DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.
A/N: First Animal Kingdom fic.
"Pope, why don't you help your brother get settled in his new room?" Smurf suggests, bouncing 18-month-old Deran a little higher up on her hip. "There should be a TV out in the shed."
"I can help carry it, Smurf," volunteers 16-year-old Baz, Pope's best friend. "I don't really need one, though."
"Of course you do," says Smurf. "Don't be silly. Even Craig has a TV in his room."
Her 7-year-old middle child grins, showing off a couple of recently lost teeth. Deran squirms in her arms; he always gets fussy this time of day.
"I know, baby, you're tired," she coos, kissing his soft blond hair. "Boys, I'll be right back. Your brother needs his nap. Then how about I get started on an early dinner?"
Baz shifts uncomfortably. "You don't have to go to any trouble," he says, even as his hollow middle agrees with the idea.
Smurf's heart aches for the boy in front of her; she can practically count Baz's ribs through his ratty T-shirt. First thing in the morning, they're going shopping for new clothes. As she walks down the hall to Deran's room, Smurf sings:
"Poor little Deran
Walkin', walkin', walkin' to Missouri
He can't afford to fly…"
The song's been the family lullaby since Pope and his twin sister Julia were born; Smurf always replaces "Robin" with the name of whichever child she's putting to bed at the time.
It doesn't take long for Baz to unpack his few belongings. Craig, already an electronics wizard, starts hooking up the TV.
"Pope, is there still a VCR in the shed?" He isn't really allowed out there.
"No."
"Aw man, that sucks. I have my own VCR," he informs Baz. "What about a Sega Genesis?"
"Fresh out."
"Don't worry, Mom's gonna get you one too," assures Craig, pushing his long brown hair behind his ears so he can see what he's doing better.
His own TV is almost an incomprehensible luxury to Baz, even though he's basically lived part-time at Smurf's for years. The difference now is he never has to go back to his parents; Smurf convinced his deadbeat mom to let her have custody since Baz's lowlife dad (the only parent with a job) went to prison.
"All set." Craig puts the remote on top of the TV.
"Let's go play some basketball in the pool," says Pope, tossing Baz a pair of board shorts to change into.
"Don't be too loud. Deran's asleep," Smurf warns as her bathing-suit clad sons race through the kitchen, where she's chopping fruit. "Baz, honey, did I get the size right on your trunks?"
"Yes, ma'am," he answers, avoiding her gaze.
She smiles kindly. "How many times have I told you it's okay to call me Smurf?" She blinks; with his shirt off, it's even more obvious how malnourished Baz is. "Come here for a minute, sweetheart."
Smurf pats one of the bar stools. She had mixed up a full blender of smoothies at breakfast and there were actually leftovers. She pours him a glass, which Baz starts gulping down like he's afraid she'll take it away from him.
"Dude! Are you coming?" asks Craig, bouncing the basketball against the pool deck.
"I told you to keep it down!" barks Smurf. Muffled crying echoes from deep in the house. Smurf throws up her hands in frustration. "Are you happy now, Craig? You woke up your brother!"
She hurries off to comfort the youngest Cody. Craig rolls his eyes; it seems like his mom loses her mind whenever Deran so much as coughs. Baz wipes off his upper lip with the back of his hand, deposits his empty glass in the sink, and goes outside.
"Where's Julia?" asks Baz, realizing she's not sunning herself in one of the deck chairs.
"Who knows?" Pope shrugs.
His sister's been at home less and less since summer vacation started. When she's around, she's hungover, smells like weed, or both. Pope can't judge her; he does those things himself.
Several rounds of "Walkin' to Missouri" later, Deran is napping peacefully again. Smurf tiptoes out of his room and to the kitchen. She preheats the oven, getting out pans and ingredients for one of her famously elaborate meals. Through the sliding glass door, she sees the boys playing hard in the water. They'll need something to tide them over (especially poor Baz).
Smurf takes out fresh shrimp she bought at the fish market on the pier and plugs in the deep fryer. Better to do this while Deran isn't underfoot. She hums to herself as she coats the shrimp with breadcrumbs. Waiting for them to cook, she makes a big bowl of spinach dip (her way of trying to get the boys to eat vegetables).
"I brought you a snack," Smurf announces when she goes outside.
As usual, the boys ignore the dip and help themselves to handfuls of chips. Smurf doesn't bother telling them not to spoil their dinners; huge appetites seem to be genetic. It's a beautiful day and she decides it would be nice to have Baz's official welcome-to-the-family meal by the pool.
Deran toddles out of his room, rubbing one eye with a pudgy fist.
"Did you have a good nap, sweetheart?" asks Smurf, sitting him down in the living room to play with his blocks and Fisher-Price barn.
Smurf realizes she never gave the older kids anything to drink and takes a pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator. She awkwardly shuffles to the sliding-glass door with Deran clinging to her leg. Outside, Craig and Pope are standing about ten paces apart, trying to toss shrimp into each other's open mouths.
"Do you know how much I paid for that? Knock that shit off!" orders Smurf.
"Shit off," parrots Deran.
"You need to set a good example for your baby brother." She points down.
"You're the one who said 'shit'," sasses Pope.
Smurf holds up a warning finger. "Don't you give me an attitude, Andrew."
"Or what?" he challenges.
Before Smurf can reply, Deran screams loud enough to make Craig wince. He's pointing at the tray of shrimp that's way out of his reach.
Baz picks up a piece and gets down to Deran's level. "Here you go, buddy."
"Thank you, sweet boy." Smurf smiles at her new son. "I'll have dinner ready just as soon as I can."
"How soon? I'm starving," gripes Pope.
"Me too," whines Craig.
"Whenever it's ready." Her tone is colder. "You might not be so hungry if any of that shrimp went in your stomachs instead of all over my pool deck." She removes the tray. "Clean this shit up now."
"Shit," Deran giggles as his mother carries him into the house.
Craig and Pope start arguing about whose idea it had been to throw shrimp in the first place. Baz watches from the sidelines, finishing the last couple of pieces he has in front of him. He's somehow even hungrier than he was before. Pope flips Craig off, wishing his brother wasn't half his age so they could settle this like men. When the tension simmers down, the brothers resume horsing around in the pool.
It's almost an hour and a half later when Smurf appears with a stack of plates and silverware, plus Deran's booster seat. Deran is on her heels. Baz swims to the ladder and gets out. He feels more like a guest than part of the family; as such, he should volunteer some help.
"Smurf?"
"Yes, baby?"
"Do you want me to set the table?" asks Baz.
"That's very sweet of you, Baz, but I've got it covered," Smurf replies. "Would you mind keeping an eye on Deran while I grab the food?"
As Baz nods, a deep gurgling noise comes from the pit of his stomach. There's no way Smurf didn't hear it.
"Sounds like you worked up quite an appetite," she remarks.
Baz can't help feeling a little embarrassed. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, honey. You're a growing boy."
Baz holds Deran in his lap so he won't wander toward the pool. One by one, Smurf brings out serving dishes: chicken wings (spicy and not-so-spicy) with blue cheese dressing, fruit salad, cornbread, the rest of the shrimp, and macaroni and cheese (Looney Tunes shapes, Craig's favorite). There are also Hawaiian ham and pineapple skewers, something she knows Baz loves.
"Craig! Pope!" she calls. "Dinner's ready!"
The boys eagerly hop out of the pool and Smurf hands them plates. She gets Deran settled in his booster chair with his toddler-sized fork and spoon. Craig, Pope, and Baz good-naturedly jostle each other for first dibs.
'Boys will be boys,' Smurf thinks to herself.
Baz finishes everything in front of him and hesitantly asks, "Can I have some more?"
"Of course you can," Smurf says warmly.
After the older kids have practically licked their plates clean, Smurf brings out dessert: brownies and homemade strawberry ice cream. Pope belches.
"You're excused." Smurf frowns. "Baz, did you get enough to eat?"
"Uh-huh, thanks, Smurf," he replies, scraping the last of the ice cream out of his bowl.
"I bet a full stomach feels good. You're gonna sleep like a baby," she predicts.
While Smurf puts Deran to bed, he and Craig pile into Pope's room. The three of them take turns playing Rambo III on his Sega Genesis until Baz is struggling to keep his eyes open. He goes to his own room, wraps himself in his new blanket and crisp sheets, and drifts off.
Baz wakes up in the middle of the night, a sudden worry coming to mind. It's near the end of the month. What if Smurf made such a big dinner because that's all they're getting for a while? The Blackwells depend on food stamps, so Baz has been in that situation more times than he cares to remember. He needs a plan, just in case…