European football”. On Friday, it was baseball, and on Monday, it’d be golf.

It was a nice joke to play on people. Harmless, too.

Michael groaned in frustration. He’d been through every single paper in the file, read every single word twice over, as he cross-referenced them with the notes in his notebook.

The files were a bust. Fucking useless.

There was no mention of why he was moved from state to state, and a more detailed explanation of why he’d been taken away in the first place.

Edited on 07/12/99

…What?

Michael squinted his eyes at the paper that had the basic information from the actual system. And there, in all its glory, on the corner of the paper in a small font size, read Edited on 07/12/99…

Bastards changed the information on the paper. 

…There were two things Michael knew the social workers editing his basic file could have changed. One, probably the most explainable and possible, was that they had edited the notes that his previous foster parent had written about him. Or two, for whatever reason, the social workers decided to change something in the background information.

It was the least likely explanation, he knew, and most likely just a crazy and paranoid theory of his, but he just had a gut feeling about it. He had a gut feeling that something more had happened, and he had no idea why.

Later that day, there was a ring coming from the house's landline from downstairs.

Hearing the phone continue to ring, Michael decided to go downstairs and pick up the phone.

“Hello?” He said.

“Hi,” A woman’s voice called through the phone. “ This is Casey McCoy. I am Ponyboy’s new social worker. May I know who’s on the phone with me right now? ”

Michael sighed.

“Yeah, that would be me.” He replied surly. “I go by Michael, however.”

“ Alright… well, do you know if I could speak with Maria right now? ” Casey asked.

Michael glanced up the stairs and remembered her most recent interaction with her. “Yeah, I’m afraid that can’t happen right now because Maria’s at work.” The lie left his mouth with no problem whatsoever.

After a beat of silence, Michael took that as his cue to end this phone call. “Okay, then, well, nice speaking with you, see you soon-”

“Ponyboy, wait, ” Casey interrupted. “I still have things I want to discuss with you. ”

Michael gritted his teeth. “I told you, I go by Michael, not Ponyboy. That’s for an animal.”

A common string among the social workers assigned to him was that whenever Michael tried to correct them on his name, they would either say “whatever” or just ignore him. Casey McCoy, like many others, would choose the latter.

Casey cleared her throat. “Alright then, Michael, you are aware of the number of homes you’ve been placed in your entire life, correct? ”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, too many in each state, I know.” It’s not my fault you jerks keep putting me in bad homes, he didn’t add.

“Are you aware that foster kids who behave badly in their homes, if that kind of behavior continues, could be moved to a boys' home instead?” … What?

“What?” 

“Yes, it especially happens to boys your age, you know.” Casey continued to explain.

“Hold on, I’ve never behaved that badly!” Michael argued. “Sure, I’m not perfect, but I’m not that bad!”

“Listen, yes, maybe you aren’t that bad a kid, but when you’re moving around that many homes in a single year and so many states as well, there’s a limit to where the system says that you just can’t be in another home anymore,” Casey explained. “And unfortunately for you, Maria Williams is your last hope before being moved into a boys' home.”

Dread started filling every inch of Michael’s head. He’s heard of other kids he used to know who were even older than he was being sent to those kinds of homes, and those are even worse than the average foster home. Even Dally used to scare him. At one point, he even joked about escaping one of those homes to appear more like a hero to Michael at that age; he would be telling him all those stories to him until he cried, said he’d get sent there if he started acting like him, although that had been… before he left him behind.

“Wait, wait, wait, please, come on,” Michael almost yelled into the phone. “Isn’t there anything I can do t-to just prevent, please. I can’t go to a boys' home." If he gets into one, then he might not be able to become a doctor. He’ll become another lowlife like Maria or Brandy or like any other stupid foster parent he’s ever had and just start the cycle of abuse all over again.

He can’t get stuck in there. He just can’t.

The phone in his hand is vibrating, shaking in his hand. He’s scared, anxious, and he knows he is. He’s just glad that Maria and Brandy aren’t here.

“ Yes, there is, ” Casey told him. “ And that’s being adopted by Maria and Brandy. And that’ll only happen when I visit and allow it. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to send you to a boys' home. ”

“A-And what about my, you know, biological family?” Michael quickly asked. “What about them?”

“ Do you mean to ask if they’ve ever pursued reunification with you? ” Casey rephrased.

Michael gulped, feeling his heart beating faster than a peregrine falcon, “Yeah.”

There was the sound of papers being moved and checked around. The world seemed to be going slower for Michael, like he couldn’t breathe, like a balloon was right next to a needle, his body filled with so much anxiety he felt like he was about to puke. All he could hear in his ears was the sound of his heart beating in sync with every millisecond.

“ According to the papers I have, your biological parents have applied to start the reunification process, but no confirmation has been made on their appeal. ”

…

“...What?” Michael asked. “What-What does that mean?”

“ It means that they applied to start reunification a while ago, but that their case worker hasn’t confirmed or denied their appeal to meet you again.” And either way, you have no way of being able to affect this decision. Both on your biological parents' part and on the legal side. ” Casey explained.

“...S-So you’re saying that there’s a chance for my parents to get me back instead?” Michael hesitantly asked, having to restrain himself from fear of stuttering his words further.

Casey, on her part, seemed to ponder his words for a minute. “Well, yes, I would say that that could happen instead.”

Michael slid a hand through his hair in a similar fashion to how Carly would.

This is all like a double-edged sword.

On one hand, he could go the “safe” path and avoid the Curtis's as much as he could and officially become the Williams’ eldest child. He’d know what to expect from his foster parents; he wouldn’t have to go to a boys' home, and he could protect Lauren. He’d make it to a good university, get honors, and get a good job… with barely any family to speak of. Sure, maybe he’d still have Lauren, but he’d most likely have no home to be welcomed back to once he turned eighteen. No family to warmly return to on the holidays or to get a happy birthday from. He’d be alone again.

On the other hand, should the Curtises be actual good people? He would have a family, he would have brothers, parents, he would still be going to the same school as them, and come back to them with warm and open arms every holiday. He wouldn’t be alone again. It’d be a dream come true.

However, should they be bad people? Then, Michael was just back to square one… but at least he wouldn’t have the threat of being sent to a boy’s home somewhere else hanging over his head ever again. It was a good deal, should the Curtis's were good or bad people in the end. Besides, dealing with jerkish foster parents was second nature to him now; whatever the Curtis people throw at him won’t break him.

He’ll be safer, in a way.

On the phone, Casey continued speaking to him. Though Michael had stopped listening a while ago. Hopefully, whatever she had to say to him wasn’t that important anyway. He’d been coming up with a new plan. Around two weeks ago, he’d met his brother Sodapop, and he knew where the guy worked and had already started decently with him. That was good.

Not too long after his library visit, however, he had decided to just stop trying to get the family that had abandoned him behind, just like they had done the same with him. But the appeal to try to reunify with him changed everything; it was a sign, a clue, that they wanted him back. It was… jump, albeit, but Michael would prefer living in a crackhouse then ever go to a boys' home.

The call with Casey wouldn’t end too long after Michael had reached that conclusion.

Soon, Michael was already making up a new plan in his head.

Chapter Text

Tulsa, Oklahoma, August 23rd, 1999

Today was the first day of school for Will Rogers High School. Tired and procrastinating teens came and went, complaining about their new schedules and what kind of teachers they would be stuck with for the rest of the year.

Michael’s used to being the new kid. He lost track of how many schools he had attended throughout his life after changing schools five times. So he’s used to being the new kid every year or so. Right now, he’s just observing the teenagers soon to be his peers while he makes sure not to lose Maria through the crowd as she leads him into the school office. He saw a group of boys gang up on another student, pushing and shoving him around. A group of blonde and brunette girls, along with one distinct, cherry-headed girl, giggled and gossiped around the lockers as they applied their makeup; they were most likely cheerleaders.

There was even a guy with a neon green shirt riding his skateboard down the hallway as a teacher chased after him.

Maria and he sat next to each other in the school office as they waited for their names to be called. It looked like Maria wanted a cigarette or something, but didn’t want to get one out in a school. The thought was funny to Michael.

Michael had a feeling what kind of classes he would get for the school year. For his core classes? AP Chemistry, AP Lang., Honors Algebra 2, and AP World History. He’d sign up for all the hard courses last year, at the end of May, once his old school knew he was moving to Tulsa, and just what kind of classes they offered. Luckily, they had all the AP and honors classes he needed. As for his electives? Originally, he’d also filled those out at his old school–Gym, Creative Writing, Study Hall, and Anatomy Class.

But, according to a letter from a few days ago, he’d have to choose a different list of electives because, for study hall, they’d accidentally put too many kids in one room. Honest mistake from the office people… great.

Right now, however, Maria had his medical files in hand, so she probably had to turn in his vaccination records to check if the mandatory ones were all in order. Something Michael had overheard during another one of Brandy and Mari’s explosive arguments that she had forgotten to inform the school about, thus, the delay he was having with his schedule on the first day of school.

Michael took a glance at Maria, as he still felt weirded out by how professional she looked compared to every other time he’d ever seen her before. Her hair was flat, styled with hair gel, and tied into a low ponytail, unlike the free, red curls she usually wore. Her plain white looked old, yes, but all steamed and pish-posh clean, especially with her plaid beige pants. She even had a golden necklace and two bracelets on her left arm.

A pretty stark difference to what he had chosen to wear for his first day of school: a white polo shirt under his red jacket, the one he always likes wearing, with baggy blue jeans. He even decided to wear the baseball hat Dally had won for him back in New York. Fun times, he supposed.

The door from the school hall to the school office swung open again.

Absentmindedly, Michael looked up and spotted another teenage girl he’d been dying to talk to again: his ex-sister, Carly.

His friend followed a tall man as they walked right up to the secretary to inform her of his reason for being there.

If the guy was Erin Scotts, then Erin Scotts was a tall man with a lanky figure who hovered over everybody in the room, earning him some weird and shocked looks from around the room. Some would even stay staring for minutes on end until Erin himself caught them staring. It was amusing to watch those kinds of people blush as they looked away in embarrassment.

As for Carly herself? She barely looked any different from the last day he saw her when he left the van.

Thank goodness.

Additionally, superficially speaking, Carly didn’t have a bruise or scratch anywhere on her, but then again, it’s not that hard to hide back scars, and it certainly doesn’t mean that he hasn’t hit the kid at all. Michael got a good beating from Brandy, and most of his bruises have pretty much faded away by today.

There’s a corner in Michael’s mind that wonders if Carly got a call from her new social worker telling her that if she didn’t make it work with Erin, she would get sent to some kind of girls’ home, too. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t surprise him, but Jesus, Michael hopes not.

Soon enough, Carly spots him, too, and shoots him a smile. Not the grin or smirk he’s more used to, but the rare, warm, and genuine smile Michael’s seen before.

And he smiles right back at her.

Carly taps on Erin's shoulder, to which even she, who was an inch or two taller than him, had to stand on her tippy-toes to reach properly. In turn, Erin slightly crouches down, and Carly tells him something that Michael can barely hear. However, it can’t make anything out of it. He can only sit and watch from a distance, trying to look as subtle as possible. 

In the meantime, Michael looks over to Maria, who’s gripping his file tightly in her hands and refuses to look over to him.

“Maria William?” A man calls out from the councilor’s office.

Maria looked up in less than a second to where the man’s voice was coming from. As if the voice was the only thing she could hear among the bustling office with its paper, telephone, and computer sounds. Nope, just the man’s voice.

“Yes?” She said softly, probably the softest he’s ever heard her.

“You can step into my office now.” The man replied neutrally.

Maria slowly nodded, clutching the files in her hand. She looked sharply at Michael. “You stay right where you are, ya’ hear me?”

Michael nodded curtly. “I hear ya’.”

With one last sharp look, Maria turned and left for the councilor’s office, her heels clicking on the floor as sharply as her expression to him had been.

In less than a minute after Maria’s leave, Michael spotted Carly, as Erin simply shrugged and turned away to continue speaking with the front lady, and the two of them went over what Michael could only assume were Carly’s files on everything relevant about her life.

On the other hand, Carly walked up to the seat next to him, the one where Maria had just been sitting in, with an all too common smirk on her face. A smirk Michael’s seen when she does something like stealing or lying, or doing something remotely sneaky.

Michael huffed as she sat down. “What’d you do now, Carly?” He asked her, half jokingly.

“Why, Michael, I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Carly replied with an accent she’d made up and called the “goody-goody shoes” accent. “Why, I’m just an angel that can do no wrong.”

Michael just shook his head in response. “Whatever you say, Carly. So, did your shitty foster parents mess up your school application, too?”

Carly nodded. “Yeah. According to them, there was a typo in some of my more important papers, so now they’re playing detective and trying to figure out how to fix it so that I can finally start school. You?”

“I’m pretty sure mine forgot to turn in my medical records, so she’s doing that right now,” Michael replied. “Oh, and there was, unfortunately, an error with the schedule because ‘one class too full’, or some bullshit like that.”

“Bullshit.” She agreed.

“Anyway, do you have your schedule?” Michael asked. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll have a chance of sharing classes.”

Carly shrugged. “They didn’t give me one yet. ‘Said they had to make sure that none of the classes I had chosen contradicted anythin’ in my files.”

Michael nodded in understanding. “So, what classes did you choose?” The two of them had known for years now that they would most likely never be in the same core classes together, as Michael was always in more advanced courses and was a whole grade level above her.

Though they usually had a Gym, a Study Hall, an Office assistant, or any other kind of elective together.

That was the only useful thing about Art or Creative Writing for Michael.

The only time they had been unable to stick together had been last year when Carly was in eighth grade and he was a freshman. This would be their first year with the opportunity to reunite.

“Well, I chose Art, Gym, obviously, Spanish 2, and Yearbook.”

Michael raised a brow. “Yearbook?” Carly’s never done that one before, let alone a photography class.

Carly nodded. “Yeah, I thought I’d try something new for my first year in high school, ya’ know.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Michael looked down at the floor, a guilty look taking over his face. A guilty face, Carly knew all too well by now.

Carly lightly shoved his shoulder. “Hey, what’s on your mind?” She asked sincerely.

When Michael, in turn, rolled his eyes, not wanting to talk about it, Carly followed up with, “Hey, I’m serious… how’s the whole investigation about your biological parents going?” She asked.

Michael subtly nodded his head. “Well, you know, it’s going.”

“...It’s going?”

“It’s going.”

…

Once again, Carly softly shoved his shoulder. “Dude, come on, finding out about your real parents went that bad? They serial killers, too?” She half-jokingly asked.

And when Michael stayed quiet, that’s when all joking matters stopped.

“... Oh… that bad, huh?” Carly said.

This time, Michael nodded by nodding his head. “Yeah… uh, no, they’re not serial killers… or alcoholics, or abusers, or druggies…” Michael looked back up at Carly. “They’re completely normal people.”

Carly furrowed her brows in perplexity. “What? I-I don’t get it, i-if your parents are normal, then why-”

“Because that means that there’s a chance that they left me behind,” Michael argued, his voice on the edge of breaking. “Or a chance that they... forgot about me.”

Carly would open her mouth and close it again a few more times, but she didn’t say anything. As if in her own head, she was trying to decipher what he truly meant. It took her only a minute for the realization to hit her.

“Oh… Oh, shit. Michael… listen, you can’t let that bring you down.” Carly said firmly. “You’ve survived this long without them. If they forgot about you, then you should–”

“No.” Michael interrupted, shaking his head slightly. “No, no, that’s- that’s not what I meant either. Sorry, I explained it all so wrong.”

Carly narrowed her eyes, not into a glare, but into a serious look instead, that wanted a proper explanation from her former brother. “What happened exactly?”

Michael sighed and looked around the room, making sure that nobody would be nosy enough to try to eavesdrop on their conversation. Instead, Michael spotted Maria leave the councilor's office and look directly at him, gesturing for him to come in as well.

In turn, Michael looked back at Carly, “Meet me after school by the front doors of the school, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Carly nodded and held out her hand. “Deal?”

Michael took it with no hesitation. “Deal.”

Soon, Michael let go of her hand, stood up, and walked towards the councilor's office. While he was walking into the office, Maria had gently put her hands on his shoulders, in a way that Michael had seen other mothers do with their kids, especially if they were younger.

It weirded him out so bad that Michael subtly flinched at the soft contact.

Thankfully, soon enough, Maria’s hands were off him, and they were able to sit in two different seats from across the school counselor.

The counselor himself was a rather old man, Michael would say, not close to retirement, but certainly old enough for all the white hair he had. He had black glasses to match a simple yet crisp black suit. He didn’t look rich; however, he was certainly well off.

No matter his looks, the guy was unfortunately buried in papers and constantly editing things on his computer. That should have been expected, though, especially during the first week of school when barely anybody likes the classes they’ve been given and have no friends in any of their classes, so essentially every person in the dang school will be wanting a schedule change as fast as possible.

That’s without even mentioning the “special” cases like Carly and he. But Michael doubted that there were that many special cases.

After a minute of clicking and looking at the computer screen, the school counselor, whom Michael read the tag on the table and found out his name was M. Dunn, finally turned to look at him, face-to-face.

“It’s nice to meet you, Michael,” Mr. Dunn said in an old, raspy yet soft voice.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Dunn,” Michael replied politely.

“Okay, so it says here that you signed up for Creative Writing, Gym, Study Hall, and Anatomy Class, am I correct?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Unfortunately, you see, the study hall period you were given was unfortunately filled over capacity by accident, and so the only option is to remove you from that class and place you in another.”

Michael didn’t initially know which elective class specifically had been in abundance of students, but he had been hoping that it would be Creative Writing or Gym, not Study Hall or Anatomy class.

Anatomy class, because, well, he needed it for the medical pathway, and Study Hall, because it was the class where he was always able to study for AP exams and whatever homework he could do.

Creative Writing and Gym were the real useless ones in the grand scheme of things. Over the years, Creative Writing and Art were always the “creative” classes added to fill an empty slot, fulfilling the mandatory credit required. Gym was also a requirement, but unlike the two creative classes, he could sometimes study whenever the gym teacher just didn’t feel like teaching that day. However, it was often unpredictable and rarely reliable enough to say, “Oh, I’ll just study that in gym.”

Unfortunately, Michael couldn’t voice his opinions. Instead, he nodded his head like a gentleman and said, “Okay, so what would my other options for elective classes be?”

Now, those specifically looked to put a happy and satisfied face on Mr. Dunn, as if he didn’t want to deal with whatever possible argument or debate he thought Michael would have because he had to move classes.

“Well, unfortunately, most elective classes offered to sophomore students are full of students. For the fifth period classes offered, even less so,” Mr. Dunn explained. “With that said, the only elective class that’s offered to sophomore students available is the joint Spanish 4 class between sophomore and freshman students.”

Another loss for Michael, if he wasn’t going to have Study Hall, then he would have preferred being in a class that wasn’t useless for him in the grand scheme of things. Other better options would have been Intro to Robotics, Psychology, or Engineering, all useful subjects in their own right. Useful in the real world. Not to say that Spanish wasn’t useful at all, it’s just that Michael had just finished taking Spanish classes last year.

“But, Sir, I already took four Spanish classes,” Michael told him, feeling himself grow impatient. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else?”

Mr. Dunn sighed. “You’re lucky, Mr. Williams. In the transcripts we have from your previous schools, it says that you took Spanish classes, one, two, three, and then took the AP Spanish class in your freshman year.”

Yes, and he got a good score on that one. The only reason he took AP Spanish was that he already had all the other classes he wanted and was able to get himself exempted from Gym, so he just took extra college credit last year.

“However, you have never taken a Spanish 4 class, and because we can’t put you in any other class, unfortunately, you’ll have to take a Spanish class again this year.”

Truthfully, Michael did not want to take any other language classes again. They were honestly a pain to deal with, and it was completely unfair that he had to retake one this year simply because of some stupid errors the school faculty had made.

But, alas, it was the first day in a new school, so Michael didn’t want to end up on somebody’s bad side so quickly. As a result, the fourteen-year-old forced a smile on his face and said, “Alright, sounds good to me, Sir.”

As Michael finished speaking, he took a glance at Maria, and it looked like she couldn’t care less about what was going on. Instead, she was just looking at the clock over Mr. Dunn’s head, as if she was counting the seconds for school to start at 8:30 AM on the dot for her to leave. As if she had anything better to do.

Mr. Dunn smiled in relief. “That’s a relief to hear, Mr. Williams.” Those were the only words spoken to him before the old man turned back to the computer and typed up the class. Within less than five minutes, the printer behind the man slid the paper up. In less than a second, Michael found that warm paper in his hands. Quickly, Michael read through his schedule for the next year.

                                                                                                     08/16/1999     8:06

1999 - 2000               CURTIS, PONYBOY, GRADE 10

                                   Birth, 07/22/1985

                                   Gender, Male

Credits         School Year 1999-2000                                          8.000

Michael looked at his schedule and nodded to himself.

The schedule itself… could be worse. Honestly, he’s just glad he doesn’t have to take any science or math classes first thing in the morning. The last time that had happened to him had been in seventh grade, when he had to take Advanced Algebra 1 first thing in the morning and then had to take science back-to-back. That’s how he ended up with a D in science and a B- in Algebra 1 for a whole month.

It’s safe to say that Michael never wanted that to happen again.

The fourteen-year-old looked back up at Mr. Dunn, who, to his credit, was patiently waiting for a response to the new schedule he was given. In turn, Michael looked back up and nodded.

“Thank you, uh, I’ll be sure to keep this schedule for the school year.”

If Michael were lucky, then Carly and he would have Gym together, and unless she finds herself in the same situation where one of her classes is overfilled with students and therefore needs to be filled, too.

The first four classes went by in a blur for Michael. Since it was just the first day of school, the hardest thing the teachers had assigned was fun pages about their summer experiences and what they were excited about for the school year. Michael jockingly jotted down that he was excited for the next summer vacation; Mr. Young had, thankfully, thought that answer was funny rather than mocking.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any classes with Carly in his first four classes, so Michael already considered that a loss. At least none of his teachers seem to hate him yet, and they were still stuck in the first day blues, where they were all cheerful and excited. He didn’t make new friends in any of the classes; however, at best, he made new and reliable acquaintances, for if he had a question on a new lesson he didn’t understand.

Additionally, he hadn’t seen Sodapop at all, and judging by his age, he should be in school. Sure, maybe Michael and he would have had core classes together, but in AP Lang., AP World History, and Honors Algebra 2, they already didn’t have that many kids, and Sodapop was pretty recognizable, so maybe he took the regular core classes. Even so, most Juniors and Sophomores have joint electives together, so perhaps he would see him in Spanish, Gym, or Anatomy class; Sodapop wasn’t in Creative Writing either.

Spanish 4, the class he did not want to take, was up next. Miss. Martinez seemed nice enough for the first day. Unfortunately, however, it looked like Sodapop wasn’t in this class either.

Most times, Michael labels his teachers by the time the second week rolls around because that’s typically when most teachers reveal their true nature.

Most often, Spanish would have been seen as a free and boring period for Michael to recharge his social battery, should he make close friends with people other than Carly.

Halfway through the introduction, Michael had finally written Spanish class as a boring period filled with things he already knew… had it not been for somebody else. Miss. Martinez had just finished telling the whole class what the syllabus for the school year was going to be when, out of nowhere, a kid threw a crumpled-up paper right at her when she had her back turned.

However, Miss Martinez was not having it. She immediately turned around and demanded to know who threw that; her voice was firm and loud and definitely hadn’t waned at all once the people in the back heard it.

“Alright, fine, whoever doesn’t fess up to this, then the whole class gets detention.” She threatened.

No one spoke up, some because they saw but didn’t want to become snitches on the first day, and most, like Michael, didn’t know who threw it, so they said nothing.

The perpetrator didn’t say anything either and hid amongst him like a camouflaged lizard. Most of the students who knew seemed to think that detention wouldn’t be all that bad. Michael would agree with that notion; however, Miss Martinez hadn’t said how long said detention would last, and he couldn’t afford to have a bad record.

Seeing as no one was speaking up, the Spanish teacher wasn’t about to give up, “Detention for the rest of the semester. Every. Single. Day.”

It was then that the whole class erupted into whining and complaining, saying that it wasn’t fair. Michael joined along with them, “Whoever did it, just say it, man, come on!”

Although it was the first day of school, the students who knew who did it weren’t so scared of being labeled snitches now. However, before anybody could point fingers, a kid with curly black hair with a conspicuous long scar going from his temple all the way down to his chin. From the scar alone, Michael didn’t even need to think if this kid was from the East side, his clothes and the way he held himself up as he came forward said it all; it hauntingly reminded him of Dally in some ways.

“I did it.” He said. He didn’t say guilty, he didn’t even sound prideful. He just sounded like it was something that wasn’t worth being proud of, as if it was every day for him.

Miss Martinez's face hadn’t changed, other than the fact that she was glad to know who it was. “I’m not surprised, Shepard. Detention for the next two months.” And went right back to teaching.

‘Shepard, ’ on the other hand, simply smirked amusingly as he sat back down. Knowing people like him, people like Dally, they would rarely serve that detention sentence.

Shepard incidentally sat in a row behind him, two seats to the left.

Michael paid no mind to him. Shepard would only be a distraction to his academic goals. Michael will give him credit for being good at Spanish, since he was in the top non-college-level language course. Unless he was also bad at Spanish, and the school simply stuffed him away in here because there was nowhere else to put him.

Unfortunately for both Michael and Carly, the two classes they had together were Gym and Anatomy class. Apparently, the class Carly had wanted to take instead was full, so the teacher kicked her and three other students to the counselor's office to receive a new class arrangement.

During Gym, Carly and Michael stuck together as the coach introduced himself as Coach Conners, head of the Track and Basketball. When he said that, Michael felt Carly lightly elbow him with a stupid grin on her face. She knew he had done track before and encouraged him to continue doing that this year. Carly even had on her stupid grin and everything.

Michael simply scowled back at her.

Although Michael found it hard how he didn’t see Sodapop in any of his classes, or even in the hallways. Sodapop was sixteen, so, unless he graduated early and got a job, he should be here somewhere. What were the chances that Sodapop and he would have classes so different to the point where they don’t even see each other in the halls?

Sodapop was most likely a Junior, and he was a Sophomore; it shouldn’t be so unlikely that Soda and he don’t even share an elective class like Gym, right?

But Michael did hear about something else, about a different Curtis. Darrel Curtis Jr.

For all the fourteen-year-old knew, he could’ve seen him and have no idea that he did. Things that he’s heard about this Darrel Jr. all sum up to this: A senior student, a boy all the girls seem to gush over, especially the cheerleaders, and a rising star on the football team who’d make it big one day.

In contrast, Michael heard nothing about Sodapop, almost as if he didn’t go to this school… well, unfortunately, high school dropouts aren’t that rare among people like them anyway. Either that, or Sodapop’s just not popular. However, Sodapop was attractive, and he had a good, charismatic, and funny personality; there was no way that people weren’t just gushing all over the younger Curtis brother, too.

After school ended, Michael didn’t expect to get picked up by Brandy or Maria. Carly had told him that she expected the same from Scott. 

Individually, they snuck under the bleachers by the school’s football field. There weren’t any practices being held on the first day since tryouts for the team hadn’t even been announced.

“Tell me everythin’,” Carly said firmly, like she was a young child ready to hear a bedtime story, as she ducked her head under the dirty white bench.

“Alright,” Looking over his shoulder a second time. Maybe he was acutely paranoid, but he didn’t care; looking over your shoulder several times compared to doing nothing at all would keep you alive for longer, people like Carly and he understood that well. After ensuring that they were alone, Michael took out his notebook and printed papers from the news articles he had read.

Instead of the puzzle-like trail Michael had to follow and decipher on his own, he’d been able to somewhat make a timeline from what he knew and what would be assumed.

Somewhere between 1980 and 1985, Elizabeth Curtis had been arrested by the police.

In the fall of 1985, a little over two months after he was born, a neighbor called the cops on his biological parents based on “extreme child neglect”. According to a minor section in the newspaper, the police hadn’t found anything suspicious until further investigation.

This led to the detectives on the case immediately contacting CPS, who took and placed the three Curtis sons far from their hometown; however, one of them, him, would be moved out of his home state, all the way to Chicago.

Fourteen years later, that same boy would be back home for an unsaid reason. A reason that Michael suspected may give him a clue as to why he was moved to Chicago in the first place.

Those were all the facts that Michael knew for now. 

Afterwards, Michael shared all his speculations and observations he’d made these few weeks.

On his second day here, he spotted two guys, one with sandy, greased hair, someone who Ponyboy now knew was Sodapop, and the other with an iconic Mickey Mouse shirt, who also had greasy hair. He noted especially how casually they had entered the house, but now knowing that one of those guys was his biological brother, it made a lot more sense.

At the time, Michael had initially believed that the Curtises had left their front door unopened. He criticized it as the family lived in a dangerous neighborhood, which could easily lead to them getting robbed. However, after his first conversation with Sodapop, who had right off the bat offered an invitation to crash at their place, he explained that they always kept their door open for those in need, including Lauren and him. 

He even showed her the sketches he’d made based on the ideas he had of what his family potentially looked like.

Additionally, he informed her of Sodapop’s warning of socs and how they tend to jump kids who live on their side of the city. Had it been anybody else, Michael would’ve kept quiet one how Sodapop implied that one of his own had been beaten up badly not too long before, but this was Carly, and she needed to know of the potential danger she could find herself in.

Carly nodded and agreed with him, “I know, talked to a girl in my English class. According to her, she felt bad about where I lived and decided she wanted to warn me ‘bout it.”

“What’d she say?” Michael asked. “Did she give you any hints on how to avoid them? Anythin’ like that?”

She thought about it for a second before she replied. “Oh, yeah, she said that the ‘main ringleader’ is a football star called Bob Sheldon, says he goes drivin’ around drunk in his Mustang a lot of the time.”

Perhaps not life-saving information, but it could prove important should the occasion arise.

“Told me that he’s a football star, too.”

Michael’s eyes widened slightly. “Remember how I told you I had two older brothers?”

“Yeah, what about it…? Oh, please don’t tell me.”

Michael jokingly raised his arm. “I heard around the school about the ‘handsome star, Darry Curtis’. Heard that he’s a football star from some of the cheerleading girls in my class.”

In less than a second, Carly was doubled down and cackling as she wiped a “tear” in her eye. On the other hand, Michael scowled at her as she laughed.

“Nah, this shit ain’t funny.”

“Oh, hell yeah it is!” And she continued wheezing and laughing.

A few minutes of non-stop laughing, Carly finally calmed down and asked, “...So, what do you plan on doing now?”

…

“I don’t know.” 

Even know he still felt conflicted on how he should approach this. Should he take up on Sodapop’s offer? Should he just confront his biological parents about it?  Or should he tell Sodapop and Darrel Jr. first?

He didn’t know what to do or say; all actions and words from now all felt like a dead end with spikes at the end, just waiting patiently to impale him and snuff out his life.

Carly saw this. She didn’t know what kind of questions he might have, but he had questions about it all nonetheless.

Michael was always like that, after all.

“Well, whatever it is you decide to do, I’ll always stand by your side, Michael.”

It was only a few hours later, and Michael was back at the DX gas station.

After his initial meeting with Sodapop, he visited the places a few more times afterward. Sodapop always made small talk and always ended it with him reminding Michael of his invitation, to which Michael would always respectfully acknowledge and nod to.

Every time, Michael always bought TV dinner food. He didn’t want to spend more money on healthier products until he got himself a steady job somewhere, so that, unfortunately, meant eating too much TV dinner food to be healthy. Fortunately, for both Lauren and him, sometimes Brandy and Maria would order takeout. Sure, it wasn’t that much healthier, but it felt nice seeing Lauren eating vegetables… sort of.

Michael doesn’t even go to the gas station all that often because seeing his brother’s face was a little… uncanny resemblance for him. It didn’t take long to see them. They both had a facial resemblance, almost mirroring each other, especially when placed side by side.

Thankfully, Sodapop hasn’t said anything to him about it, not even cracking a joke for if he’s some kind of ‘distant cousin’. With how much Sodapop likes to talk and joke around, Michael just suspected that he hadn’t noticed the similarities yet.

Something that the fourteen-year-old sees as a miracle.

He doesn’t want him to know about it, not right now at least, maybe… later, once Sodapop’s shown that he could keep a big secret like this from his parents and potentially from Darrel Jr.

…

No, there was a small, small chance that it would ever happen.

If he had been put into a position like he could be getting Sodapop into, he probably would’ve said something, too, no matter if he’s good at keeping secrets or not.

…The best he could do would be to explain his side of things; even then, Michael had his own suspicions about it.

Though today was different at the DX gas station, there was a second person at the cashier register alongside Sodapop; he looked around Sodapop’s age. Like the kid in his Spanish class, he was tall, lean, and had the signature grease hair styled into complicated curls. The two of them were goofing off and talking about their girls.

He was just missing the scar on his face.

Once Michael had the two lunches at the counter, he quickly read the name tag on the mystery guy.

Steven Randle.

The 'n' for the guy's name was scratched out, Michael noted, believing that it was probably just a strong name preference.

“Yo, Steve, meet the new kid, the one I told ya ‘bout last week,” Sodapop said as Michael walked over to the cashier. “Michael, meet Steve Randle, the knucklehead I spend all day with.”

“‘Sup.”

In turn, Michael nodded. “Hey.”

Sodapop looked between the two of them before announcing, “Enjoy you two, I gotta go fix some car some client left for us, see ya, Michael.”

Steve gave him an annoyed look with his arms crossed that spelled out everything he needed to know.

And just like that, he was left alone with a stranger; he hadn’t even heard of this guy at school. Not as somebody popular and not as somebody absent on the first day of school.

Silently, Michael handed him the grocery goods he had picked. It was obvious to both of them just how nervous he was; what gave him away the most was probably the fact that he was trying to look anywhere except Steven, or Steve as Sodapop called him.

As he scanned the goods, Steve asked him, “You like rodeos?”

The honest answer was that he’d only ever gone to a few, and that had been in New York with Dally because he had nowhere else to go for the night. The old man, whom he couldn't even remember, had kicked him out for the night, and Dally had told him that he didn’t want him staying alone at his place.

That was around five years ago.

Michael simply shrugged his shoulders. “‘Don’t know, never been to one.” 

“Mmh, well, there’s a rodeo next week,” Steve informed him, bagging Lauren and his dinner in the paper bags. “I’d suggest comin’, heard that a lot of good ones are comin’, should be a good rodeo to end off the season.”

Michael nodded. “I’ll see to it then. Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Chapter Text

Tulsa, Oklahoma, August 25th, 1999

That morning, as Michael was ready to leave the Williams’ household for the third day of school, a place he was already starting to grow tired of. 

At least Carly was there, and they could hang out in the halls in between classes, especially after discovering how close their classes actually were distance-wise.

Michael still had his eye out for Darrel Jr. He had heard new information on him the past day, but most of it was recycled gossip soup from the first day.

Brandy and Maria, as always, were nowhere to be found within the house. No note, voice message, or letter left behind to explain to kids why they’d been left alone in such a dangerous neighborhood like this one. But, alas, Michael trudged on forward from the door.

He can’t remember the last time he had seen Brandy, but the last time he had seen Maria was when she had to drop him off for the first day of school.

A part of him was tempted to stay for the simple fact that Lauren still wasn’t allowed to be out when the two adults were gone; however, he didn’t want to miss out on any homework. Speaking from experience, whenever he missed out on any work, especially in high school, it took him a whole week to recover, and his AP Lang and AP World History teachers were already assigning tons of homework for them to work on for when the weekend came.

“Pleatheeee?” Lauren kept begging, elongating her e’s with her small hands clasped together, her eyes big and wide.

“I’m sorry, Lauren,” Michael sadly said.

He would’ve–maybe he should’ve–left it at that. But, instead, Lauren’s cute and big eyes got the better of him.

Screw cute puppy eyes.

Instead of leaving her, just like Maria and Brandy had done, Michael crouched down to her height. “Tell you what, when I get back from home, I’ll buy you your favorite snacks and tell you a story.”

Lauren, to her credit, pondered his compromise for a second. “Okay, but it hath to be a new book.”

That might be out of his budget, depending on what kind of story she wanted to be told for tonight. For now, Michael decided to entertain the idea.

“All right, then, what kind of story would you like to be told?” He asked, subconsciously, and he looked at the time. The bus didn’t come to pick him up for reasons Michael had no idea of; to be honest, it was quite annoying.

Although it was most likely because Maria forgot some other forms once again that weren’t important enough to be mentioned by the councilor two days ago.

Once again, Lauren thought her answer carefully–as if she knew that Michael didn’t have enough money to buy her anything fancy. She simply shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, jutht thomething different?”

It was phrased more like a question rather than a confident statement.

Either way, finding a short novel that was still good and wasn’t similar to Gone With the Wind would be easy for him. Who knows? Maybe it wouldn’t even cost that much money in the end.

“Of course, then,” Michael got up, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and opened the front door, and was immediately met with the abnormal cold morning in Tulsa for a day in August. “Bye, Lauren.”

“Byeee!”

While Michael had indeed walked to school in his previous homes, he had always preferred riding the bus whenever given the opportunity.

While Michael often considered that place a walking war zone for all the kids to torment each other indiscriminately, it sometimes provided Michael with extra time for a nap whenever his foster had kicked him out for the night, or to study for a quiz he had forgotten about.

Back in Philadelphia, Carly and he got to go on the bus together for almost an entire semester before it was inevitably shut down because of a lack of funding to pay the bus driver. As a result, some kids still got to ride the bus because it would’ve been an hour or so walk to school otherwise, but other kids like Carly and he had to walk for twenty minutes or so each day; truly, it depended on how much traffic there was, especially in a city like Philly.

Michael vividly remembers one day, when it had been raining all day, including monstrous lightning, when Carly and he decided to buy tickets together to go on the local buses. Otherwise, their shoes would’ve become soaked from the flooded sidewalks with mud and whatever other dirty things the sidewalks or roads had.

It had been winter, too.

If it had been summer, then they would’ve walked their way home, though neither of them wanted to get sick.

Medicine was expensive, and most needed some kind of adult to buy it, not a kid. It didn’t matter how much money they came up with together; they wouldn’t be able to buy it because they needed an adult to do all the paperwork without being reported and separated.

However, both of them knew that using the local bus instead of walking wouldn’t be a sustainable method for heading home because the money they used was needed for more important things, like food.

It would take a while for Michael to become accustomed to the local bus routes and times for him to ride it, but he did it in New York and Philadelphia within a year. Tulsa would be a piece of cake.

As proven by his easy walks to the DX gas station, which wasn’t that far away from the school, he was informed that he wouldn’t be picked up by the school buses. Instead, he could either walk to school or be taken by his caretakers.

It would take a time machine and dimensional travel to be discovered and built for Maria or Brandy to consider waking up early to drive him to school.

So that left one option for Michael: he would be walking every day from and to school for the foreseeable future.

A part of him wondered how Darrel and Sodapop got to school. If Sodapop went to school at all nowadays. 

Did they have their own car to drive to school? Did they carpool with one of their friends, or take the bus instead? But was it the local bus or just the school bus? And if so, why? Why take the local or school bus when you live this close to the school? Sure, it’d be greatly appreciated to be driven to school at seven in the morning, especially when there was a rainstorm that caused the sidewalks to flood or if it was cold. 

But the bus?

At that point, Michael would be incredibly tempted to call his older brothers lazy, regardless of whether it was the school bus or the local bus.

Or maybe they just walked to school like he did.

It didn’t have to be an extravagant or fancy ride with awesome or lazy procrastination. It was just school, after all.

Just four years, that was it. He might as well enjoy them in the simplest ways you can.

But then again, judging by the neighborhood that surrounded him, one would think best to keep their guard up. It’s the East side after all, getting into bad and illegal things is really easy, Michael would know. He’s made himself acquainted and outright friends with people like that back in Philly and New York; he couldn’t do it in Chicago because he’d been too young to do so. Most of those people are chill, just people trying to get by another day without having the world screw them over for the millionth time in their entire lives.

The crazies were the ones he always looked out for. The druggies who'd literally kill for their next fix, or the muscle and no-brain guys who’d beat the first person they see just because they looked at them funny enough.

Living on the East side, though, taught him how to avoid people, how to fight back if he needed to, when and where to run if the pigs or worse showed up. It was the East side of New York, after all, that had been how he met Dally.

Michael shook his head.

He didn’t want to think about Dally.

With the way he left him behind when things got too tough for him.

He taught him all the things he knew and left the second he could.

As nice as a lot of people could be in the East, it was rare to find one true loyal person amongst all the rubble and coal, a true diamond made under intense pressure.

Speaking of diamonds…

It looked like Carly wasn’t walking to school either. He should ask when he sees her again. Who knows? Maybe the guy was driving her to school. Maybe her foster parent was a better guardian than over half of the ones he’d met in his entire life.

That was good.

God knows she deserved to have some peace in her life.

They all did.

Despite rumors claiming that his older brother was the star and honor of the school's football team, Michael never saw him. Not even a glance down the hall. He can’t even argue that he has seen him before, but didn’t recognize him because he didn’t know what he looked like; however, that couldn’t be the case anymore.

During the third period, when one of the girls in the front had been giggling and talking to each other in hushed whispers, Darrel Jr.’s name had come up. Michael had been fed up with hearing all kinds of things about him and not knowing what he looked like.

Thus, he kindly and politely asked the girls who they were talking about, stating that he was new here this school year and kept hearing about this star player called “Darry” everywhere, but didn’t know who he was.

The girls in his class, who were older than him, must’ve found it cute or something, because they shared a picture of what he looked like. They even let him keep it after he smiled and said he’d keep an eye out for him in the halls.

He hadn’t been planning on keeping any kind of image of his older brother, especially if he lived right across from him; he could’ve been considered a creep for it. But if the girls insisted that he keep it, then who was he to say no to such kind ladies?

In the picture provided, it was obvious why his brother had become so famous in their school: this man was jacked as hell and handsome, to top it off. The guy, being a part of the football team and being its star player, was just a bonus for the cheerleaders. According to some, he was so good at his sport that he had been offered numerous scholarships from colleges all over the state, including the University of Oklahoma.

Eh, who knows? Maybe he would be able to help in the college process when he grew older. That would be a fun brother experience for both of them, particularly when considering how weird their family situation was.

But, above all else, Michael saw the uncanny resemblance he shared with him.

Obviously, the fourteen-year-old wasn’t jacked as hell, and he wasn’t the star quarterback of his local high school. 

They both had brown hair and…

Michael squinted his eyes at the picture, the wind under the bleachers warm and dry, something he wasn’t used to from growing up in more humid areas.

There was something else about the picture that he couldn’t quite point to.

It’d been easy when looking at Sodapop; he could easily pick apart and say which parts looked similar to his. Though for whatever reason, he couldn’t do that with Darrel Jr. He knew they looked synonymous in some aspects, just not in the ways he was expecting.

Nothing else had really happened that day.

He hadn’t caught a word about Sodapop.

He hadn’t been able to spot his eldest brother, even now, when he knew what he looked like.

Michael had asked Carly earlier what she was doing to get to school in Gym, though, while they’d been hiding in a corner when the class had been playing dodgeball.

“Nah, old man seems like he won’t drive me to school,” Carly replied, an apathetic look coating her face. “Even if it saves his life. So, just another average foster parent for me again.”

“Shit, that sucks. You wanna walk to school together every other morning?” Michael offered. “It’d be better here since there look to be more gangs hanging around the neighborhood. Not to mention the ‘socs’ will probably be lurking around somewhere.”

“Course, man. I usually leave my house at six, you?”

Michael looked at her, confused. “Six? Why are you leaving your house at six in the morning? The sun’s not out yet, so why are you out so early?” he asked.

Carly only shrugged her shoulders, with a solemn and tired expression. Those were the only clues Michael needed to solve the puzzle.

“Well, shit, man.”

“Yeah, shit.”

Michael sighed, already mourning his sanity and sleep schedule in the foreseeable future. “I typically leave my house at seven. But I’m sure that I could leave earlier to be alongside ya. It would definitely be better than going on your own.”

Those words returned a small smile to Carly’s face.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The walk back home, Carly and he stuck together, just like they always would. On their way, Michael told her they needed to make another stop before home.

“I gotta buy some food for Lauren and me.” He said. “Maybe a book or two as well.”

“Who’s Lauren?” Carly asked, kicking one of the rocks in front of her. “Your foster?”

Michael shook his head. “Goodness, no. She’s my foster's biological daughter… or something. Truthfully, I don’t really know. All I know is that she’s a kid and I’m the only one she’s got to take care of her. You got any foster food problems you got to take care of?”

Carly shook her head. “Thank goodness, hell no. If I did, I would’ve been broke by now.”

“Go figure.”

“Also, uh, one of the workers, uh…”

Carly suspiciously looked at him. “What? Is he some kind of weirdo?”

“No, no… uh, he’s my brother.”

“...Shit.”

“I know.”

“Is, uh, is he a good one or?” She asked.

“I mean, he’s chill and he seems like a cool guy, even offering for me to crash at his place if I ever need to hide out from my fosters, but,” Michael sighed, tired. “I don’t know, I barely know the guy.”

“Are you gonna take him up on his offer?”

Michael simply shrugged. “Maybe when I know him more and find someone else who’s crashed at their place to see how it went for them.”

“If ya’ ever do, don’t leave me out of it.”

“Wouldn’t do that for the world, Carls,” Michael replied. “Just make sure to keep my first name and actual last name to yourself, Soda doesn’t know yet, and I would like to keep things that way.”

Carly nodded. “Got it.”

Just like any other day, Sodapop was working at the DX gas station; this time, his buddy Steve was hanging around him, too.

When Sodapop spotted him entering through the front door. “Hey, Michael, nice to see ya’ again!”

Usually, Michael would’ve smiled brightly at his brother, the same Sodapop who would always give him first. But today was different.

Not only was there a new guy in the store talking with Steve, a guy with greasy hair and a Mickey Mouse shirt to boast. Today, Sodapop’s eyes were narrower, more calculating, as if he was scanning for every detail he could in… Michael. But why was he doing it? What was he looking for? Michael wasn’t sure and didn’t have a clue as to why Sodapop was even doing it in the first place.

“Nice to see ya’ again, too, Sodapop.”

Thankfully, Sodapop looked over at Carly, and a dumb smile took over his face.

Oh, no.

“I’m Carly. Michael’s friend,” She said, nodding her head. “I've known him for a while.”

“Aah, kiddo already got a gal’ friend,” Michael heard Steve tell Mickey Mouse as he was right next to him.

Like twins, both Carly and Michael looked at them with their noses scrunched and a disgusted look on both of their faces.

“No, no, no, we’re not–”

“I don’t see her that way at all.”

“Likewise.”

“Yeah, no.”

The Mickey Mouse guy looked between the two of them and simply nodded his head. “Alright then, got it.”

Michael looked over at Sodapop. “So, Sodapop-”

“Just call him Soda, kid,” The guy in the Mickey Mouse shirt interrupted him. “Everyone around here does, ya’ know.”

When Michael visibly leaned away from the Mickey Mouse guy, Sodapop calmly said, “Relax, that’s just Two-Bit, he’s always like that.”

Michael wordlessly nodded; nonetheless, when he looked back at the Mickey Mouse guy, he had the same look Sodapop, or ‘Soda’ now, had when he first walked into the mini store. He was watching him like a hawk, his eyes going up and down, left to right, as he looked over him.

Sure, maybe if the two of them had also been doing it to Carly, he could have reasoned that the weird actions were because they were new to the neighborhood.

That explanation would only work for Two-Bit, however.

Soda had seen him plenty of times, and he’d never reacted that way before. The fourteen-year-old truly had no idea what changed between then and now, but whatever it was, he wasn’t fond of it.

Carly tapped him on his shoulder. “I’m gonna get myself some food. Need anything?”

“Yeah, could ya’ find me two television dinners?” Michael asked, pointing to the corner of the store, the way Soda had done for him. “They should all be together in that corner of the store.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“You got it.”

Soon enough, Michael found himself in front of Soda again. Steve and Two-Bit were having their own conversation, and by no means was Michael going to intrude.

“Soda, uh, how old are you?” Michael asked. He knew Soda was sixteen; he still remembered that from his file, but Soda didn’t know that he knew all about it.

“Mmh, I’m sixteen, what about you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Huh, weird.”

“What? What’s weird?”

“Nothin’, just thought you were younger than that.”

Michael simply shrugged his shoulders. “I turned just about a month ago, so.”

“In July?”

“Yeah.”

“...That’s cool. Are you going to the rodeo happenin’ soon?”

To that, Michael only sighed. Frankly, he wasn’t sure if he was going. Even though he had told Steve the last time he’d shown up that he would go, he didn’t really want to go; he’d only said yes because it sounded like a good idea at the time.

Later, however, when he thought about it more, it didn’t sound like a good idea. It was happening after school and late at night, so there was a chance that Maria, Brandy, or both of them would be in the house. Who would be there to protect Lauren? He needed to be there for her, unless…

“Maybe, do they allow kids younger than ten to go?” He honestly asked.

Soda looked at him weirdly, even raising an eyebrow with a perplexed expression at the question, causing Michael to shrink back and make himself look smaller.

Thankfully, Soda decided not to question it any further. “Depends, is the hypothetical kid planning to show up on their own?”

“Absolutely not.” Michael immediately responded; it was easy to answer after all.

“Good, because I can assure that a kid that young will easily get eaten up by the crowd.” Soda jokingly said. “But as long as the hypothetical kid’s someone, then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Michael nodded. “Right.”

Now all he had to do was find a way to sneak Lauren out of the house so early in the day and get her back in the house without Maria or, worse, Brandy noticing or ever finding out about it. Michael did not want to end the night with a beating.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

If it had been any other day, Michael would’ve left the conversation at that and gone to help Carly find the food for tonight’s dinner. But it wasn’t a normal day because people like Soda just can’t take a hint and not stare at people to study them like they’re some kind of insects. 

As a result, Michael sent him a weirded-out look. “What are you looking at?”

Honestly, he didn’t mean for those words to come out so mean and vicious, as if he was treating Soda like another thug or mean foster he had to deal with. As if Soda was someone he needed to act mean around, to make himself look tough in front of him. While it would be cool for Soda to think of him like that, Michael realized he didn’t want Soda to see him that way. He wanted his older brother to see who he was at heart. In a world like this, blood meant shit; he should’ve realized that a lot sooner. Maybe it would’ve saved him from a lot more pain. Would it be nice to have a family to support you, especially those who share your blood? Absolutely.

But he’s met people like Carly who can say the complete opposite.

Awfully enough, it reminded the fourteen-year-old of Dally. How mean and tough he was, regardless of who he was speaking to. There’d only been a few people Michael had ever seen Dally Winston being nice to, let alone acting with the barest form of decency someone like him could muster.

The only person in the world Michael could think Dally was ever decent to was… him.

And Michael would admit the “decent” part very loosely. Even if Dally considered him to be some kind of “friend”, he was still a jerk and a bastard.

“No, no,” Soda quickly said, waving his hands sideways as a stupid smile formed on his face. “Just thought I saw faint, little freckles on your face, like real faint ones.”

Awkwardly, Michael slowly nodded his head. “Okay, sure. Whatever you say, man. You sure I don’t have something on my face?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.”

“Good.”

As Michael was about to turn around and go help Carly find the food, Soda asked, “You got brothers living with ya’ in Maria's house?”

The question caught Michael off guard. Why was Soda, of all people, trying to play one-sided twenty-one questions with him? Especially with such specific questions.

For a second, Michael quickly glanced over to Steve and Two-Bit, thinking maybe they were involved in this, too, that they were giving looks to Soda for him to ask these questions. Unfortunately, for Michael, it looked like those two were still in their own conversation.

Meaning that this was all Soda’s doing.

Great.

In short, he’d have to tolerate it because it was from his older brother… who didn’t know he was Michael’s older brother.

“Nah, it’s just Lauren and me in there. Unless you wanna count Maria’s boytoy.” Michael added, hate filling his words. “Guy’s got some problems, I tell ya’.”

“How bad are these ‘problems’? Does he drink a lot? Gamble, maybe?”

Michael shrugged. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care what Brandy did, which made him so twisted, mad, and aggressive all the time. As long as the guy left him alone, then the fourteen-year-old wouldn’t mind one bit. “I don’t know and I don’t care. But, I don’t know, that guy’s too sober most of the time when I see him. So he either does that in private, or he just doesn’t drink as much as others do.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah, it is.”

It looked like Soda wanted to ask another question. Thankfully, Carly came with the food just in time. “I got them, these right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, good because that isle was freezing, and I didn’t bring my jacket.”

“Should probably start wearing it soon,” Soda commented, scanning the items and placing them in the plastic bags. “It gets really cold out here once winter sets in. Hell, if we’re lucky enough, we can get so much snow that school gets cancelled.”

Michael looked at him, perplexed. He had grown up in cities like New York and Chicago, where it basically snowed every single year; it couldn’t be that bad in a place as southern as Tulsa, Oklahoma. “Well, it can’t be that bad, right? I’m sure it’s better than the snow I’m used to.”

“Where are ya’ from then?”

New York, Philadelphia, Chicago…

“I’m from more up north. New York, you know? Those kinds of places.”

Soda smirked, lightly shaking his head as he finally rang up the last television dinner, "Should've known.”

”How come?”

”I got a friend from Brooklyn,” Soda explained. “Ya’ sound a lot like him, ya’ know.”

Brooklyn. “Then consider yourself lucky, Soda, I grew up in Brooklyn, too.”

”That’s tough. You should meet him then, he’ll be at the upcoming rodeo, I think you’d like him!”

Right before Michael would respond, Carly tapped his back, nodding her head to Two-Bit and Steve, both of whom were looking at Soda like he’d just lost his head. And probably for good reason.

There were some nice and safe neighborhoods in Brooklyn, obviously, but the area Michael had grown up in was crime-ridden and horrible for a kid as young as he had been to have grown up in. Honestly, he’s just lucky he got out of that city alive before he left with a gunshot scar or, worse, was killed by a gun by some douche too dumb to know he wasn't in a gang.

If the guy was anything like the ones he knew from Brooklyn, or, even worse, just like Dally, then Michael doesn’t think he’d ever want to get to know the guy. The faces Steve and Two-Bit had told him everything he needed to know about whoever this guy was.

That he was dangerous for Michael to get involved with, and that he was probably in some kind of serious gang, something the fourteen-year-old always avoided because his kids his age can easily be seen as liabilities or weak spots by rival gangs. Meaning, if somebody as young as nine wanted to survive the gang life, they had to toughen very quickly for him to have the slightest chance of making it to his twenties.

Maybe that was one of the few good things Dallas Winston had provided for Michael.

Don’t get him wrong, Dally had been in a gang back in Brooklyn. Michael had no idea just how involved he was, but he wasn’t some kind of recruiter; not only did it not match his personality, but he never once tried to recruit him at nine years old.

And thank God for that one, because with how lonely and naive he had been at that age, he probably would've joined as long as it meant he got to stick with Dally.

It’s only now that Michael realizes how young Dally had been back then, too.

He’d been nine.

Dally had been twelve.

He was fourteen now.

And, if he hadn’t been shot to death by now, Dally would be seventeen now.

Barely anyone knew about his relationship with Dally. Most people who were even aware of it were either old or dead. Hell, not even Carly knew who Dally was and what he meant to Michael. And he planned to keep things that way. Mainly because there was no good reason to discuss the only semi-adult/young man who took care of him, and that was debatable, too. If he, wherever Dally was now, was still alive, then he was doing, too.

As much as it hurt Michael to admit it, Dally probably completely forgot about him and whatever friendship they had as kids. Michael notices that it’s kind of what happens as people grow; they forget people, and he knows he has. He probably forgot about some other foster sister or brother with whom he had even the slightest hint of a good relationship.

If Soda really was friends with the guy, he was either insanely lucky or a complete idiot if he thought he was close friends with someone from Brooklyn. 

Glancing back at Carly, it looked like she wanted to respect the offer for both of them. Though, since this was offered by Michael’s brother, it looked like she was hesitating, not wanting to choose this for Michael.

That didn’t mean that she wanted to say no or yes for herself; however, he knew her too well for that.

If she said no, and Michael said yes, then he would go alone.

If she said yes, and he said no, then she would go alone.

Neither option was good for them.

…Michael wanted to say no. The last rodeo he had gone to was chaotic yet fun, and he wouldn’t mind going to another one. But he didn’t want to meet whoever this Brooklyn guy was. Call it a gut feeling, but the fourteen-year-old was getting a bad feeling from it.

But this was coming from Soda. If he said no now, what else would Soda offer him? Would he take away the supposed safety option, too? Or would he become colder to him afterward?

Whatever the consequences would be, whether that be coldness, demeaning, or rejection, Michael didn’t want to find out.

”Yeah, that sounds pretty tough,” Michael casually said.

”Great! Can’t wait to see ya’ there, man.”

The short conversation may have lasted for no more than three minutes, but it was the longest three minutes of his life.

The television dinners in hand rattled against each other and the plastic bag, as it was twirled around the passing wind.

Carly and Michael paid for the food together.

Now they were just walking home, side-by-side. Just like they had done many times before.

Neither of them was talking; it didn’t seem like either of them wanted to anyway.

It wasn’t peculiar for their friendship. After all, many moments of their time together were forced to be shared in silence, out of fear for their foster parents losing their patience and finding them hiding away in a closet, the attic, or under the covers of their designated bedroom.

”Why’d ya’ say yes?” His former foster sister abruptly asked. 

“What?” Michael felt dumbfounded.

“I know ya’ like rodeos and all that, but I saw it in your face, ya’ didn’t want to go. Why did ya’ lie? Did you want to get closer to Soda and Darrel? Is that it?” She questioned. “Because I assure ya’, that there are plenty of others to do it that don’t involve doing something you dislike.”

“I know that! I just- I just want to give it a try, you know. Don’t want to turn him down on an offer like this so soon.”

“I don’t know, man, this guy your brother was talking about,” Carly said, her words becoming more anxiety-ridden with each one said. “I don’t know who he is, but I don’t have a good feeling about him. Call it a gut feeling.”

“Honestly…” Michael gulped, knowing what was coming next. “I was feeling the same way back at the gas station.”

Carly looked at him, her eyes wide in shock at his ridiculous actions. “Then why didn’t you–?”

“Because this is the perfect chance for me to connect with Soda on something. Sure, he doesn’t know that I’m his brother, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t be his friend first.”

Carly looked like she wanted to say no and explain why Michael was being such an idiot, but the fourteen-year-old girl didn’t want to interfere. After all, she had no siblings of her own, much less a family she could go back to. And, despite her growing skepticism and her gut telling her that going to the rodeo was a bad idea, she wanted to help her ex-foster brother reconnect with his family in a way she never could and would never be able to.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go along with this plan,” She sternly said. “But the second things start going south, we’re leaving and going somewhere safe for us to crash at.”

Michael smiled, his smile big and happy in a way it hadn’t been in years. “Thank you, Carls.”

And Carly matched it with a smaller one. “Anytime, Mike.”

Chapter Text

Tulsa, Oklahoma, August 26th, 1999

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit–

Like the madman he was becoming, Michael was looking through every inch of the shelves containing children’s books from the public library.

Yesterday, he had promised to bring her a book to read. He promised her that he would buy her a new book to read through with her yesterday. But because of the whole “rodeo invitation” drama in the DX gas station, he’d been too distracted to even think about it, too focused on Soda and his offer to go to the rodeo that weekend.

Michael remembers how sad and disappointed Lauren looked when he had to lie to her and tell her the library had an unexpected closing that day; alas, he was unable to buy her a new book. She looked so sad that Michael had relented and was literally guilt-tripped by her look into making up a new story on the spot as a bedtime story for her. As a result, the story he had crafted on the spot hadn’t been so bad, but it definitely would’ve been better.

And that is why he needed a book for tonight; he couldn’t afford to upset her again.

Moreover, he’d already made her even sadder than necessary when he told her he had to leave earlier than before. So early to the point where Lauren was incredibly drowsy and almost tripped down the stairs trying to find out why there was so much “noise” downstairs.

Thus, Michael had to explain why he was leaving early in kid terms, stating that he had to help a good friend of his every morning from now on. He didn’t tell her of her suspicions about what Carly's home life or how her foster parent likely was compared to theirs. Lauren was just a kid; she didn’t need to know all that stuff. Unless Carly’s foster parent somehow became a dangerous criminal, running rampant throughout their neighborhood and hurting kids like Lauren, then he’d tell her more.

Though even then, the fourteen-year-old doubted he would tell her everything.

Although, sadly, from the look on her face when he told her about it looked so… understanding, as if she’d been through a conversation like this before. He wasn’t surprised. Judging from how Maria and Brandy’s parenting worked, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if they’d had a similar conversation with her before.

Either way, Lauren proved herself to be quite cheeky because she almost gave her the cutest puppy eyes he’s ever seen on a kid before and asked if she “pretty please” have a cursive writing book, claiming she’d seen it on one of her favorite shows being used by one of her favorite characters.

Interestingly enough, when Michael questioned which show and who the character was, conveniently, she said she didn’t know and had forgotten which one it had been.

Truly convenient.

And now, here he was, a book for Lauren’s age in hand, and walking over to the front desk to check it out. Then he’d find a grocery store or something and buy a cursive handbook for beginners there.  Though if the universe decided not to screw him over today, then maybe the grocery store was looking for more workers. If he got lucky in that, then he wouldn’t have to worry that much about the money he’d spend today on having to buy Lauren her books and their food for later–he was starting to really get sick of television dinners, though.

Luckily, the lady at the front desk of the local library must’ve been in a good mood. She was in a good mood with a smile plastered on her face the entire time she was checking out the book for him. She didn’t even question him on anything; she just signed the book out, told him the due date, and kindly warned him off the consequences and fees he’d have to deal with if he either lost or damaged the book in any way.

At least now he didn’t have to worry about getting stuck in the library for a few more hours. Especially since school had just ended, and he didn’t want to deal with walking in a neighborhood like that all alone past sunset.

Carly would’ve stuck by him, but she said she was already feeling stressed out with school work and that her foster really cared about grades, weirdly enough, which is why he’d been acting so “forceful”, according to her, the day there had been an error with her forms, and he needed to come by and fix them. Carly’s not sure why he’s like this, but she told him about how she found many old trophies dating back to the late sixties that had were foster parents' name on them.

Carly told him all about how she’s convinced her foster parent is one of those adults who never did anything of significance in their lives and is now trying to see those happen in their own kids, but that her foster parent wasn’t able to get any woman to have any kids of his own, which is probably for the best, so he got Carly to cosplay as the “perfect” daughter who “accomplished all of her dreams”.

Michael didn’t need to ask what would happen to her if she went below his standards. The writing was on the wall for him to see.

Even though he could consider his reasoning for not being able to see Lauren for longer, the fourteen-year-old still felt some guilt for not being able to spend more time with her. Ergo, he’d buy the best cursive practice book for beginners he could afford.

As of right now, Michael was walking down a dirt road. It wasn’t a route he was used to walking, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near the DX station for a few reasons, such as the fact that he wasn’t ready to face his brother again so soon.

Thus, it was warranted for him to start exploring a different route home in the neighborhood. Although he would admit it, the path there was creepier because it was more secluded and there were fewer people and houses. There were more trailers with big dogs chained to sticks and fences rather than actual houses like the ones in his neighborhood. 

Where the hell did I just walk myself into?

Maybe he should’ve just sucked it up and dealt with Soda again. Or, at the very least, just snuck past the DX gas station and hope he didn’t get spotted by one of them. It definitely would’ve been much better than ending up in a place he wasn’t exactly used to.

While he didn’t see many people out there, the one he did see were just minding their own business. He saw them either smoking on their own or actively speaking with others, and he saw anybody in between, and barely cared enough to confirm that.

But by the good gracious of the universe and of God, he didn’t get jumped or attacked by anybody; the worst thing he got came from very few people who might’ve just looked at him because they’ve never seen him before. Even though nobody had approached him, it was another thing he was grateful for.

Even luckier, he eventually did find a store on the same road, and he doesn’t think he’s too far from the Williams’ house or from his street in general.

The store itself resembled more of a roadside store that a family would stop by during long road trips. The only difference was that this one was obviously smaller, and it didn’t have a gas station next door. It was just the store with the chips, food, and all kinds of old people games like woodoku and number guess, or whatever it was called--It was that one number game where the whole row or column couldn't have the same number written in twice, something like that. But among those, like a piece of pure and shining gold, lay a perfect and crisp ‘Learning Cursive: Beginners Edition’ book on the shelving.

After so many bad days stacked against even worse days, today things were finally looking up for him. 

Like most things, the cursive handbook was cheap, even for someone like him; it was perfect.

Suddenly, as he was picking out the perfect practice handbook, a person who moved too close to Michael for his liking walked right past him. It might’ve been a gut feeling, but a part of Michael told him that he should probably look up and see who that person was. When he did, Michael wasn’t sure if he was indifferent or felt out of place.

It was a guy more like him, around the same height, and with curlier hair than his, yet his hair was all greased up in a common way he’d seen others do it. He had his hands buried in his jean jacket, where Michael suspects the kid probably had a switchblade. The fourteen-year-old hadn’t yet seen his face, only the back of his curls. But when he turned around, Michael spotted a scar on his face, and he knew exactly who he was.

It was the crazy delinquent from his Spanish class. (Curly? Carl? He didn’t know what his name was, but he knew it began with a ‘C’ and had an ‘r’ in it somewhere in there.

Interestingly enough, Michael hadn’t seen him at all since the first day of school, not in the halls, cafeteria, and especially not in his Spanish class. It took no genius to know that the guy was probably cutting classes, though.

Michael didn’t care, however, and why should he?

He has no sort of relation to this guy, and they’ve never interacted. Not even once. Hell, Michael doesn’t even know what his name is supposed to be.

Yet, despite all that, he was still interested in what this guy did next because it was clear to him that nothing good would come of it. 

For a couple of moments, when the guy at the cashier was on the phone with someone, unable to see exactly what he was seeing, the crazy kid was standing over the racks of gum, a deviant glint in his eye.

He’s going to shoplift something, Michael realized.

He shook his head and looked away before the crazy kid saw him looking.

Good.

He didn’t need to deal with that; he didn’t need to snitch on somebody over a piece of gum. It wouldn’t be worth it. Sure, the cashier would probably be relieved and say that he was a good kid for telling on him instead of keeping quiet. But that feeling of heroism would last for about a day before he got jumped and then beaten black and blue by the same kid. The kid may look lanky and around his height, but Michael knows that looks can be deceiving; a guy could look like he was a hundred pounds on a good day and still pack a mean punch. Michael would know, after all, that was Dally Winston at one point.

Back before he reached his growth spurt, he remembers how Dally was just as thin and starving as any other kid living there was. However, even with an advantage like that, Dally knew how to fight dirty and punch someone so hard their teeth would get knocked right out.

Another thing Michael was so grateful for was Dally–He should probably stop making lists about things he’s appreciative of in relation to him. If anything, he should be doing the opposite. Then it was that he was grateful that Dally at the very least taught him how to punch someone hard, rough to do the same if he ever found himself in a sticky situation.

But he wasn’t a fighter. He didn’t go looking for trouble or new people to fight just to prove that he was the best or the strongest.

If anything, he was the complete opposite.

Where Dally wanted to get stuck in a world of violence and hate, wanting to run it and spread even more violence just for the hell of it, Michael wanted to live his life in peace. He didn’t see any violence out for himself, but that didn’t mean he was a good person either. There are so many moments throughout his life, in every state, where he’s seen things he wasn’t supposed to–people getting beaten up, robbed, houses broken into, and so much more. And what did he do about it? Nothing.

He just stood there, maybe behind someone else or from another room, looking into it via the window, but in any case, he had been standing and doing nothing. He didn’t see anything extreme happen in front of him, like murder, but, even then, he isn’t sure that he would’ve spoken up if he saw it.

Perhaps it truly depended on who the murderer was and who was the one being killed.

A soft shove on his shoulder knocked him right out of his head, though it didn’t knock out the practice book in his hands.

Michael looked over his shoulder to see if it was some random person or somebody looking for a fight for some stupid reason, because he had physically seen people start a brawl, break bones, and lose teeth. After all, they were looked at weirdly or because they breathed too close to them.

Bottom line: people are crazy, and you always need to have your guard up for them.

But, fortunately or unfortunately, the person who bumped into him was the crazy delinquent kid.

Had he seen him looking at him? Knowing that he knew that he was going to shoplift something? Was he going to threaten him now to keep quiet? It wouldn’t be the first time Michael had been threatened into silence; even when it wasn’t needed, some guys did it just to make themselves look cooler and tougher.

It’s insane what people will do for attention.

However, instead of pulling a blade on him or giving him a look that they were going to fight it out outside, he had a deviant smirk on his face as he decided to stand right next to him as if they were old buddies meeting up in a store. It was very strange. Why would somebody like this kid suddenly decide to act all “buddy-buddy” with him? What does he want from Michael? Does he want him to be some kind of distraction for him to steal something?

If that was the case, then Michael needed to consider his options very carefully.

While he didn’t want to get involved with this in any way, because if he did, there was always the chance that they got caught, arrested, and sent to a different foster home, if he did decide to help him out, then it would seriously help boost his credibility and potentially become the foundation of an actual “buddy-buddy” friendship.

On the other hand, while he wanted people to know he was reliable and that he wasn’t a snitch or a liability to discard, he sought to remain off the radar. He didn’t suddenly want a gang of guys showing up at his doorstep asking if he wanted to help them steal something, or, worse, ask if he wanted to join said gang.

If he didn’t get involved, there was always the chance that the kid snitched on him to others and told everybody that he didn’t help around. And, as rumours always tend to do, it could always morph from “Michael didn’t help steal something” to “Michael is a liability and a snitch”.

“You need something?” Michael asked him the second the kid stayed quiet for too long.

“Nothin’, just seein’ who the new kid ‘round the block was.”

New kid around the block?

He’s been living in this city for a little over a month now. By then, most people had forgotten there was a new kid at all. By then, most people would treat him like he’d been there the whole time; the only time they’d do anything opposite of that was when they referred to an inside joke before he showed up or because it was some big event everybody was still reeling from.

So, was this just a southern thing? Or was this just a Tulsa thing?

Either way, Michael wormed his hand into his pocket where his phone was. The other day, Michael had finally figured out whether it was safe for him to start texting Carly. Carly told him that her foster parent didn’t care what she did as long as it didn’t ruin her grades or anything. So, overall, 24/7, it was safe to text her whenever they wanted.

Neither Maria nor Brandy had mentioned anything against his texting friends, so he was fine for now, too.

Thus, with the phone’s keyboard memorized, he texted Carly. Just in case the worst happened, now somebody who knew him would know what happened to him.

Yo

Carls

If smt happened to me

If you see me on the news or in an article somehow, take care of Lauren pretty plz and try to steal my blade, money, and sketchbook if you can.

If you can get the rest, then burn it in the woods or smt

Gl, thx

Once he sent the last message, he forced his head to focus back on the kid right next to him and what he wanted from Michael.

“Alright then?”

“Just needed to see what Steve's been talkin’ about?”

“Steve? Ya’ mean as in Steve, the one who works at the DX gas station?”

“That’s the one.”

“He’s been talkin’ about me?”

“Not in a bad way, just complainin’ ‘bout how ‘Soda’s gonna adopt another stray’.”

“I’m not a stray.” He snapped back.

Michael must’ve snapped back harsher than he realized and wanted because the kid almost immediately backs off; his hands slightly in the air, a gesture for peace and calm. He didn’t mean to; he just wanted to be left alone.

”Chill, chill, I know, man,” The kid said, then in a lower voice. “Listen, ‘ah just need a lil bit of help in gettin’ some wads of gum for myself. Care to help an ol’ fellow guy like myself out?”

The kid lent out his hand, like he was waiting for Michael to shake it.

Michael looked up at the hand for him and back up at the kid, who now had a smirk on his face as he waited for him to shake it.

”Listen, man, with all due respect—“

”’ With all due respect’? Well, ah’ll be damned, ah’ didn’t know you were all fancy like that.”

Michael promptly ignored his comment. “—But why would I help you out anyway? I don’t even know you or your name.”

A look of surprise briefly flashed on the kid's face, as if he had just now started to realize that Michael was new around these parts; unlike this kid, who probably grew up here his entire life.

“Shit, right, you’re the new kid,” He commented.

“Yeah?”

”That explains the accent.” Yeah, Soda made that clear.

“I’m Michael, just moved down here from Philly.”

”’ Michael, ’” The kid reiterated. “Sounds soc-y, couldn’t think of a better one?” Well, damn, he’d only chosen to go by that because it sounded modest, not a rich kid from downtown.

”Man, it’s just a name. I am not a rich kid.”

”Clearly, otherwise, ya’ wouldn’t be in this store to begin with.”

”Noted.”

“I’m Curly Shepard,” He said. “Part of the Shepard gang, not too far away from yer street, Michael from Philly.”

“My street? How do you know where I live?”

“Steve told me that Soda told him where ya’ lived.” Of course, he did. Soda might just prove that he’s a bigger blabbermouth than he is. “So, just blame Soda.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Anytime!” Why does Curly sound so excited? Is he crazy, or is he just like this all the time? It wouldn’t be uncommon for somebody in this area of the city to be crazy.

“Soo? Do you need somethin’ from me or?”

“Nah, man, just needed to know who the new meat in town was.”

Michael chuckled. “What? Got an assessment on me already, teach?”

“You could say that.”

“...You’re not gonna tell me, are ya’?”

“No can do, man.” Well, shit, that sucks.

“Is it a good or a bad assessment at least?”

“See ya ‘round, Mike!”

Shithead left right when he asked that question. 

Well, if Michael received a knock at his door in the wee hours of the morning, and it turned out to be a bunch of muscley guys with tattoos and motorbikes, and they were asking him to join their gang, then at least the fourteen-year-old knew where it all started; all because he walked into the wrong store at the wrong time.

Of course, that could easily not be the case, and Curly was just trying to screw around with the new kid, but one could never have their guard down around gangs.

One day, you’re their favored warrior, and the next, you’re being taken out because the group has decided that you’re a liability for them to have.

Michael can only pray that it’s the latter instead of the former.

When he looked back, he gum rack he knew Curly had been eyeing earlier, and he noticed how a few packets of bubblegum and other flavors were gone.

Michael sighed as he quickly realized what had just actually happened between the two of them: Curly was playing him like a flute; he was using him as a distraction so that he could steal some gum from the store. He should probably keep his guard on more literal things happening right in front of him rather than hypothetical futures.

Moreover, Michael had a gut feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he met Curly. Call him crazy or whatever, but he just knew he was going to meet that skinny kid again.

After paying for the cursive handbook, Michael asked the cashier if they were hiring, and, luckily, they were. The fourteen-year-old said that he was willing to work for money and that he had prior experience. The cashier gave him the manager’s number and told him that, if his parents allowed him to work, he was to leave the boss lady a call.

Michael thanked the cashier and headed straight home afterwards.

Perhaps there was some secret or hidden shortcut home from the store, but he didn’t know where to look for one; he didn’t even have a map of the area, something he doubted existed.

He texted Carly back after Curly left the store.

Nvm, I’m still alive

Dw, headed home rn

Three dots appeared on his screen, signaling that Carly was online and about to reply.

LOL

Good

If you die, then I’m taking all of your music too, btw

Damn

That’s cold

In my defense

Good music is good music

It’d be so worth it ngl

😐

😀😇

Well, never let it be said that either of them was a flawless angel.

Oh, and if people start saying that I joined a gang or smt

Just forget you ever knew me, jk

Lie to the cops, your foster, wtv

Just lie

😭

Naaah, I don’t see you for a day 😭

And this is what I come back to

Why are u like this?? 😭😭

😇

😭

lmao

Yeah, they definitely weren’t some kind of flawless angels that ruled over the pearly white gates of Heaven. Otherwise, maybe they would’ve had better families that actually cared about them. It sucked.

But at least they could be flawed delinquents together instead.

They’ve stuck together for this long. There’s no reason why that has to end, especially right now.

By the time Michael found his way back to Maria’s house, it was late.

Very late.

The sun had long since set, and the stars had wrapped around the sky around an hour or so before he even saw his street. For a little while, the fourteen-year-old began to get worried that he was going to get lost in the streets during a cold night; after all, not every street around this side of town had working streetlamps that illuminated the sidewalks enough for them to be usable. His thoughts kept circling back to all the things he’d heard about socs jumping people like him, especially when they were alone like he was; in fact, the injuries one would sustain after getting jumped by them were said to be worse at night than during the day because at night, they were all drunk out of their minds.

Michael may have money, but it was by no means enough for the hospital if he broke a bone or two.

The lights to Maria’s house weren’t on. In fact, Michael couldn’t see anything within the house from the outside; he’s certain that if it weren’t for the glint of the windows reflecting light from the nearby houses, he wouldn’t have even been able to see the house itself from how dark it was.

He’s just lucky he didn’t walk into some dark and creepy alleyway instead.

And he’s honestly lucky he recognized the television in the living room because, otherwise, he would’ve walked out of that house immediately, believing himself to be in a haunted house; and, with how messy it was from the inside, it certainly wasn’t helping its case.

Michael doesn’t know, but he guesses that Brandy and Maria are actually here right now, meaning that he needs to be incredibly quiet while walking upstairs.

And that’s what he does, cursing at every point when the wooden stairs made any kind of noise the wooden stairs made which was a lot. Luckily, nobody woke up, so either Maria and Brandy weren’t there, or they were just drugged or high out of their minds, or they had drunk too much that night.

Either way, they didn’t wake up and beat the shit out of Michael, so that was a win in his book.

By the time he reached the top, he realized the house was cold, and it was somehow even darker upstairs than it was downstairs. It was what convinced him that he should just go to sleep; it’s late anyway, and there's nothing left for him to do. Besides, with how late it was, there was no way Lauren would still be awake at this hour.

God, I have so much homework for today.

For a second, as Michael trudged to his bedroom, he wondered why he had decided to take so many hard courses for someone his age and grade.

Oh, right, I need to get rich and get the fuck out of here. That’s why.

And, in any case, he chose to do this to himself by picking all those classes anyway. This is nobody’s fault but his own.

He could sacrifice some of his sleep right now, then force himself to stay awake until Gym and regain some rest there, or he could do it in Spanish. After all, he’d technically already taken that class before and could easily catch up on whatever work he missed.

If he did it during Gym, he’d have Carly by his side, watching his back if the teacher noticed or the other kids started to mess around with him. On the other hand, if he decided to sleep during Spanish, there was a greater chance that the teacher would catch him, not to mention that Curly joined him in that class, too. Great.

Perhaps if he slept in that class and Curly guarded him or protected him from the teacher, maybe it could prove that their chance encounter at the grocery store hadn’t been as useless or random as he may have first thought.

As Michael brushed his teeth, he wondered how he would get Maria’s “permission” to get a job or whatever. He barely sees her nowadays, and if he wants this job, then they’ll probably ask for more than just a quick and easy “Okay” from her. No, they’ll need signatures, certificates to prove that she’s his guardian, or maybe even an in-person interview with her. There’s no way he would be able to secure or have a solid confirmation of Maria’s presence there.

After all, she was likely a drunkard; there’s a low chance she’ll actually promise to show up on such a specific date and see it through. Meaning that the fourteen-year-old would probably be forced to find a way to make Maria sign whatever papers she needed to when she was drunk, or else Michael would be forced to forge her signature, copying it down from other papers he would have to find.

It wouldn’t be the first time the fourteen-year-old would have to sneak up on a drunk and almost knock out an adult just to get their signature. Don’t get him wrong, he’s aware of how dangerous somebody can be when they’re drunk, especially when that person was already violent and aggressive when they weren’t drunk, high, or on drugs, which is why he only did it whenever he really wanted to do that thing.

Like when his school needed a guardian’s signature for him to participate in certain health classes or for when they required forms for him to be allowed to be on the track team—maybe he’d have to do this again when track season came around.

Well, he really wanted and needed this job. He would be running out of money soon, and then he wouldn’t have the means to buy television dinners for every meal of the day; plus, he really wanted to clean the place up a bit… and maybe buy some stuff for Lauren because she deserved it and the whole world.

It might be a little expensive, but he thinks he can manage.

Speaking of buying things when he finally has the money, he should really buy himself a softer blanket to go to sleep in.

It was eleven at night when Michael finally finished his homework, and he was more than ready to hit the hay and never wake up—even though he knew that wasn’t possible because he had to wake up early to go to school tomorrow. 

School should be banned from starting so early in the morning.

He’s aware of how important education can be, especially for people like him, so maybe it wouldn’t be the brightest idea to abolish school entirely… just make it later in the day so he can have enough adequate time to do his work and sleep. It’s like the teachers want them to suffer, regardless of how many times they say that’s not the case.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like he’d be getting that much sleep that night either because, in some insane way, he hadn’t noticed the blonde curled child literally curled up in his bed. Lauren was long since passed out on the bed, peacefully deep in her slumber.

Shit, she probably spent the entire afternoon in his room, waiting for him to come back. Evidently seen because she still had her shoes and a jean jumper on. Her blonde curly hair was all messy, clearly showing that she had been rolling around too. He’d have to find a way to brush it tomorrow; he wasn’t that good with curly hair after all.

If he got lucky, he could run into Maria in the morning before either of them had to leave. 

Though a part of Michael doubted that Maria could actually take care of Lauren’s hair, Lauren’s hair wasn’t as damaged as it could’ve been had somebody not taken care of it all–that is, if she’s spent a really long time in this household. Furthermore, Maria had curly hair that looked good most days, so she definitely knew something about and likely more than he did.

As of right now, however, Michael had to solve the little problem in front of him.

He really wanted to go to sleep right now; already feeling his eyes becoming droopier and feeling his head heavier with each passing moment. On the other hand, the fourteen-year-old didn’t want to wake up Lauren, especially at such a late hour just to tell her she needed to head back to her own room.

He looked down at the dusty wooden floor and already decided that, if he could help it, then over his dead body would he be sleeping there. Thus, gingerly, Michael rolled Lauren over, only stopping momentarily when he thought she was about to wake up. 

Soon enough, he was awkwardly positioned with Lauren’s head on his shoulder, her blonde curly hair going down his shoulder, and where his upper back met the pillow instead of his head. It wasn’t the worst position he’d ever slept in, though, that didn’t make it any more comfortable for him. It was then that Michael realized how hell it would be for him to wake up to his alarm in the morning with Lauren right beside him.

I gotta make sure I don’t hit her head or somethin’...

But it didn’t take long before he succumbed to his restless state alongside his foster sister.