Chapter Text
Sam has a routine. It’s a good routine. A very good routine. It’s… It may not be great, but it’s pretty good.
Sam wakes up at five every morning, usually as the sun is just starting to rise. He takes his dog, Fran, out on a jog. Usually he ends up working out for a while after the jog, too. Then he makes breakfast, takes a shower, and gets ready for work. Getting ready for work consists of getting dressed, petting Fran, and drinking ‘the most heinous cup of coffee I have ever seen’ according to his barisa.
Fran comes with him to work. Although he likes to say it’s because his boss and coworkers like the dog so much, it’s really just because she’s a service dog. That, and because everyone likes her so much. Sam swears half of his coworkers wouldn’t talk to him if he didn’t bring her around with him.
Work lasts… For a long time, usually. It depends on the day and what project he works on. Some days he leaves before noon, other times he’s there until the sun comes up. It’s the great thing about being paid by project and not by how many hours he works- he can come in as late as he wants as long as he ultimately finishes the job by its deadline.
More often than not, though, he’s home by five in the evening. He takes Fran on another walk and cooks something for dinner. More often than not, he eats dinner alone on his couch. More often than not, Fran ends up eating half of the food off of Sam’s plate.
Rinse, wash, and repeat. Day after day after day.
But Sam likes his routine. It’s a good routine. It keeps him sane, it keeps him busy. And- and that’s what he’s supposed to do. Busy is good. Busy means he’s being productive. Busy means he’s being a good person.
And who cares if his hands are shaky from how much caffeine he consumes. Or if he turns down offers to hang out with Foolish (his only friend at this point), not out of necessity but because he can’t quite stand to face someone.
It’s a good routine.
He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken to someone outside of work.
A very good routine.
Again, it keeps him busy. Busy is good. It means he doesn’t have to spend time thinking about… Other things. Of life and death and fire. It goes back to fire a lot, he realizes. Fran usually comes up and alerts him when he starts thinking about it, and then he ends up busy petting her.
It’s a good routine. Not a great one, but a good one. And he wouldn’t change it for the world.
Until the knock on the door, anyway. It’s not every day Sam gets someone knocking on the door. It wasn’t like he really had friends, nor was he loud enough for neighbors to make noise complaints. So the knock was probably just a salesman.
Sam would have ignored it, he really would have, but the person just kept knocking. Over and over again. Louder and louder. Even Fran’s ears were pinned back, and she stood quite protectively in front of Sam.
“Good girl,” Sam murmured, scratching behind her ears.
Despite that, he still made his way to the front door. He still opened it. He still was met with-
Not a salesman.
A boy.
A boy with a rat's nest of curly blonde hair. A boy with puffy blue eyes like he’d been crying. A boy gripping the bandana tied around his neck like a lifeline.
His clothes were simply an old t-shirt and some khaki pants, torn at the knees. His sneakers looked even older, ripped up and held together by duct tape and (most likely) a prayer.
A backpack was thrown over his shoulder, and the bandana-less hand was wrapped around the handles of a beaten-up duffel bag.
He looked up at Sam, face screwed up as he scrutinized him. Sam wasn’t surprised- between his height, green hair, and piercings, most people scrutinized him upon first look.
“Are you Samuel?”
Fran found her way to Sam’s side. She licked his hand once. Twice. “What?”
“Are you Samuel Due?” The boy looked deadly serious.
“Yeah, I am. Who are-“
The boy pushed his way past Sam (and Fran) and into the apartment. He dropped the duffel bag onto the floor with a dull ‘thud’.
“-You,” Sam finished his sentence despite the fact that the kid didn’t seem all that interested in answering.
No, he was looking around the apartment with wide eyes. Weirdly nonjudgmental, considering. “This is your house?”
“…Yeah.”
Fran was sniffing the kid’s duffel bag.
The kid tried to shoo her off, but it was no use. Eventually he just turned to Sam. “I'm your nephew.”
Sam froze. “Huh?”
“I’m your nephew,” he repeated. He dropped down to his knees now so he could be more level with Fran. He extended a hand. She sniffed it.
“I don’t have a nephew.”
“Yeah you do. It’s me.”
A beat.
“You have a sister, right? Named Sadie?” The kid asked, glancing up at Sam.
Sam nodded very slowly. “Yeah…”
“That’s my mom. Or, was my mom.” He dropped his eyes back down to Fran. Finally he reached up and started petting her. Of course, Fran leaned into the touch.
“Was?” Sam questioned cautiously.
He looked almost embarrassed. But before Sam could rescind the question, he answered, “Mom died a month ago. I thought you knew.”
And how was Sam supposed to respond to that? That he had no idea? That he hadn’t spoken to his sister in almost two decades? That he didn’t know she had a son, much less that the son knew about his existence.
Sam was a little bit surprised about that last part. He thought his sister hated him, so why would she tell her kid about him?
“I… Didn’t know that.”
“Oh.”
There’s an awkward silence as they both stare at each other. The kid’s hands run absentmindedly through Fran’s fur. If Sam wasn’t sure the kid needed it more than he did, he probably would have recalled Fran so he could pet her himself. Sam was… More anxious than he should be about this.
Or maybe it was a reasonable amount of anxiety, considering a kid had shown up at his apartment, claiming to be some long-lost nephew that Sam had never met. And asking… Well, he wasn’t really asking anything outright. But the backpack and duffel bag certainly gave a hint.
“I have some questions,” Sam said, slowly, “If you wouldn’t mind.”
The kid dropped down cross-legged on the floor, hand still tangled in Fran’s fur. “That’s good, ‘cause I have a lot of questions, too.”
“Great, so-”
“What if we play twenty questions? You ask a question, then I ask a question, and we go back and forth until we both have asked twenty.”
Sam didn’t have the heart to tell the kid that that wasn’t exactly how the game went. “Sounds great. Do… Do you want to go first?”
“Yeah. What’s your dog’s name?”
“Fran. What’s your name?”
“Oh!” His eyes widened in surprise, as if he had completely forgotten. Maybe he really had. “I’m Tommy. Is Fran a boy or girl?”
“Girl. Where are you from?”
“I grew up in Nottingham- it’s in England. We moved to the states a few years ago. Do you have any roommates?” Ah, that would explain the accent.
“No, it’s just me and Fran. Isn’t your dad looking for you?”
“Nope.” No further detail, just nope. “But you have a spare room.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”
“No, but that is. You have… Sixteen questions left. Do you have a spare room?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I do. Did you drive here?”
“I took the bus. Can I stay in your spare room?”
“Like, for the night, or..?”
Tommy looked up at Sam, eyes almost pleading.
Sam let out a loud sigh. He crossed the room and sat on the couch, dropping his head into his hands. Within a few seconds Fran was at his side, licking at his hands to try and get him to move them.
“Do you want to live here?”
“Well, if you insist-”
“Tommy,” Sam said, slightly harsher than implied, “You know what I meant.”
If Sam was looking, he would have seen Tommy flinch back just slightly at his harsh tone. “Can I live here?” The question comes out a lot more timid than he appeared just seconds ago.
“Why do you want to live here?”
“That’s not how the game works. You have to answer a question with an answer, not a question.”
Another sigh. This time, louder. “That depends on a lot of things, kid.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t have anywhere else to stay?”
Tommy snorted. “No, I don’t.” He sounded bitter.
“But-”
“It’s my turn to ask the question. I’m a great house guest, by the way. Can I please stay here?”
Sam brought his head out of his hands, much to Fran’s relief. He looked down at the child- because that’s what he was, really- sitting on the wood floor of the apartment. Despite how tall he was, he looked so small like this. Small and scared, and…
And how could Sam say no to that.
“I’ll give a tentative yes to that.”
Tommy smiled slightly, but his eyes narrowed in confusion. “What does tentative mean?”
“I thought it was my turn to ask the question,” Sam teased. “How old are you, Tommy?”
“Seventeen. What does tentative mean?”
Sam gave him a half-smile. “It means that it’s not set in stone, but it’s most likely. How long would you be staying for?”
“Just ‘till I have enough money saved up. I’m- I’m going to move in with a friend eventually. Can I take Fran on walks while I’m staying here?”
“I don’t see why not.” Sam thought for a moment. “You’re sure that your parents- parent won’t be looking for you?”
Tommy dropped his gaze to the floor again. He looked dejected. “Dad said that I can find a friend to stay with or I can find a youth shelter.”
“But foster care-”
“I’m seventeen. By the time they dealt with my ‘case’, I’d be eighteen.”
There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Tommy was repeating words that he’d heard over and over again. He didn’t know where to go with it, though. “It’s, uh, your turn.”
Tommy nodded “Right, yeah. Uh… What do you do for work?”
“I program computers. Real nerdy stuff. When did you last eat?”
“Uh… I had breakfast. I’ve been on a bus most of the day. How long have you had Fran?”
“About five years. Do you like cereal?”
Tommy shrugged. “I guess.”
“Come on, then, I’ll get you some cereal.” Sam stood up. Fran found her way by his side. He took a few steps towards Tommy and then held his hand out.
Tommy scrutinized his hand as if it might be some kind of threat. But eventually he did take it and allowed Sam to pull him to his feet. “Why are your hands so… Scratchy?”
Sam laughed. “Calloused. I used to work with my hands.”
They crossed from the living room into the kitchen. Fran was practically stepping on Sam’s heels, and Tommy wasn’t so far behind her.
After a quick look through his cupboards, Sam realized that he didn’t actually have that many types of cereals. A few boring adult brands, some oatmeal, and a (slightly stale) box of Lucky Charms.
Sam wasn’t a bit surprised when Tommy chose the only sugary option. He was slightly surprised when Tommy chose to eat it without milk.
“My dad always says it’s improper to eat cereal without milk,” Tommy explained, in between bites. “But mom said that she used to eat it like that as a kid, too.”
Tommy sat atop Sam’s kitchen counter, legs swinging absentmindedly. Sam would’ve had him eat at the kitchen table, but… Sam didn’t actually have a kitchen table. Sometimes he’d eat at the couch, or at his desk. Or he wouldn’t be able to drag himself out of bed and, if he were to eat, he’d eat whatever food Foolish insisted he bring over, still halfway under the covers.
“I didn’t know you could eat cereal improperly,” Sam joked, albeit awkwardly.
Tommy just shrugged and took another bite. “I don’t think we finished the game.”
“Oh… Any idea how many questions we had left?”
“Not at all.”
Sam didn’t have a spare bed. He barely even had a spare room- just a ‘storage room’ filled with old boxes and stuff for Fran. Of course he didn’t, it wasn’t like he had any friends to stay over. The most he had was Foolish, and even then, if they were to have a ‘sleepover’ so to speak, it would be Sam at Foolish’s place, not the other way around.
But Sam did have a little air mattress, tucked up in the corners of a closet he hardly used. He had a few spare blankets as well, which he carefully laid over the air mattress. He did the same with a pillow he had gotten- he had no idea where he acquired it, actually.
The makeshift bed was good enough for one night, though. And Tommy didn’t even complain, which was surprising, especially for a seventeen year-old boy. But no, he was quiet and rather appreciative. Although, Sam would have been, too, if he were in that situation. He guessed that choosing between sleeping in a shelter or on an air mattress might not be that hard of a choice.
Sam didn’t tuck Tommy into bed or anything. Of course he didn’t, that would be odd. Tommy was practically an adult- Tommy was practically an adult. Sadie had a kid who was hardly considered a kid anymore. This kid was- okay, focus on freaking out later.
Sam left Tommy with a quick ‘goodnight’ and a promise that he was just a room over, should Tommy need anything during the night. He insisted that he wouldn’t be a bother- heavens knows Sam’s sleep schedule is messed up anyway.
The door shut quietly with a click, and Tommy was snoring (rather loudly) in his room within the next twenty minutes.
That’s when Sam freaked out.
Sam hadn’t seen his older sister since he was six years old. Last he heard, she had told their mom that she wanted nothing to do with them.
So why would she tell Tommy about him? And how much did Tommy know about him? It couldn’t be that much, surely- but he found Sam’s address. Speaking of, how did he find Sam’s address? And why would he take a bus to get there-
No, that one was obvious. His dad, probably. Sam had never met the man, but he had vague memories of his mother complaining about his sister’s boyfriend. She always said she didn’t like him, though Sam didn’t understand why at the time.
Now, he did. Telling your kid that they don’t have a place at your house anymore? That’s awful- horrible- despicable, even. Especially considering his mother had just died.
Fran licked Sam’s hand, pulling him back into the present. Back into his house. Into his empty kitchen with a single bowl in the sink. He’d give himself a pat on the back for getting dishes done earlier, but he was pretty sure Foolish had done them last time he had been over and Sam just… Hadn’t cooked since then. How long ago was that? A week? Yikes…
He would cook breakfast, maybe. If Tommy was up for it. Or, they’d go out- no, he needed to go out less- but surely Tommy deserved it-
His thoughts were running around in circles. He needed to go to bed.
Sam walked to his room, Fran, once again, on his heels. He sat on his bed, not quite tired enough to sleep yet, but too tired to do much. He ended up scrolling on his phone, and-
Uh oh.
Four voicemails from Foolish. The oldest four days ago, the most recent only an hour or so ago. Sam cringed as he pressed the play button and brought his phone to his ear to listen.
Foolish’s voice crackled though the speakers. He sounded happy, but just slightly on edge. “Hey, Sam, it’s Foolish. Look, you were saying some concerning things last time we talked and just… I’m worried about you. Call me back, okay?”
Beep.
“Hey, me again. I’m getting just a little bit nervous you’re not picking up my calls. Our date wasn’t that bad, wasn’t it?” Nervous laugh. “Call me back soon, please.”
Beep.
“Sam, I know you’re awake right now. There’s no way you’ve been sleeping since my first message. I know you don’t like talking, but I’m seriously worried about you. Call me back, okay? Or I’m going to make a wellness check.”
Beep.
“Sam. I’m going to call the cops if you don’t call me back in the next twelve hours-“
Sam didn’t listen to the rest of the message, pressing the call back button.
Foolish answered almost immediately. “Sam?”
Sam sighed. “Hi, Foolish.”
“Sam!” He practically shouted.
Sam cringed and moved his phone slightly away from his ear. His bad, he should have seen that one coming. “How have you been?”
“How have I been? Sam, you disappeared for four days. I was worried that you- you know.”
Sam knew exactly what Foolish was insinuating. He didn’t want to talk about it, though. “I just met my nephew,” he said, instead.
That was enough to make Foolish pause, just for a moment. He then let out a confused laugh. “What?”
“My nephew. He’s seventeen, almost eighteen. He looks nothing like Sadie.”
“Oh..?” Of course Foolish was confused. Sam rarely spoke about his family, especially not about his sister. And why should he? He hardly knew her.
“He said that she died.”
“Oh, Sam-”
“A month ago. An entire month and no one bothered to tell me.” He wasn’t angry, just… Confused? Upset? Those were practically the same thing as angry, weren’t they? But he wasn’t angry, really, he wasn’t. He just couldn’t believe that he missed something so significant as his sister’s passing.
“I’m so sorry, that must be really hard.”
“I didn’t even know her.” Sam was trauma dumping now. He was well aware of it but once the words started coming they just didn’t stop.
“Huh?”
“She moved out when I was a kid. We didn’t keep in touch. Honestly when mom- I hadn’t heard about her in years. I don’t know why this is- it’s hitting me like this.”
“Grief can be confusing,” Foolish suggested.
Of course he was right. But Sam was struggling to accept that. “And her kid- he didn’t even tear up about it. What if she was an awful mother?”
“I’m sure she wasn’t that bad.”
Sam shook his head despite the fact that Foolish couldn’t see him. “You don’t know that. I don’t know that. She could have been horrible, she could have been wonderful- I didn’t know.”
“Sam-”
“He’s only seven years younger than me. He was born the year after she moved out, I don’t-”
“Sam-” Foolish tried again, more firm this time but not quite loud enough.
“And I didn’t know about him! How ridiculous is that?”
“Sam, you’re spiraling.”
Oh. Foolish was right. Sam hadn’t even noticed, but Fran was standing on her back paws, front paws resting on Sam’s chest as she tried to get him to sit. He complied, dropping down to the cold kitchen tile. “Sorry,” he murmured to Foolish.
“It’s fine.”
Fran took her spot lying across Sam’s legs.
“All of this must be overwhelming.”
Sam let out a sharp laugh. “You have no idea.”
“Tell me about it,” Foolish suggested calmly.
“Well… He’s… Interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
Sam made a face. “He asked me to take him in.”
A beat. “Take him in?”
“Yeah. Like, he wants to live with me.”
Another beat. Foolish seemed to be working through it in his head, which was pretty fair, to be honest. “And what did you say to that?”
Sam laughed. “He’s asleep in my spare room. I think I’m taking him shopping tomorrow.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No, not at all.”
Foolish didn’t respond to that, probably letting the bad idea sink in for himself. He was right, really. It was an awful idea. Sam had no idea how to deal with kids- even if Tommy wasn’t really a kid anymore- and he shouldn’t be taking one in like this.
But Tommy was family. New family, sure, but family nonetheless. And Sam wasn’t going to just leave him out on his own.