Chapter Text
…
“…hey…”
Anya’s not-quiet-at-all whisper in my ear stirs me from my sleep— wait, when did I fall asleep?
“…heyyy…”
Agh. It’s what I get for staying up the night before, but I vaguely remember Anya pouting about how she wouldn't go to bed unless I went also. I feel her leaned up against my back, tiny hands now shaking my arm— or atleast I think she’s trying to. I don’t move and keep my eyes shut. I don’t hear any of the usual shouting or pitter patter of socked feet across the floor…Must be early.
“...Sissy?…”
I hum half heartedly, realizing im not going back to sleep anytime soon. I peek my eyes open and am greeted by her leaning over my face, her eyes still heavy. She probably hasn’t been up long.
”…Y'know Squish, I’m usually up before you—“ I roll over to face her, she rocks in place for a moment before letting herself fall back into the pillow beside mine. “—what’s up?” I match the fake-whisper she woke me up with.
“…hungry…” A well timed growl from her stomach proves her point further. She doesn’t have the energy to look embarrassed by it, just squishing her face further into the flat pillow. I smile softly at the girl, tucking a few tangled pink strands of hair behind her ear— I’ll remind her to brush it sometime today.
”Me too. I think there’s still eggs left? I’ll see what we got,” I whisper mostly to myself, Anya rarely complains about whatever I make…one of many things I’m grateful of her for considering what little we have to work with. I sit up and look around the room, I was correct in assuming all of the other children are still asleep. A dull blue light has begun filtering in through the only window in the room, a tattered curtain doing little to block it. The dust filled clock on the wall confirms the time to be 6:55. “…Anya?”
I look back at her only to find she’s fallen back asleep, mouth hung open and limbs sprawled out over the expanse of our shared bed— did she seriously wake me up just so she could have the whole thing??? No, probably not, but it’s times like this I wish we had our own beds. The entire thing could’ve been hers, when we first arrived at the orphanage I planned on sleeping on the floor, but Anya insisted.
I fight the urge to sigh out loud, instead gently taking her pink and green bear (“…What’s this guys name, again?” “Mr.Chimera!—“ “Ah…Im surprised you can pronounce that.“ “HEY—“) and tucking it under her arm.
I fish out a fresh set of clothes for the day from under the bed and make my way out to the hall and into the only bathroom, taking practiced care not to step on the noisy boards. Maybe it’s for the better that I don’t start cooking breakfast just yet, the drunk asshole who runs this place isn’t fond of us making noise this early— making noise at all, frankly. I tug my shirt over my head with a huff, it’s no good of me to get irritated like this so early in the morning. Being in a bad mood will just mean I’m more likely to fight back when the drunkard eventually picks on one of the kids. It doesn’t bother me when I’m the target of his stupid commentary, no, I’m the oldest orphan here by a wide margin at 15 and honestly? I’ve heard much, much worse.
What sets me off is when he berates the little ones, usually for shit they didn’t do or things they did that they couldn’t have possibly known to do better. As though their lives aren’t fucked up as is, living in this dump— I realize in this moment I’m brushing my teeth with much more force than necessary. I take a breath.
I need to stop talking back. Not because I want to. The last time I stood up to him, he locked me outside for the night. I tug hard on my hair as I fix it, the sound of Anya’s faint crying still fresh in my memory. It’s just…
“…good mowning Sissy,” I loosen my grip on the sides of the sink and soften my face before turning to face the little boy now standing in the door frame. When the hell did he wake up? Hopefully he hasn’t been here too long— catching me glaring at my own reflection like a psycho.
“Good Mornin’ Issac,” the boy is still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand, the other dragging a ragged teddy bear on the ground behind him as he steps in. “I’m all finished up here, is anyone else awake yet?” I pull out a milk carton from beside the sink and place it infront of the boy for him to stand on— even then he just barely can reach the sink. He doesn’t answer, too busy trying to figure out the mechanics of brushing his teeth while still holding his bear. Then, I feel someone tugging on my shirt, when I look down two more little ones are standing just beside me.
“Sissy we hungwy ,” the one holding my shirt still chimes in— I scoop up the younger one, Lacey, and Rina follows behind me just as Issac hops off the milk carton/step stool, taking his place. I only consider myself Anya’s big sister, when we came here it’s the only thing she’d call me, I think the kids just assumed that ‘Sissy’ was my actual name. I never have the energy to correct any of them, or the time. The kids here come and go so quickly, especially the younger ones, finding homes easily enough when a hopeful couple walks in.
I hand Lacey her toothbrush, she’s still too little to reach the sink, how easily I’m able to lift her up stirs the fire in me to hurry this along so I can start making them food. One by one the little ones come in, me helping when needed, and like clockwork Anya comes trudging in last.
”Good Morning. Again,” my teasing goes over her head, she goes through her morning routine with zombie-like motions. The usual, I shake my head in amusement. The other kids find homes easily enough, yes, but me and Anya? I snap myself out of that familiar train of thought, leaving quickly, knowing Anya can handle herself just fine and busy myself with rifling in the fridge
…
….
….I was correct in assuming we didn’t have much to work with, ingredients wise. I managed to cobble up some eggs with a side of an amalgamation of leftovers from previous nights…hey, I never claimed to be some kind of Masterchef, alright? I’m lucky to have two of the older kids (and by older I mean 10 and 11) interested enough in helping me prepare breakfast. Marco is way more invested in cooking than I ever would be at 10 years old, he says he likes the process— while Celeste is more invested in being able to have first dibs of whatever she helps make. We finish serving up all the kiddos I plate up what little was left for myself. The house is now bright with daylight and the kids chirp amongst themselves, dull plastic utensils in hand.
I lean against the counter, working out in my head what we’d need from the store and mentally preparing myself to go ask the drunk for grocery money later. My eyes wander over to Anya who’s sat on the floor next to me, the other kids didn’t want her sitting next to them again it seems. They’re smart enough not to be cruel to Anya in front of me (I’m known to give some stern talks about being kind), but it doesn’t stop the stray comment about her being weird or well-meaning but terribly-worded questions about why she is the way she is. I have to remind myself that they’re just kids, a product of their environment— one that’s not exactly nurturing or kind. She’s just staring at her plate when I reach down and plant my hand on her head, right between her weird little hair clips. She jumps and looks up at me, her green eyes focused on my face. She doesn’t say anything for long moment, just enough for it to concern me when her brows furrow in concentration.
“Uhm…Squish, you’re giving me that look again— actually it looks like it’s starting to hurt?” Her eyes are nearly bulging out of her head, her cheeks blossoming from pink to bright red as she tries to concentrate on…something? It’s not the first time she’s done this, only ever doing it to me though. Everytime I’ve tried to ask she flat out refuses to tell me what the hell she’s trying to accomplish. Eventually I just chalked it up to another one of her little quirks. I kneel down and take her finished plate and stack it on top of mine, “okay seriously you’re gonna give yourself an ulcer if you don’t stop.” She has her little fists shaking with effort when I lightly flick her between the eyes (“ACK—“). I’ve just finished collecting all the little plates when I look over at her again, slumped over in what I can only imagine to be defeat. I chuckle to myself, Anya whines and rolls over glaring at the rotting ceiling. “It’s not funny!”
I turn away and twist a knob on the sinks faucet, “it’s a little funny, you’re so dramatic,” I retort, unable to keep the fondness out of my voice. The pipes groan audibly before spitting ice cold water out onto the pile dishes in the basin. Ugh, it’s running cloudy again. “Am not,” she concludes. My eyes flick over to her briefly, she has a little arm draped over her face. Dramatic.
I’ve taken apart, deep cleaned, and pieced back together every single pipe in this building and the only thing it’s ever done is fix the water pressure. The water quality is out of my hands, I’ve discovered. I test the temperature and it’s just warm enough to not numb my fingers by the time I’m through washing up. The drunk doesn’t care enough to file some kind of complaint about it, even though he lives here also. No, only thing he cares about is the big check from the government he gets for keeping us housed and alive. God knows where all the money goes, aside from the pocket change he throws at us for the essential stuff.
The squeak of a chair to my right pulls me out of my thoughts, Anya climbs up and plants herself on the counter beside the basin, silently grabbing a cup and rag. “You know you don’t have to do that right?” I hand her the plate I just rinsed anyways. She takes it eagerly, face focused as she shakes her head, “I wanna.”
“okay,” I don’t fight her on it, always grateful to spend time with the girl whenever I can. I turn back to the dishes, enjoying the ambient noise. The sound of running water against the metal basin mixed with the distant chatter of kids filtering through the halls fills the air as we make quick work of all the plastic dinnerware. I don’t say it out loud but I’m a touch proud of Anya for not dropping anything. I look at her, she’s finishing the last plate, and I remember something.
“Stay up here— I’ll be right back,” I tell her, pulling away from the sink. She shoots her head up at me, “why?” She starts reaching down for the chair, I lightly shove her back onto the counter, “wha— hey!” “I told you I’ll be right back, stay there.” I take the chair with me as I walk away, putting it back under the table before leaving the room: essentially leaving Anya stranded on the counter since she can’t jump down by herself (“aaAah!! Don’t leave me here—!”) I grab something from under our bed before making my way back to the kitchen. Well, she probably could jump down by herself, but I’d bet good money she’s too scared to.
“You’re so mean!” I’m greeted by the sight of Anya peering down at the floor below her, gripping the edge of the counter tight. Hah, Knew it.
“I told you I’d be right back, dummy.” I come up beside her and take her face in one hand, smushing her pale cheeks together. “May I? Since you helped me with the dishes and all,” I show her the well-used hairbrush in my other hand, she narrows her eyes at me. “Imma big girl, I can do it myself,” she complains, I pay her no mind, picking out a light tangle of pink strands left in the brush and tossing them in the trashcan nearby. I hum, acknowledging her point before facing her again with a shrug, “I wanna.”
I don’t make any move until she answers, I’ve always made it clear that she can ‘talk-back’ with me, so to speak— that if she finds something doesn’t make sense to her she can ask why or ask for me to elaborate, or just refuse to do it…within reason of course. I’m suddenly thinking back on when she first discovered that spy show, the main character had a gadget that turned into a glider and I caught Anya on a windowsill with grocery bags hooked around her arms, (“What the hell are you doing up there??? How did you even—!” “Sissy!! Anya’s gonna flyyyy!!!” “—That’s not how that works! Anya get down from there NOW—“ “Okay!~” “NOT LIKE THAT—“) Anya got an earful that day about how I tell her to do certain things because I think it’ll keep her safe and not just because I like telling her what to do.
She huffs realizing I’ve used her own logic against her, “fine,” she says with no real bite in it. Anya closes her eyes and plants her hands in her lap, I card through her hair with one hand sectioning off pieces with a soft smile. Starting from the bottom, I feel the slight tugging of locked strands catching on the cheap plastic bristles, I hold the section of pink hair higher up with my free hand so there’s no pain in her scalp from the pulling. Her hair is fine enough that it only takes a couple passes to get it silky looking again. Delicate, a voice chimes in from the back of my mind, that’s what she is inside and out. The very word twists in my chest, I move on to another section of hair. Just like with the dishes, I get through it in mostly silence, pausing occasionally when I distantly hear the kids squabbling but it’s typically resolved itself just as quickly as it starts off. Kids…
I sigh as I finish the last section on the other side of Anya’s candy-pink hair, her head bobs like its too heavy on her shoulders, relishing the gentle drag of the bristles on her scalp. I let go of the lock of hair in my grasp and let fall back on her shoulder. If she didn’t look doll-like before…I peek out the window and if had to guess, based on on how high the sun is hanging, it’s around 9ish or 10 in the morning…It actually looks quite pretty out, I notice a couple of the kids have made their way outside, playing in the empty lot— Anya’s head falls against my arm. I should wake her.
“Psst,” I poke her cheek.
“Hm..?” Still limp.
”I’m all done, I actually think your little spy show is gonna start soon—“ and you would’ve thought lightning had struck the girl the way she shot up from my arm. “noooOOO—“ She launches herself from the counter, I swipe at the spot she used to occupy but she’s already landed by the time I’ve finished the motion. “BONDMAN WAIT FOR ANYA—!!” “Anya?!” She lands and nearly trips over her own feet on the way out, disappearing in a flurry of pink and black. She pops her head back in for a moment, “thankyousissy!” before leaving me.
“You’re welcome?” I say to no one, Anya will be in the TV room for the next few hours, leaving that time for me to spend however I please. I’m thanking my past self for having cleaned and done laundry yesterday, though I use the word laundry lightly considering we don’t have many pieces of clothes between us all. My own shirt hardly fitting me, the sleeves just a bit tight and the hem just a bit short. The pants, on the other hand, are so big I’ve had to roll them at the hem, and a ratty bootlace tied tight through the belt loops is the one thing keeping my modesty. I wrap my finger around one of the ends of the lace absentmindedly as I look through a scarce bookshelf.
Practically every item in the house is second-hand, including the books. Half of them have been rendered unreadable due to water damage or missing pages, which really lowers the options, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. There’s just something satisfying about a full shelf— though I have placed all the unreadbles on the bottom one, just in case I forget and get my hopes up about reading Frankenstein yet again.
“SISSY!” I jump at the sound of Anya’s cry, “Anya?” I call out to her, now standing, I hear her rapid footfalls getting closer. “Sissy! The TVs sleeping!!” Anya patters into the hall with a panicked look across her little face, “I won’t get to see what happens to the Princess if it doesn’t w-wake up!”
The tears beading her bottom lashes make me move a bit faster, but I let out a relieved breath when after a quick scan I realize she’s not hurt. “I’ll check it out, Squish, it’ll be alright.”
…
Okay. Uh, maybe it’s not alright.
I’m knelt down beside the old television set, I pulled it away from the wall to take a look at the back and…
“It’s all eated up…” Anya gasps in my ear, she’s practically hanging off of my back trying to look at the same thing I am— the main power cord has been chewed up beyond repair, little pieces of black rubber scattered in bits right next to the outlet. I try gently shrugging Anya off of my back, “You should probably step back—“
“Wh— I wanna see!” She clings tighter to the collar of my shirt, pouting. I turn my head towards her, giving her the most deadpan side eye I can muster, “I’m thinking it’ll explode—“
And just like that she slides off of me and quickly busies herself on the other side of the room. Could it actually explode? I turn back to the mangled cord…the tiniest yellow spark pops out from the exposed metal, so small you could blink and easily miss it.
Yea, I should unplug this— but will it explode??? I should be wearing gloves…are all thoughts I should have had before I yanked the sucker out of the outlet by the stem. All my fingers are still attached to both my hands! I should really be more cautious about them, I’ve only got the ten…regardless, the exposed wire isnt sparking anymore. I move to pick up the tv, thinking about how I should break the news to the kids that we’ve lost a beloved member of the house.
“-I should mention I’d like a child who can read and write, if that’s possible.”
A cool and unfamiliar voice makes me freeze in place, I turn towards the entrance of the playroom, still kneeling by the TV in the corner. Sure enough, the drunk wanders in followed closely by a blonde man in a green suit. All at once, 3 things strike me as weird. One, Who the hell comes to a place like this in their Sunday best, it’s far nicer than I’ve ever seen prospective adopters wear. Or…adopter, I should say— he’s here alone. Double weird. And if he’s looking for a kid who was educated why not go to some higher end agency, the man looks like he could afford it. Triple weird, and it doesn’t help that he looks like he’s never smiled once in his life. Triple weird robot man… I spot a few kids peeking into the room hiding behind the door frame, leering at the blonde. Yea, I don’t think he’s gonna find what he’s looking for here. A lone wealthy man looking for a literate child in a run down orphanage? He’s probably looking for some pet his wife can look after or charity case the couple can parade around town.
“—Anya here’s the smartest one we got.”
Huh? Wait— My eyes dart over to where she is in the room, it looks like she busied herself with her plush when I sent her away. She’s gazing up at the man in what I can only describe as curiosity. Not that I’d ever call Anya stupid, but the bar for being the smartest around these parts is…uh…
“—she don’t talk much but she’s a good kid.”
The drunk glares at Anya obviously as he motions towards her, she doesn’t notice. I feel a familiar cold coil of dread starting to tie itself tight in my guts, I narrow my eyes at him for even pointing her out. Of course the bastard wouldn’t care how shady this guy is. The blonde, who was previously focused on Anya, suddenly glances at me with icy eyes. Immediately, I scoff and roll my eyes, turning back towards the busted television. Weirdo.
“C’mon, Anya, say hi.”
In the reflection of the black screen, I watch the man step towards Anya.
“Uh, excuse me…”
Fucking weirdo! Has this man ever interacted with a child before? This is usually the part where I head to our shared room and wait for whoever is visiting to leave. The drunk says I scare off adopters, that they wouldn’t be looking for kids as old as me anyway...true, But there’s no way I’m leaving Anya here with this creep stalking around. If I’ve taught Anya right, she’ll catch onto how wrong this all seems and ignore him—
“Six! I’m six!”
Oh, of course. I turn back around to fix my eyes at the girl. There is physically no way she’s 6– I’ve been with the twerp since she was 2, she can’t be older than 5 if even that. The drunk even remarks about it. What the hell is she doing? Why lie about that?? At this point, the two men and I are all staring at Anya who is…straining to stand on her tip toes? She’s clutching her doll tight as she stares up at the man in the suit.
I sigh to myself, the coil in my stomach pangs for a different reason— she’s trying to impress him. I lean back and let myself sit against the wall, watching the whole ordeal. Just wait for him to move onto another kid, comfort Anya when she thinks his rejection is an indication that she isn’t good enough for a loving home.
What a stupid kid. If anyone on this horrible planet deserves a family it’s her.
“Ack— sissy?”
I’m pulled out of a soon to be dark train of thought by Anya’s call, she’s reaching up on a shelf for something, looking back at me with a slight flush on her cheeks. The blonde man follows her gaze to my curled up form in the corner, raising a brow before turning to the drunk.
Okay! Uh. For the sake of yalls sanity I’ll end the chapter there. I’ve noticed that my writing style is a little long winded— but aside from that I don’t think it’s half bad for the first chapter of my first ever fic! Let me know what you think, good or bad, I thrive on feedback >:) next chapter in the works and coming soon ( ˘ ³˘)♥