Chapter Text
“Lights out, everyone!”
The sound of hurried footsteps echoes through the house as everyone returns to their rooms. Doors click shut behind muffled laughter and it isn’t long before the whole house settles into the night. Alone in his room, Steve coughs and rolls over in bed, the worn pillowcase familiar against his cheek. He ignores the sound of the house-parent checking to make sure everyone’s back in their rooms and closes his eyes with a sigh and shifts to get comfortable. But sleep hasn’t come easy for a long time.
Steve opens his eyes with a groan. The room is dark, but as always there’s just enough light for his reflection to be visible in the window. “Hey, Grant,” Steve says to the image of himself, voice scratchy from days of coughing. “We’re one day closer to being out of this place.”
The corner of his lips tips up in a tired smirk. He knows it’s not exactly normal to talk to one’s own reflection, but it’s been a really long time since he’s felt ridiculous for doing so. At the end of the day, talking out loud to his reflection is really no different than having an internal monologue...and he really doesn’t have anyone else to talk to. Having lived in more short-term foster homes than he cares to count and spending the last couple years in this foster-share home, making friends hasn’t been easy. Friendships don’t last when you or everyone around you are constantly being moved around. After the last true friend he had had been adopted, Steve had closed himself off to others. It hurts too much to always be saying goodbye.
Sitting up, Steve peers closer at his reflection and heaves another sigh. The boy in the window has sad eyes and a pale face, a head of lackluster blond hair. He’s thinner than before and Steve can’t help but look down at himself. He doesn’t need to wonder why he hasn’t been adopted after all these years.
His own parents hadn’t wanted him. How can he expect strangers to want him? They come looking for a healthy, strong, handsome boy and always leave when they see him. Steve tries to not be too affected by the comments he overhears, but years of the same words being uttered behind barely closed doors have affected him. Too skinny. Too small. Sickly. Frail, even. Those words have been muttered behind his back, murmured to agreeing ears, and whispered to the room too many times to count. Some of it’s bound to stick. Unfortunately, Steve also has a bit of a temper that tends to come out whenever those words are said to his face. So, yeah. He doesn’t have to guess to know why he’s the oldest kid in the share home and probably never going to be adopted at this point. In the beginning, it’d been hard to watch his potential adopters turn their backs. The first couple of times he’d been hurt and upset, then angry. These days, the sight of retreating backs no longer fazes him. Hardly anyone ever comes for him anyway.
“Just hang in there, Grant,” Steve says softly to his reflection. “Two more years and I’ll be eighteen. I’ll figure something out; make a living doing odd jobs and selling art…get a place. As long as I can find some semblance of permanence I’ll be happy.” He smiles wistfully at the thought, and the boy in the window smiles back.
~o~
There’s a knock on his door in the morning. Steve can hear the rest of the house just beginning to stir with the fresh sunlight creeping through the cracks in the blinds. He frowns at the door, not sure that he hadn’t just imagined the knock. It’s not like he gets visitors. Whoever it is knocks again, louder. “Steven?” Steve groans. Despite having lived in the house for five years, Mrs. Pewter still insists on calling him Steven. He slips out of bed and crosses to the door.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he says, stifling a cough. Mrs. Pewter looks him up and down with an appraising eye while Steve resists the urge to square his shoulders. He knows he doesn’t look well at the moment, but at least he’s well enough to get out of bed now.
“How are you feeling, Steven?” Mrs. Pewter asks, gentle. She’s grateful, he guesses, because the main reason he’d gotten sick was because she had asked him to help when a few of the younger kids were sick. Not that he’d really minded. He discovered early on that he was good at that sort of thing…probably because he’d been on the receiving end of care so much.
“Much better now,” Steve says truthfully.
Mrs. Pewter nods. “Good. Well, I’ve got good news for you, Steven. You’re getting adopted.”
For a long moment, Steve doesn’t comprehend what she’d said. The words register but don’t make sense. He stares at her, dumbfounded. She has to be joking. “Steven?”
Steve finds himself clinging to the door frame like a lifeline. “Are you serious?” he manages to ask around the sudden dryness in his throat. “Are you sure it’s me?”
Mrs. Pewter doesn’t quite hide the sympathetic look she gives him. “Why wouldn’t it be you?” she says in lieu of answering his questions. Any other day Steve would’ve narrowed his eyes at that. “The paperwork came through late last night from Mrs. Sarah Rogers. You’re taking an overnight train tonight.” She steps away from him to head back downstairs. Steve stares after her, speechless, and something in his expression makes her turn back with a sympathetic smile.
“Come on,” Mrs. Pewter says and reaches to put an arm around his shoulders, “come eat some breakfast first before you pack.” Steve takes one step with her but then stops. He shakes his head.
“No, don’t think I can stomach it right now,” he says. “I’ll just go pack.” Mrs. Pewter looks at him for a long moment before nodding. He watches her until she’s disappeared down the stairs before retreating back into his room and closing the door. Leaning back against the door, Steve takes a few deep breaths to loosen the tightness slowly wrapping around his chest. This isn’t the time to have an attack.
He’s getting adopted.
Once upon a time, back before he’d stopped hoping; those words were all that he ever wanted to hear.
~o~
Mrs. Pewter sees him off at the train station. Though he isn’t exactly attached to her, Steve is glad to have her there on the platform with him. A part of him is still trapped in the haze of disbelief. Her presence is at the very least enough to convince him that this isn’t some kind of fever-dream. When the train slows to a stop, Steve grips holds tight to his single piece of luggage and watches apprehensively as the doors glide open with a hiss.
“You have your ticket?” Mrs. Pewter asks as passengers file out of the train car. Steve nods wordlessly, the simultaneous mix of excitement, anxiety, and uncertainty making him speechless.
“Go on then.” Swallowing thickly, Steve nods again and drags suitcase with him to line up behind the passengers waiting to board.
He turns back to Mrs. Pewter at the doorway. “Thank you, Mrs. Pewter,” he says sincerely, and looks up into her eyes, hoping she can’t see the thick swirl of emotions clawing at the surface.
“You’ve shown me nothing but kindness these past few years and though it was never ideal, I think these past few years could’ve been a lot worse.” He holds out his hand for her to shake.
She smiles at him and gives his hand a firm shake. “Good luck out there, Steve.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Taking a deep breath, Steve squares his shoulders and climbs aboard the train, only looking back briefly to wave goodbye.