Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You really think he’s ready?”

“No, but we don’t have a choice. He’s turning 21, and was sentenced to be released at that time.”

“But we have a duty to protect people!”

“This conversation is over. Steven leaves on Friday and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Steven could remember the fire like it happened yesterday. He could still hear his mother’s screams, cries and begs for help as she pounded the paneled window with both hands. He could see the tears streaming down her cheeks even with the smoke and flames. Could remember Chapper’s painful howls as the floor got too hot for his paws and his fluffy tail caught fire. Hear the raging noise of the fire, of the ceiling caving in. Most of all, he could still remember striking the match that set it all in motion.

The only thing Steven had thought was unfair was that his father had been so drunk he had never woken up. He had died from smoke inhalation and never felt the heat, never realized he was burning. Steven comforted himself by thinking it didn’t matter, dad may have gotten lucky his last night on Earth, but in Hell there was no escaping the flames. No escaping his sins. The thought made Steven happy, or what he thought happy felt like. He hadn’t really felt happy a lot in his life. His father had been an abusive alcoholic. Stayed sober enough to keep his work at the factory, but when he got home, he got home drunk and beat both Steven and Steven’s mother. Despite sharing the violence, and Steven’s mom getting abused in ways Steven didn’t know of, he blamed her too. She was his mother, she was supposed to protect him from all harm. She had promised! He felt sad when he thought about it. She wouldn’t have had to die if she had just protected Steven.

“Good morning, Steven. How are you feeling?”

The room was all white and all the furniture had been screwed to the floor. The bed was a simplistic frame made of metal with no springs, and next to it was a metal plate on four metal posts, pretending to be a night stand. On the floor were crayons, child-like drawings and papers splayed across, some drawings taped to the white walls, all in stark contrast to Steven’s long, raven hair. He had had a few haircuts in the first two years he had been here, but then he had refused his hair being cut because no-one at the facility cut it like his mom did. Some parts of him still wanted mommy.

“I’m… I’m good, doc. How are you?”

Steven’s voice was higher than you’d expect for a man in his early 20s, his speak pattern had a stutter and he had over all a painful shyness, constantly holding his own hand and being kind of curled into himself, as to take as little space as possible. This was the good Steven, the Steven this facility’s doctors were proud of having created. He was extremely polite, kind of quiet and kept to himself, and wouldn’t cause a fuss in the outside world.

“I’m good, Steven, thank you for asking. You’re about to leave on Friday, are you excited to start a life on your own?”

The man speaking to Steven was Doctor Alexander Cooper, a leading expert in the abuse of children and youngsters, and the psychological effects following it. With hair greying on his temples and bags under his eyes, you could tell Dr. Cooper was an aging man, and had seen lots of cases over his long, decorated career. He had been overseeing Steven’s case ever since he came here 14 years ago after a child psychologist at the Federal Bureau of Investigation had reported it to be her professional opinion that Steven should receive some intense behavioral correction therapy. Mind-washing, Vincent called it. Vincent was Steven’s best friend; He was sometimes a little scary, but he had always taken care of Steven and had been with him ever since Steven’s dad had started abusing him. Vincent was the only friend in the whole world that Steven had.

“Yes, very excited”, Steven said and tried to smile.

No. Steven was not excited. He wanted to stay here, because it was the only place familiar. In his mind, he thought of this place as home, which was understandable, as he had been here almost all of his life. The life he had before the fire and what happened between fire and home was all a blur to Steven. He could remember some rooms inside the house, but mainly he just remembered the paneled windows and the big front door in its wooden frame, heating and expanding so it wouldn’t open anymore. He remembered being afraid, hearing his parents yelling, and being struck with an open hand, a fist, a belt or sometimes a stick his father had brought in from the front yard when he got home. But Steven had learned all the things the doctors wanted to hear and all the things he was never allowed to say. Vincent had told him to not say everything that’s on his mind because when he did, the doctors had gotten very upset and sent Steven to his room in the middle of a session. Steven didn’t really know what a session was, he just sat in a room with one or a few doctors and answered questions. Sometimes he got to draw things. That day he had been sent to his room and had felt like a bad boy, even though the doctors hadn’t said that and some nurses even consoled him later when they brought him to the dining hall for dinner.

Steven wasn’t the only child here, but he didn’t really like the other children. He didn’t know why, there wasn’t exactly anything wrong with them, Steven just found it much easier to be on his own. When he was young, he had upset a few children as well, and ultimately gave up because he just couldn’t figure what he could or couldn’t say to them. Vincent told him it was okay, that he was better on his own anyway, because then nobody would steal his toys or his crayons. Steven had smiled a little, wiped his nose on his sleeve and said through the tears:

“Yeah, I always get stuck with the white crayon.”

He was very careful to not tell the doctors about Vincent. Well, he had when he first came, but the doctors had seemed very mad at Vincent for some reason, so when Vincent told him to tell the doctors he had gone away, Steven understood and did just so. The doctors were very pleased to hear Vincent wasn’t there anymore, so Steven kept Vincent a secret. In the last ten years the doctors hadn’t even mentioned Vincent, and neither had Steven. However, Dr. Cooper was seemingly happy to hear Steven was excited, because he smiled and nodded his head, telling Steven:

“Your past is in the past. Take this opportunity and do some great things in your life. You’re a smart boy, Steven.”

A smart boy, that was very good. Steven liked compliments, he liked to know he was doing the right thing. Mom had always called him baby when he did things right and had stroked his hair with her hand. One time Steven had done the dishes to help mom out and to make her happy, so she had snuck him an ice cream and called him a darling boy. Steven looked down and away when he remembered his mother. He had really loved his mother and the few memories she had of him were good, happy, but she had wronged him. She hadn’t protected him from his father, she hadn’t made the beatings and name-callings stop, so it was her own fault she had to die! Steven felt anger build up, but he knew it made doctors upset with him, so he took a breath and made his anger vanish.

“I’ll make the greatest things, Dr. Cooper.”