Notes: Inspired by that photo of Sharon's bathroom, of all things. Just as a heads up, there are a lot of references to child abuse and rape and all of the other terrible things that Rusty has lived through. As always, thank you for reading.

Somewhere Better

rosabelle

"Sure you will, Captain. Sure you will."

The crutches kept him from storming off the way he would have liked to, so Rusty was forced to be satisfied with making his voice as reproachful as possible. He wasn't sure if it did the trick or not; he hobbled down the hall without turning back to look at her face. Maybe he'd made her cry. He hoped so. But he kind of doubted it—she didn't act like someone who cried easily.

The bathroom was the second door on the right. He stopped dead when he saw it, his eyes widening as he tried to take it all in. Marble. Tile everywhere. It wasn't like Rusty knew a whole lot about interior decorating, okay, but he didn't live under a rock. He knew those things were expensive. Who needed a shower and a tub, anyway? Especially someone who lived alone.

He was pretty sure the tub alone was bigger than the entire bathroom in the last apartment he'd stayed in with his mom. The bathroom was probably bigger than his entire bedroom, and it was definitely bigger than the care that he'd lived in with his mom and... what was his name? The one before Gary. Tom or Tim or... something like that. Todd? Whatever. Rusty preferred to think of him as that asshole who'd tried to leave him at a rest stop outside of Fresno because he didn't like how Rusty was looking at him.

His mom had made Tom-Tim-Todd come back for him that time. She'd told him not to be mad. They didn't mean it. She'd never really leave him. She'd rolled her eyes when he'd started to cry, but she'd given him a hug and yelled at Tom for laughing at him. And then she'd asked if he could please try a little harder to get alone with Tom because it was his car, after all, and she owed him an awful lot of money.

She hadn't hugged him goodbye when she'd dropped him off at the zoo.

Rusty tried not to think about that day too much.

He leaned his back against the door and carefully slid down to sit on the floor, stretching his leg in front of him. He went as slowly as he could, trying not to jostle it, but it still throbbed. Rusty grit his teeth. He wondered if the captain had any painkillers. She'd probably think he wanted them to get high. That was what kids like him did, right?

But it wasn't all his fault, his mother was just a bad example.

She hadn't always been drunk or high. There were days when she'd been fine, days where everything had felt like it used to, when he was younger.

She'd been sober, mostly, the last time he saw her. He'd hoped...

It didn't matter now what he'd hoped, because she was gone and he was stuck here with this horrible, horrible woman who had already lied to him once, in her stupid house that with all this space she even didn't need because she probably had no friends—seriously, everyone hated her. He could tell. Including her kids, probably.

If she even had kids.

People had lied to him about stranger things, and she didn't really seem like the mothering type.

Maybe that was what she wanted him for. Maybe he was her last chance to have a kid.

She'd probably sit him down so that they could talk about all of the bad choices he'd made. She'd probably drag him to church so that God could have a chat with him too. And when that didn't work, when it got too hard or he got into too much trouble or when she just got bored with him, then he would have to run because no one else was going to dump him anywhere ever again, and when that happened, there was only one place he knew where to go.

His throat was too tight. Rusty swallowed hard, trying to get a deep breath.

Fine. He could do that again. It wasn't really so bad, being on his own. He knew how to take care of himself and sure, he didn't have the greatest job in the world, but it didn't hurt so much, if he remembered to relax, and

it wouldn't be for that much longer. He was almost eighteen. He just had to make it another year and eight months and then he could find a better job, a real job, and maybe a place to live...

Who was he kidding? He hadn't realized until that freak had tried to kill him—twice—that he wanted to live after all, but if he went back there, back to all that, the feeling wouldn't last.

That meant he was stuck here. With her, and he was never going to see his mother again.

The first couple of tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them, and a sob echoed in the too-large bathroom before he could muffle it. Rusty pressed both hands to his mouth and tilted his head back, taking deep breaths in through his nose.

How had his life gotten so screwed up?

Maybe he shouldn't have broken Gary's nose. He had just been so sick of not being able to go to school in case someone asked about the bruises on his face, and sick of having to piss Gary off enough that he would hit him instead of his mother, and just... sick of everything. It had felt really good at the time.

Rusty scrubbed at his cheeks with the heel of his palm.

He guessed he was paying for it now.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed in that bathroom before the captain came and knocked on the door. "Rusty?"

He ignored her.

"Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes," she said. "I hope you like pizza."

He scoffed. It was probably one of the weird kinds without real cheese.

... what if she was a vegan or something? Or one of those people who lived off of juice and nothing else?

He tried to reassure himself. She probably didn't live off of juice, if she was feeding him pizza.

"Fifteen minutes," she repeated, and he heard her footsteps retreat down the hall.

He waited fourteen minutes (who had a clock in their bathroom?) before he began the painstaking process of hauling himself to his feet. He clung to the wall and tried to move his leg as little as possible. He stood up all right but overbalanced when he bent down to pick up his crutches, and without thinking, put his weight on his injured leg.

Pain flared all along his calf and he yelped, his knee almost buckling beneath him. Rusty grit his teeth and tried again, steadying himself with one hand on the wall. He had better luck this time, and slid the crutches into place. Then he let out a deep breath and grit his teeth, reaching for the door handle. The smell hit him the moment he entered the hall. It smelled like real pizza, and he tried to move a little faster as his stomach grumbled in response. No one had bothered to feed him lunch so he'd eaten a bag of Cheetos and three candy bars out of the vending machine. He'd had worse meals, but he was starving now.

It looked like one of those everything on it pizzas that they sold at the grocery store. Not the greatest, but there was meat and cheese and he was even okay with the peppers because pizza was at least real food. At least she wasn't going to starve him. The captain set a bowl of salad on the table, but she didn't say anything when he didn't take any. She just pointed at the chair beside his. "You can put your leg up," she said. "If it would help."

"What would help," he told her, "would be you finding my mother."

She took a slice of pizza for herself. "I'll do my best."

Whatever, lady. That was probably another lie.

He picked the olives off of his pizza and wondered if she had any nicknames. Not that his mother had ever gone by Sharon. She thought it made her sound old, and she worried enough about her age what with having had him so young. She called herself Sherry now, usually, but for awhile she'd gone by Heather. She'd known lots of Heathers growing up, she'd told him once. It helped her fit in.

He didn't help her fit in.

He made her feel old.

But he would try not to do that anymore, if the captain ever bothered to look for her. He would listen. He wouldn't get in fights anymore. He wouldn't even complain about Gary, because his mom had been right after all. That there were men out there worse than Gary.

Rusty ate four slices of pizza, and the captain didn't tell him not to.

"You can help yourself to anything you'd like from the kitchen whenever you're hungry," she told him, watching him finish the last slice. "Clean up after yourself and don't eat on the couch, please." She paused. "I'm not sure what you usually eat."

He gave her a guarded look. "I like burgers," he said finally.

"Burgers," she repeated. "Well. There's a grill out on the balcony. We can make those tomorrow, if you remind me."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I still don't like you."

"I'm devastated," she said dryly, and stood. "Are you finished?"

She gave him a reproving glance when he went to the couch instead of taking his plate to the kitchen, but hello, he was on crutches. Because someone had tried to kill him. Twice. And, really, it was the LAPD's fault that had happened to him, so there. It was the least she could do for him.

Rusty stretched his legs out on the sofa and watched her every move as she put the plates in the dishwasher and the leftovers in the fridge. When she was done, she came to stand behind the couch. "I've had a very long day."

Like he cared.

"The details of which I'm sure wouldn't interest you," she went on, "but I think I'll be going to bed early. I can help you get settled in your room—"

"I think I'd rather sleep on the couch."

She frowned at him. "The bedroom—"

"I said, I'd rather sleep on the couch."

Her frowned deepened, but she just shrugged and said, "If that's what want for tonight, that's fine."

She made up the couch for him, sheets and a pillow and everything. Rusty probably could've helped, if he'd wanted to. He didn't want to. Afterwards, he sat down again, sliding the pillow below his injured leg.

"If you have everything you need, I'm going to my room," she told him. "If you need anything later—"

"I'm fine."

"If you need anything later," the captain repeated, and Rusty swore he saw her roll her eyes, "you may knock on my door as long as the light's on. After that, I'll be asleep. I expect to find you here in the morning."

He didn't answer.

"Good night, Rusty." She turned around and disappeared down the hall.

Rusty made a face after her, and got up again to hobble over to the TV. He wasn't sure which remote was for what and he didn't want to get up any more than he had to for the rest of the night, so he brought them all back to the couch with him, and lay down to figure it out. The TV turned on to TCM, which... seriously? God, how old was she, anyway?

He drew the blanket up to his chin and started flipping through the channels in search of something from this century. This was really a nice place. It was clean and there was food in the kitchen and a working air conditioner and cable and probably all kinds of stuff he hadn't noticed yet. This was the kind of place he'd always wanted to live with his mom. Maybe when the captain found his mom, she would be better. Maybe they could find somewhere like this. Somewhere better.

Even if he wanted to run—which he did, but he couldn't, because if he did the she would have no reason to look for his mother—Rusty knew he wouldn't get very far on his crutches. So... just for now, he'd stay. Just for awhile. Until his leg was better. Until she either found his mother or gave up. Then he would leave and never look back.