your cigarette lit my lungs on fire.
(tw: mentions of child abuse)
Duke has never been good with the night.
His parents had given him a bedtime when he was younger—straight to bed at nine o’ clock, on the dot. He’d start getting ready for bed at eight, showering and changing into his favorite set of Hawk Woman jammies, brushing his teeth alongside his mom and dad who liked to make him hum the whole alphabet twice before they could finish, especially since Duke sung too fast often, and going to sleep grumpily snug in between the two of them, mainly because sleep was boring and Duke didn’t want the day to end. Still, the exhaustion would always hit him and he’d be out like a light.
Except, after the accident, Duke’s pretty sure he never went to sleep at nine again. It would have been nice but there was too much to do and way too little time. When the day fell away and the exhaustion hit, Duke had forced himself to keep going, dead on his feet. The night had always made him feel oddly off center, leaving him hidden in a way that keeps him drowning deep below the sea of murky frigid ocean waves, never to be seen again.
So of course, only naturally, it’s night when his life gets flipped on its head once more.
“I promise it’ll only be for a limited amount of time, I promise,” his social worker, Shawn, pleads into the speaker of his old hand-me-down Lexcorp phone, whispering so carefully it’s like he thinks if he’s quiet enough, Duke won’t be able to hear him despite being right next to him. Shawn’s nice though, one of the only nice people left in Gotham Social Work really despite his blunt demeanor, so Duke turns his head, leaning back against the passenger seat of the truck he’s intimately familiar with, one that’s a dark maroon color, and turns to look out the foggy window, eyeing the flickering lamp posts and cracks in the pavement, dirty snow piled against the edges, shoved to the side by shovelers hoping to make room to travel, pretending that he can’t hear the call to give the guy the illusion of privacy.
“I know he seems like a lot of trouble, but he’s just had a row of bad luck. He’s a good kid, won’t take up too much time and space, and it’ll only be for a year. He’s fairly independent and—“ Shawn stops, waits, then with furrowed eyebrows says, “Yes, I know what it says on the records, but he does listen, within reason of course, but he’s not at all hard to get along with. He’ll be easy to take in, I swear. He doesn’t even really want a family so you won’t have to worry about keeping him. The time will be over before you know it. In and out, easy.”
There’s a cigarette buried in the snow, glowing dully, half lit and squashed, like someone tried to stomp out its light after they were done but forgot to step hard enough, leaving it there to rot by some dying flowers. Whoever left it there probably didn’t notice.
Or maybe they did. Maybe they did and they left anyway.
“You don’t have to worry. He’s— The records don’t—“ Shawn sighs, frustrated, tugging a tuft of his curly dark hair. “It’ll only be for a short while, I swear. He’s almost eighteen, and— no, I’m not trying to—“ He cuts himself off abruptly. Duke can see him press his lips together into a thin line and wait as feedback from the other end rings through, running a hand through his hair from the reflection in the truck window. “You’re my last option. I’ve already asked seven other families and they all said no. You have the resources and the experience; all I’m asking for is a year.”
Shawn’s phone sucks and so does his speaker. It comes out garbled to Duke, all tinny and staticky, but Shawn seems to hear just fine when he closes his eyes and blows out a breath ever slowly.
“Please. I’m begging you. He’s a good kid..”
A crow lands on one of the landlines, squawking. Duke traces the handles of his duffle bag quietly over and over again, over every groove and bump and indent, over every stray thread and worn beaten down rumple, squeezed into ugly disarray from constant usage.
“Thank you. Thank you. You won’t regret it, I swear. I know it’s all last minute and it might not be ideal but this means more than you know. I’ll drop him off tomorrow morning, eight o’clock exact.”
The call finally comes to an end and Duke lifts his gaze away from his duffle, past the icy sidewalks and roads, through the slew of snow and dirty buildings, right up to some random ac unit that sticks out the side of one of the apartment buildings that leads right into a crooked alleyway.
Half-hazardly, Duke keeps his gaze trained on the ac unit and flexes his fingers, trying not to frown. He keeps his voice level when he says, deliberate, “You didn’t have to do that. I’m going to be out soon anyways, like you said.”
“Look kid, you’re smart. I know you are,” Shawn points out. “And because you’re smart, I also know deep down that you know that even if you don’t like it, you’re going to have to prepare for the eventuality that your parents just aren’t coming back.”
Duke grits his teeth. “They will.”
“This isn’t sustainable and you know it. Maybe with this family though—“
“It’s not like they even want me!” Duke snaps, finally turning to look at Shawn. Shawn stares back just as fiercely, eyes hard, even as Duke chokes on his own desperation that’s been forcibly tugged out, rolled out for observation in this shitty morgue, bones cracked and stark white, because if anybody knows Duke as much as Duke knows himself, it’s going to be Shawn. Duke’s fingers dig into the palm of his hand, nails forming bloody crescents. “I don’t even want a new family. You know that. I already have one and they’re— god, they’re great, y’know? And fine, fine, let’s say they don’t wake up— it doesn’t matter. I’m never going to replace them. Until the day I die, hell, even in another universe, no matter what happens or where I end up, they’re always going to be my parents and nobody can ever change that. So none of this matters. Why are you even— God, just stop already. Why are you doing this?”
“Because you deserve it,” Shawn announces, resolute. “Before you interrupt me, I need you to listen, okay? Just because you have parents doesn’t mean you can’t have another guardian figure. It doesn’t mean you can’t add on to whatever family you’ve got in your head. You’re not replacing your parents in any way. Your parents would be glad to know that you have someone else looking out for you while they can’t. And someone has to because this isn’t sustainable.”
“Yeah? What’s your plan then? Their health insurance doesn’t cover years in the hospital in a coma, does it?”
“But what? You turn eighteen and you finally get access to the money they have stored away for you for your college fund, which isn’t even the full amount they were planning to give you because they didn’t expect to get into an accident by the way, and then what? No, actually, you don’t have to tell me because I know you, kid. So I’ll tell you what: you’re going to spend all your time working and then use all that money for their hospital bills while you go back to the streets because you can’t afford rent and utilities on top of their hospital bills, especially when it runs out, and you’re going to find your way into the gangs and back streets of Gotham but because you’re so stupidly good, it’s going to get you killed Duke.”
Duke glares. Clenches his jaw.
“And I know you sent in those college applications just in case your parents wake up sooner rather than later. I know you have scholarships lined up. I know you and I know you’re planning to ignore all these opportunities just so you can work yourself to death for them.”
“Because that’s all I can do!” Duke spits, because Shawn knows him, and Shawn knows that’s all he can do, but he’s acting as if Duke’s stupid for making a decision like this. Like Duke throwing everything he has away just to see his parents smile one more time isn’t worth it. As if Gotham’s foster care system isn’t complete and utter bullshit and Duke wouldn’t have gotten emancipated as soon as he could if it weren’t for saving money. “Would you rather I take them off life support because of some silly reason like not being able to afford it anymore? If it’s important, regardless of anything and everything, you make what needs to happen, happen. That’s what I’m doing. They’re important. I can do it. I can keep them alive, I can! Do you want me to murder them?”
Shawn meets him head on. “It wouldn’t be murder and it’s not silly. They’ve been on life support for years now. It’s the only thing keeping them alive. You’re the only thing keeping them alive. No one knows if they’ll ever wake. Even if they did wake up, do you think they’d wanna see you like this? That’s besides the point though: I’m not asking you to give up on them. I know you won’t, even if it kills you. Even if them waking is at the expense of yourself. I’m not asking you to give up on them, even if they’d prefer it. I just want you to stop pushing people away, kid. Let people help you. This is destroying you.”
Duke laughs, twisted. “And you think this— whoever you called is going to? You had to beg them to take me in. They want a kid that’s easy that listens. They’re not going to take me in any longer then they have to. Hell, they're not going to help me in any way that matters. It’s like you said: in and out easy. So many people don’t even get one good family in their lifetime; what makes you think I can get two?”
“Because you’re good. You’re a good kid, Duke.”
“I’m not. I don’t know what convoluted image you have of me in your head but that’s not me.”
“If you’re not good then may god help us all because if you aren’t good, then nobody on this earth is. Most people I know could live a thousand lifetimes over and over again and get not even a sliver of the goodness you got on this first try. I used to think nobody could truly be good, but then I met you. Kid, you’re selfless and kind and really fucking smart. You have a good head on your shoulders. I just want you to actually use it for once for you. You’re a good kid and you deserve good things. You deserve to have people in your lane. At the very least, they’ll be able to help you in some way. They’re kind. And maybe it might not be this one but if you’d just let people in, it could be. You never know, kid—“
“I don’t want it,” Duke repeats. This is the stupidest thing Duke has heard. Pushing people away? There’s nobody to push away. Sure, Duke may have had friends before but not anymore for a reason—and maybe some of the foster homes were nice, better than nice actually, but friends took up too much time and energy Duke couldn’t afford, and he’d rather those homes go to a kid that actually needs a family. Those families don’t need him, no, because the kid they need will never be Duke, not Duke’s whose life was a little messier than most. He’s got more baggage, literally. It’s not just him. He’s got his parents with him and he’s not leaving them behind. Most adults just bail when the going gets tough anyways so it’s fine. Duke’s used to having to do things himself to get shit done. “I don’t need it either. I’m not some fucking charity case. I’m fine on my own. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I? And whatever track record this guy’s got, it doesn’t matter now. You heard him on the phone. He doesn’t want another kid. Find someone else more gullible to lie to.”
“I’m not lying, kid. He just has to meet you. You’re so lovable. If they just got to know you—“
“Look, it’s the Waynes. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. You just have to let them. It’ll be cool getting to see them all the time, huh? They’re very elusive so you’ll have to tell me about them. They’re also rich so maybe—“
“If you parents could see you now, they’d want—“
“STOP,” Duke shouts. Takes a shaky breath in. “Just stop. Don’t fucking bring them up like that. That’s the thing: we don’t know what they want. They won’t wake up long enough for us to find out. Won’t wake up at all.” His dad’s practically almost brain dead and his mom’s brain activity sometimes spikes up when Duke talks to her but despite all of that, neither of them will wake. Why won’t they wake up? If Duke needs them more, will they wake up? Or maybe he needs to need them less, to show them that everything will be fine when they wake. They have somewhere safe to come back to. Either way, nobody knows why they won’t wake or what they want. The closest person to knowing is Duke. “So stop pretending like this is for them.” Everything Shawn is vouching is for Duke. And Duke doesn’t need this.
If Shawn wants to bring out the fact he knows Duke in order to act out whatever hero complex he has, then Duke will bring out the fact he knows Shawn right back. “All you do is talk big, pretending like you’re helping this poor schmuck of a kid that’s basically delusional, right? If you really believed all that shit, you’d be doing more than shipping me off to the next foster home that’s gonna beat the crap out of me.”
Shawn flinches. Duke doesn’t feel any better for all his frustration and indignation. “That’s not fair, Duke. I didn’t know—“
“Didn’t know the first time or the second time or the third time, right?”
“I took you out as soon as I found out,” Shawn refutes, more tired than hurt.
Duke knows. Because for all he’s accusing Shawn, Shawn does try. He’s one of the rare few social workers that are actually trying to help the kids in the system despite the stress and overwork and underpayment. After the first house, Shawn did better background checks, and even gave Duke a way to contact him in case, but, a matter of fact is, Duke’s just not built for this shit.
It’s like ever since the accident, trouble’s found a way to make itself home into the meat of his skin. It crawls and crawls and he gladly welcomes it because at least something is alive and kicking. In the first place, he’s never been able to sit still, but ever since the accident, it’s like something’s constantly thrumming inside of him, an urgency he can’t shake among all the gaping emptiness and desperation and grief. He’s got a welcome talent for making even the nicest of people hate him, for adults who've never once laid a hand on a kid forget that he’s a kid in the first place, goading and running and leaving until they’re raising a hand again and again without even realizing it. It’s not like he wants it. He just doesn’t know how not to anymore. All he does is fight and fight because it’s all he knows how to do anymore to keep going. Duke’s not meant for whatever they want, not when he has better shit to do, and everybody knows it. Shawn knows it.
Still, though, here Shawn is, talking up a big game when this is Duke’s whole life and all this is to Shawn, is his job, a temporary one off kid in the hundreds he sees everyday. Acting like he’s doing something real grand by shipping him off to the next house that doesn’t even want Duke when the kinder thing would be to cut his losses and look the other way instead of asserting himself and acting like he knows what’s best, just like every other dogshit adult Duke’d ever met. Pretending to help, pushing Duke to do what they want for what they think is right, but once Duke is too much—once Duke is more trouble than he’s worth, once all his baggage is acknowledged, not lifting a finger at all unless it’s to leave him hanging.
“Why don’t you take me in then? You want me to let people in? Let them help me? You do it.”
Shawn doesn’t say anything. Duke’s always been stupid smart; he knows that’s an answer in itself.
He also knows he’s being difficult. The system has way too many kids and instead of emancipating himself, he’s milking the government out of as much money they’ll give him even when he says he doesn’t need handouts. He does need handouts. Shawn can’t afford Duke, doesn’t even have time for him. He’s helping in ways he can already. But, if you really want something, you make it happen, right? His dad always used to say sappy shit like that before booping Duke on the nose and pulling both his mom and Duke in close and saying that’s how he got everything he ever wanted as his mom laughs. Duke’s doing it now, doing everything in his power for his parents to stay alive. If Shawn really believed all the shit he said, he’d make it happen regardless. Even if it wasn’t easy, even if it was harder, at least they were trying.
Duke knows better than to trust an adult, even if it is Shawn. Not that it even matters. Duke doesn’t even need him. He doesn’t need anybody.
But… It’s Shawn. Despite everything, despite being like every other adult, Shawn’s still done more for him than anybody else and that shit had mattered. The time he’s known Shawn is even slowly starting to outweigh the time he’s known his own parents. Duke deflates, feeling the fight leave him.
Shawn’s silence is heavy enough to feel like its own person, a ghost carving its own space behind them in the hood of Shawn’s truck, looming high. Duke’s own gaze turns heavy and unfocused as his head falls back. His guilt is festering for saying the things they both knew never to say out loud. He looks back out the truck window as he resolves himself.
“A year in and out, easy,” Duke gives in, resigned. “That’s it. I’ll try to stay the whole time, try to avoid fights, but if something happens—“ He shrugs. He hasn’t really tried the last few years and some of those homes were actually good. But Duke had snuck out too much, hadn’t opened up enough, went to go visit his parents at the hospital too much, caused too much trouble, fought too much, and eventually he was given back. Always too much and never enough. He didn’t really know how to be what they wanted so he had just… stopped trying. Stopped trying a long time ago to be palatable for families. Stopped trying to get people to understand. Stop trying to not cause a fight. It’s not like he wanted them anyway. Who even cared if they wanted Duke? Even if the disappointment didn’t set in right away, it was gonna happen later down the line anyhow and the dominoes will fall into place the way they always do. They want a kid that’s good. Shawn likes to pretend Duke is worth something beyond everything he’s given up, beyond his scrappy attitude and every cheap thing he’s ever said, beyond how he’s changed for the worse, as if Duke’s one of those good kids. But there's no such thing as good kids—just kids worth the effort and kids that aren’t. All foster kids know it. He’ll try though again, one last time, because even though good kids don’t exist, Shawn thinks he is one anyway despite everything he’s seen Duke do or say. Because Shawn thinks he’s worth it, a crap load of bull that is. Shawn had begged for this, after all. Because at the end of the day, no matter what Shawn wants or thinks, none of this means anything and Duke knows it better than anybody else. “That’s the best I can give you, okay?”
“Okay,” Shawn replies neutrally, keeping his tone so level and blank Duke knows he’s only doing it for Duke, hands still on the steering wheel. Duke wonders what he’s thinking. Maybe he regrets having known Duke at all. “Okay.”
The truck starts. The crow flies away with a flap of its wings. The light of the street lamp flickers. Duke breathes back out as his chest feels like it caves in instead.
And just like that, the light from the cigarette butt burns away, fading into the night.
Brucie Wayne—Bruce is weirdly nice. He’s tall, built, and broad across the shoulders, but also not very smiley, unlike all the clips online. Don’t get him wrong; he still smiles, but it’s not wide or goofy—it’s more subtle, a barely noticeable upturn of his lips. He’s also much more quiet and way less dumb than Duke thought he’d be. It shouldn’t be so surprising; Bruce was a skilled surgeon after all. Still, it leaves Duke oddly out of sorts. He had lowkey been expecting Bruce to leave Duke’s introduction to the manor to a servant or something as he went off laughing drunk, streaking across the manor, or even for Bruce to reveal that he’s adopted all these kids to simulate his own personal form of Hunger Games every month as he laughed loudly like a spoiled mad man, throwing Duke into the ring. Maybe he’s been hearing his coworker whine too often about the many k-dramas she watches with evil rich parents.
He’s too normal. Weren’t rich people supposed to be weird? Very suspicious…
“And this is your room,” Bruce presents firmly. “Feel free to put your things inside. No one will enter it first without your permission except in extreme cases of emergencies where we believe you may be in danger. You can decorate it any way you want.”
Sure, Duke thinks, even whilst knowing he’s going to be gone soon. Best not mess with too many things. Not when Duke is but an ugly smear in their beautiful mansion. Still, he nods in thanks. He doesn’t enter and put down his duffle—the one bag that contains everything he owns, instead gripping it tighter. If Bruce notices, he doesn’t say anything. They just continue walking on as Bruce continues his tour.
Eventually, they finish their whole loop around the mansion and god, is it breathtaking, if not horribly overwhelming because it’s not even rich rich, no, it’s bougie-kind movie rich rich, the kind you see in pictures and never real life and even then, it’s never close enough to touch. It’s by then that they’re in front of what he said was Duke’s room once more.
“Is it okay if I come in?”
“Up to you,” Duke answers, shrugging, accustomed to the ever changing whims of people as he goes to turn the knob, swinging the door wide open for Bruce behind him. Bruce may be adamant that this is Duke’s room with his own privacy for now but later, he’s likely to change and demand Duke come out often, barging in if not, or that since they’re “family” now, it’s okay to come and go as they please. It’s usually the ones who are overly nice at the beginning that crash and burn the hardest. And even if this careful tenure does manage to stay, Duke usually doesn’t. It’s a sweet room nonetheless. It’s got a big open window with sunlight dancing through the openings of pulled curtains in front of its own fucking patio (how insane is that?), a cream colored queen sized bed with silk covers, a gorgeous patterned rug on the ground, a full body mirror tilted against the corner of the room, and an antique brown drawer, bedside table, and dresser pressed against various walls. The room is large and spacious, like one of those rich people rooms you only ever see on television, online, or in movies. He feels like Daphne from What a Girl Wants, Mia from Princess Diaries, or even Harry from Harry Potter. Like he’s staring at something too grand for somebody like him.
Except Bruce doesn’t move, just patiently waits as he stares at Duke from the hallway.
“Dude,” Duke says, put off by Bruce’s deliberate carefulness to explicitly respect Duke’s wishes to a T as if it’s that big of a deal. It’s really not that serious. It’s Bruce’s home. He can do whatever he wants in it. “Yes, you can come in.”
Bruce nods, in thanks probably Duke’s guessing, before striding into the room all proper and elegant. Bruce sits all posh on one of those cushioned storage thingies in front of the bed, house slippers tilting off his feet and elbows resting on his knees, fingers intertwined.
“I wanted to explain a few things to you and have a proper talk with you about the household as you get settled in.”
Right. Rules. Probably lots of them.
“Before we start, however, is there anything important you think I should know about? This was all very last minute so I wasn’t able to get your documents. All I have is a rough email file on basic knowledge for you. I won’t be able to get the proper information until next week. If you need any accommodations or have any allergies, it would be best for you to tell me now.”
Bruce’s face looks slightly sour and pinched, like it pains him to be so painfully unprepared. Still, his voice stays encouraging and slightly exasperated, if not almost used to it. It’s a strange mix.
Duke blinks, surprised, before shaking his head. “Not really. No allergies, no medication, nothing.”
“Okay,” Bruce says slowly, “But if anything, and I mean anything, does change, you are always welcome to let me or Alfred know. You can always come to us. Alfred is our butler. He’s been with us for a long time and in more ways than one, he’s like a grandfather to me. I expect you to treat him with the utmost respect.”
“Sure,” Duke says, nodding. Nice to know Bruce respects his employees.
“I’m not sure how long you’ll be staying,” Bruce murmurs, soft. “But I want you to feel welcome here. This is your home too for now. You’ll always have a place here, if you ever need it.”
Bullshit, Duke thinks. He can still clearly remember Shawn’s whispered words over the phone in the dead of the night. The only reason he was even taken in was because he was temporary.
“I also need you to understand that we have a big family in this household and not all of them will be very welcoming right now,” Bruce continues. “You didn’t come at the best of times. There’s a lot going on right now and we won’t be able to give you all the attention you need. They’re great kids though and most of them are quick to warm up to people. Don’t let them phase you. Please be patient with them and try to stay out of trouble. Is that okay?”
Stay out of trouble? Heard that talk, done that talk. Kind of. Duke’s not really all that good at staying out of trouble. He’ll try to do the next best thing though this time—stay out of everyone’s way completely. It’s probably best for everyone involved and what they want anyway. “Sure,” Duke agrees, easy, even as he tries to calculate what that means for him. Trying to figure out the subtle unspoken double meanings implied between the lines is always such a pain in the ass. If they start treating him like shit, he’s not going to take that lying down though. He’s not a goddamn pushover. There’s certain lines he’ll never let any adult—anybody in general cross ever again. Promise or no promise.
“Thank you. As for the rules, if you have a problem concerning any of them, you can come to me. Rule One: Respect other people’s spaces and items. If someone asks you not to touch their stuff, do not touch it. They should do the same for you in return. Just as nobody will enter your room without permission, you cannot enter their room without permission.”
“Makes sense,” Duke says anyways, nodding once more.
“Rule Number Two: No violence. If you’re upset, either talk it out or leave the room, although sparring with an approved supervisor in one of our training rooms is allowed.”
After that Bruce gives him a few more rules, emphasizing safety as the number one priority and that if Duke has a problem with any of the rules or feels like he’s been wronged by someone in the household, he can come to Bruce or Alfred to talk about it before leaving Duke to unpack and an invitation to dinner downstairs in thirty minutes.
It’s odd. The manor is grand and breathtaking, still impossible to comprehend even though he’s standing inside it, and Bruce is a Wayne, but he feels strangely… normal. He’s like a lot of the other adults Duke has met and also a less exaggerated version of the clips Duke has seen online of him. It’s jarring and strange, but not entirely unwelcome.
Not that it changes anything. No matter how different or similar this house is to any other foster home, Duke knows the jig. He’ll be in and out like butter—quick and easy. It’s all so laughably predictable. He won’t even be a footnote in their autobiographies and they certainly won’t be in his, considering he probably won’t even get an autobiography in the first place. They’ll just be people passing by each other, utterly inconsequential. He’ll be a stepping stone in their lives and they’ll just be another family long forgotten in his.
He grabs his duffle and tosses it into the closet. He barely even has anything to unpack. For the most part, all his stuff is likely to stay in that duffle for the entirety of the year he has remaining here. He doesn’t have much things and whatever he does have, he takes with him everywhere. Might try to take what he can though before leaving. He sits down on the bed, which is super fucking soft by the way and half lays on it, leg bouncing. Looking up, he stares up at the clock, watching its hands tick by. Then he slips out his flip phone from his pocket, flipping it open and then shut, repetitively, with a lack of anything to do as his thoughts rush by. The phone is prepaid. He tries not to use it because buying more minutes isn’t something he can afford. It’s not like he even really needs it. No friends, no family.
Just Shawn for emergencies and some contacts for work. The hospital too, in case.
That sounds kind of depressing. Duke’s not even a pessimist. See, the thing is, the world is, for most people, a shithole… just objectively. Not for Duke though. He’s fucking thriving. Everyone else can stay safe. His life is fine. He’s doing great, thank you very much. He’s got it. Shawn can shut up because Duke doesn’t need anyone else. Hasn’t in a while. He doesn’t have time for them. Other people take up too much time and energy. They won’t be able to understand him. Nobody can.
Besides, his parents are going to wake up any time soon anyways and gather Duke in one of their classic patented Thomas hugs, like the ones they gave him when they were all so much younger, and they’d tell Duke they love him, that they were proud of him. They’d thank him for holding out for them for so long no matter how many people told him to pull the plug, to give up. They’d see how much he sacrificed for them, see how okay he was doing by himself, and they’d be proud. They’d be glad.
Sure it’s not going to magically fix everything—Duke’s not naive—but it’ll still make all the effort Duke’s put in bearable. Because at least then they’ll have each other. Whatever the future, whatever problems arise, at least Duke will have them back by then.
It’s cheesy and a terribly optimistic way of thinking—one that Shawn has seen right through, but Shawn’s just… wrong.
It’s only natural Duke’s willing to destroy himself a thousand times over for his parents. His only parents. They’re loving and kind and one in a million. So he’ll hold out for as long as he needs to. And if he can’t— well, he’ll figure something out to keep them alive even in his absence. He’s good at adapting, at figuring things out and making do with what he has.
So even if there’s even a chance of them waking up, no matter how small, then he has absolute faith in the fact they will. He believes in them in the way he’s sure they believe in him too. Believe in him to keep them alive and safe until they can finally wake up. No matter the cost, he’s going to ensure that happens.
Everything is fine. He just has to keep his head down, stay out of people’s ways, and be unobtrusive. Hopefully slip away before any of the other kids can start shit considering what Bruce said. It’s already optimistic enough trying to stay the entire duration of the year without trouble, especially considering Duke’s track record. Duke said he’ll try, and really, there’s no way Shawn actually thinks anything will come out of it. Duke’s got a knack for turning good things bad, for fighting over shit nobody but him cares about, for leaving before he can be left. Still, he’ll try to stay in this place that’s probably too good for him.
Just in and out easy, he reminds himself for what feels like the millionth time these past few days. A year will be done before he knows it.
