Roxas was just another lonely boy, shifted from foster home to foster home basically his entire life, labeled a 'problem child' and sent off for others to deal with. In seven years, he'd been to twelve foster homes and one orphanage. That one hadn't lasted long. It wasn't Roxas' fault that he and the three other teenagers hadn't gotten along, but since he was the newest addition, he was the one labeled the instigator, and he was sent off to another stiff, unpleasant house- none of those places could be called a home.

At that moment, he was on his way to his thirteenth foster house. His caseworker was sitting in the driver's seat, and Roxas was in the back, forehead pressed against the window. You couldn't say he was dreading the newest house, but he certainly wasn't looking forward to it. He'd last a month, maybe, two at the outside. The foster parents had a son his age. He never got along with people his age.

No, he didn't get along with anybody, at all, his age or otherwise, not since his parents' accident. When they died, his life died along with them.

"Cheer up, now," his caseworker said, suddenly, breaking the silence. "The Strifes are wonderful people. I'm sure you'll get along fine!" She was a perpetually cheerful woman, but she was the one assigned the problem cases. She didn't mean what she said; her job was only to keep him in one place long enough to find another place to put him. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago. "And here we are!" She pulled into the driveway of a brown and white two story house and parked the car, but she didn't get out. "Do you want to leave your stuff in here for right now?"

'Stuff' consisted of a large backpack. It had a few changes of clothes, a notebook, a blue marble, and his keychain. It only had one key, to the lock on his notebook, but the notebook and the key were the only things he had from his parents. They were the only things he'd grabbed before leaving for the first foster home. He hadn't realized that he wasn't going home; he hadn't realized that he wouldn't see anything else until his eighteenth birthday, when the insurance money and the storage unit were put in his name. He'd been such a stupid, naïve child.

"Like it matters," he said. He couldn't get out until she opened his door- child security locks- which meant that he was stuck in there, doubly so if she decided to lecture.

Thankfully, the front door opened and a group of teens poured out of it. His eyes met with the startling blue of a brown-haired boy, and it became immediately clear who he was when he turned back and yelled, "MOM, THEY'RE HEEERE!"

A woman with the same blue eyes appeared behind them mere seconds later, and the caseworker sighed at Roxas before getting out and opening his door.

Roxas climbed out of the car, and the smell of the ocean nearly overwhelmed him. He'd known the Strifes lived close to the ocean, but being close enough to actually smell it was a surprise.

The two boys and the girl bounded down the stairs, and the brown-haired boy grinned and waved. "Hi! You're Roxas, right?"

"No, Sora, he's Seifer in disguise." The other boy, a tall, almost menacing boy, said. He rocked back on his heels, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and eyed Roxas. "The idiot here is Sora. He doesn't always think before he opens his mouth."

Sora pouted, and Roxas cocked an eyebrow. Why didn't he say something? Why would he just let the other guy insult him like that?

"I think you're scaring him," the girl admonished him. She gave him a bright, happy grin. "I'm Kairi! Hope you like Destiny Islands! C'mon, guys!" She grabbed both boys by the collar, and pushed them towards the sidewalk. "Ignore them, they're always like that. Nice to meet you!"

She jogged after the boys, who'd broken into sprints nigh-simultaneously, and left Roxas standing by the car, baffled.

"Roxas, come on. It's going to rain soon." His caseworker was standing on the porch with who must have been Mrs. Strife, hands on her hips and one foot tapping impatiently. Roxas let out an annoyed huff, but retrieved his backpack and followed the women into the house.

-

Several minutes later, his confusion hadn't faded. In fact, it had tripled.

Most of the time, when he met new foster parents, they tried to hide their suspicion that he was going to snap any moment, but it was always blatantly obvious and it soured any attempts at 'fixing' him. Mrs. Strife, on the other hand, was trying to force-feed him cake, and the only vibes he was getting were of the eat-the-cake-NOW-or-else variety. It was an incredibly strange first meeting.

And it wasn't store-bought cake either. It was homemade, home frosted, touch-of-love cake, and Mrs. Strife was watching every bite he took, and tsking under her breath.

"He's too skinny," she said finally. After the initial introductions, she hadn't said much actively directed at Roxas. The caseworker had shown her Roxas' file, they'd discussed school and house rules, and most of it had gone on without so much as a peep from Roxas. He knew the drill. School, home, chores, homework, then he'd hide in whatever room was assigned to him until dinner, and then it was wash, rinse, repeat. "How tall is he?"

The caseworker opened the file, but before she could flip more than two pages, Roxas spoke up. "I'm five eleven." And I'm not skinny, he mentally added. His baggy clothes were second-hand, and they fit badly, at best; underneath them were muscles honed by scrapping in schoolyards and a lot of running.

"How much do you weigh?" she asked, eyebrows raised. No, Roxas thought, she didn't ask. She said it in a voice that brooked no argument, and he was yet again startled by how straightforward and open she was. Why does she care? I'm a problem case. It's not like anything she does is gonna reflect badly on her.

"One sixty five," he answered, prompt and just as open. "It's healthy on the BMI scale."

"The BMI scale is not accurate unless it's done by a licensed professional and you haven't been for a checkup in ages, and you're still too skinny." She turned back to the caseworker, who had a look of plain surprise on her tired, wrinkled face. "How often has he been getting regular, square meals? And I don't mean the stuff they serve in schools, either, I've checked on them and they aren't 'square' or 'healthy' in seven cases out of ten."

The caseworker went to open his file, but the file didn't have information on things like that and neither did the caseworker. "Foster parents are required to provide-"

"That's not what I asked." She turned back to Roxas, and noticed that he'd stopped eating the cake. He caught her stare, and stuck a bite in his mouth before she could tell him again to finish it. "Have you been getting good meals?"

He swallowed the cake without chewing, and took a quick drink from his cup of water before answering. "Uh…" He chanced a look at his caseworker, but she was staring blankly at Mrs. Strife. "Yes?"

"Tell me the truth."

"Sometimes?" Roxas tensed up, expecting yelling, directed at either him or the caseworker, but Mrs. Strife merely made a pointed look at the cake, and turned her scary blue eyes back to the caseworker.

"Is there anything else we need to go over?" she asked. The caseworker shook her head, and Mrs. Strife smiled and stood up. "I'm sure Roxas is exhausted from the drive. We should let him get some rest, don't you think? I'm sure you'll call if you think of anything else I should know. Let me get your coat." She stalked out of the kitchen, but Roxas got the impression that she wasn't mad at his caseworker, per se, but at the lack of 'care' she felt he needed. Is she like this for all her foster kids?

"You have my number. Call me if you need anything." Her arms twitched, like she felt it was appropriate to offer a hug, but Roxas dropped his eyes to the half-finished cake and made a noncommittal noise. When, she meant, not if, and 'need anything' was practically code for 'when the shit hits the fan'. It always happened. It was practically required of him.

Mrs. Strife returned with the coat, and escorted the caseworker out to the car. Roxas took the time to scarf down the rest of the cake; he hadn't eaten much all day. He didn't normally; he wasn't ever hungry, not really, but he suddenly felt like his stomach was a black pit, and the cake only put a tiny dent in it. He could hear an exchange from outside, but he couldn't make out what was being said, or even which one was talking. It was probably the caseworker warning Mrs. Strife not to let him near the valuables or something, which was stupid because Roxas had no use for valuables. Also, they were hard to steal in foster homes anyhow and it was a waste of his time, not to mention a really bad idea if all you wanted was to stay under the radar.

He got up and stretched, and took the plate and fork over to the sink. There wasn't anything in it, or any dishes off to the side, but he didn't want to check the dishwasher or think on it too much, so he just rinsed the plate and left it in the sink.

He turned around, and jumped. A tall blonde, taller than Sora's silver-haired friend, was leaning against the doorway into the living room. Blue eyes bored into Roxas', and he froze. Had anybody mentioned a second son? Who was he? Why the hell is he staring at me like that!?

"Cloud! When did you get home?" Mrs. Strife opened her arms, and the man gave her a hug. Roxas' eyes caught on the man's biceps, which he was pretty sure were larger around than his thighs. "Cloud, meet Roxas!"

"He's the foster kid, I take it," the man said. He held out one hand, and Roxas tentatively took it. "Nice to meet you." He dropped Roxas' hand and turned back to Mrs. Strife. "Where's Sora?"

"He and his friends went to the store to pick up dinner, why?" Mrs. Strife noted the lack of plate, and glanced into the sink. "Cloud, will you show Roxas to Sora's room? We're not quite done painting the spare room yet so he's bunking with Sora."

Cloud nodded, and wandered back into the living room. "Tell Sora I need my keys."

"Oh, did Leon finish your bike?"

"It's a motorcycle, Mom, not a bike."

Mrs. Strife smiled blandly. "Whatever you say, darling. Roxas, dinner'll be whenever Sora gets back, so after dinner Sora can show you where to put your things." She bustled to the sink, then stopped and impulsively wrapped her arms around Roxas. "I hope you like it here," she said.

And the strange thing was Roxas got the impression that she actually meant it.

"Now run along, and make yourself at home, you understand?" She let go and gave him a gentle push towards his backpack. He couldn't fight down the small smile that forced its way out, and he turned away before she could see it. She might want to hug him again, or pet his hair, or something weird. He wouldn't put it past her.

-

"That's the bathroom," Cloud said, pointing at the first door at the top of the stairs. "Knock if the door's closed, if it's open it's free game. Mom expects us to keep it clean. This'll be your room." He opened the dark wood door, and Roxas peered in. The walls were half primer, half beige and brown stripes. There was a bed with a dresser and a lamp stacked on top of it in the middle, covered by a plastic tarp. "You got here a little earlier than expected, so you'll probably be sleeping with Sora for a week or two until it gets done. Hope you don't mind."

Roxas shrugged. "I've never had a room to myself so it doesn't really matter to me either way." He closed the door, and followed Cloud down the hall. They passed a doorway that Cloud didn't comment on, so Roxas assumed it was probably his own bedroom. Cloud stopped at the door at the end of the hall, and pushed it open to reveal a room covered in ocean memorabilia, trophies, and just about anything Roxas could've imagined. It wasn't exactly a mess, but it looked like Sora had just been sticking things wherever they'd go for the past few years.

"Remind Sora to find the blow-up mattress, as it's his fault it's gone missing. Just dump your stuff wherever, Sora won't care." With that, Cloud left him alone, and Roxas dropped his backpack next to the desk.

Sora's room smelled masculine, but not like cologne. Roxas thought about it for a moment, but he couldn't really place the scent. It was musty, and just kind of smelled of boy. He wandered over to the bookshelf, and lifted up one of the many trophies. Junior Blitzball Tournament First Place, it read. So Sora played Blitzball. Or used to, at any rate. None of the trophies were newer than two years ago, but there were a metric crapton of them. Roxas scanned the bookshelf, the windowsill, and the desk, and counted at least fifteen, and he thought he spotted the glint of gold underneath Sora's bed. He replaced the one in his hand and climbed onto Sora's bed. It was a mess, blankets and sheets tousled, and two of the three pillows were shoved half under the blankets. Roxas snorted; it fit the rest of the small room.

He grabbed a trophy at random from the windowsill. This one wasn't for Blitzball, though; it read Freestyle Fighting Second Place. He put it down, and a much larger, much more intricate trophy caught his eye. It was up on a shelf in the corner, out of the way and half-hidden by the curtains. He carefully took it down, and his heart skipped a beat. Twilight Town Struggle Competition.

Sora's won the Struggle? He doesn't look like he could hurt a fly!

He ran his fingers over the trophy, and closed his eyes. His fingers ran over one of the marbles, and he knew it was a dead match for the one in his backpack. His father had fought in a few of the Struggle competitions, and there was a matching trophy in the storage unit in Twilight Town. He lowered his head as the memory of his father, always so alive and vibrant and there washed over him. He bit his lip, and fought back the swell of emotion. It wouldn't do to break down like this, not here, not now.

"Roxas?"

Roxas jumped, and only barely managed to keep from dropping the trophy. He stared at Sora, who was standing in the doorway, at a complete loss for what to do. Would Sora be pissed that he was touching the trophy? It was his stuff, Roxas had no right-

"Mom says dinner's in a few minutes." He wandered in, and gently retrieved the trophy from Roxas' grasp and replaced it on the shelf. "Why were you looking at that?"

Sora wasn't angry. He cocked his head, eyes bright, a cheerful smile on his face. Roxas moved to his backpack and pulled the blue marble out of a side pocket of it and handed it to Sora. "My dad gave that to me when he won the Struggle. I was six." Sora rolled the marble between his fingers, and held it up to compare it to the trophy on the shelf. "I didn't mean anythi-"

"Don't worry about it," Sora said. He handed the marble back and Roxas slipped it into his pocket. "Uh, Mom also said to tell you that she wants you to borrow some of my clothes for right now since those don't fit and she thinks mine'll fit you better."

-

A few minutes later, Roxas surveyed himself in the mirror. Riku, as his name turned out to be, had wandered in as Sora was staring blankly at his closet, and with a surprisingly efficiency had a pile of clothes picked out before either Roxas or Sora had made any movement to pick anything out. Riku's first choices had been, as he termed it, 'stuff Mrs. Strife wants Sora to wear that he refuses to', but according to Sora's complaints, it was because they were too heavy, not because he didn't like them. Roxas didn't really care, but they fit him well. It consisted of a thin, black, zip-up shirt with a high collar, and jeans with sort-of chaps tacked on. There was a matching jacket, but neither Riku nor Sora could figure out where in his room it was. Sora said it'd surface eventually, things always did, but Riku doubted it, and said something to the effect of comparing Sora's room to a black hole with an appetite.

There was a whole pile of things to try on, but Mrs. Strife was calling up the stairs that dinner was ready, and Roxas looked himself over one last time before opening the door and heading down the stairs.

Riku and Sora were already in the kitchen with Kairi, but Cloud was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Strife said he had plans, and Sora whispered, "He's testing a new ramp his friend Leon has, for motorcycles, but don't tell Mom, she'll flip," in Roxas' ear as Sora passed behind him to set the table.

Dinner was weird. Mrs. Strife kept asking him questions, but none of them were particularly personal, and all of them were things that the other three teens chipped in on and, occasionally, took over completely. Sora mentioned that Roxas' dad had won a Struggle, and Mrs. Strife turned to Sora, and asked in a scarily quiet tone of voice, "Did you forget to mention you'd be fighting adults when you told me about it?"

All the chatter had died, and Sora's eyes were huge. He opened his mouth, probably to beg her not to kill him, when Roxas took pity on him. "My dad was nineteen, so that's not really an adult," he said. Mrs. Strife raised her eyebrows, but she didn't press the issue and after a moment, the conversation returned to normal. Sora nudged his foot under the table, and Roxas took that to mean thank-you-for-saving-my-ass. He felt a little bit bad for lying, but hell, Mrs. Strife was scary. And he'd only fudged it by five years. Most of the participants, as far as he remembered, were generally younger than that, but it still wasn't that much of a difference. And if Sora was strong enough to win the entire competition, it probably didn't matter how old the other fighters were.

"Hey, Sora?" Roxas asked, when there was a lull in the conversation. "You didn't fight a guy named Hayner, did you?"

Sora scrunched his face, and it went quiet. Everybody stared at him, waiting for an answer, but finally, Sora shrugged. "I don't remember. I fought a lot of guys. And a girl. She was scary."

"Blond, devil-may-care attitude, probably picked fights outside of the arena?" He hadn't seen Hayner since he was shoved into the system, but he remembered the boy well. He and Hayner had sworn that when they were old enough, they were going to fight it, and they were going to win it, too, and share the winnings with the other, no matter which one won. It'd be nice to get in touch with him, find out what'd changed, what stayed the same. "Probably lasted pretty far."

"You know, I think I do remember him…" Sora said. "I have pictures of all the guys in it in my room, I'll show you later."

The rest of dinner consisted of Kairi complaining about something to Mrs. Strife, and Sora objecting every other statement. Riku stayed silent, but more than once, Roxas caught him looking at him, with a contemplative expression. Roxas resisted the urge to squirm, and as soon as dinner was over, he jumped up. Mrs. Strife kicked them all out of the kitchen, claiming that as it was Roxas' first night there, he didn't need to be doing dishes, and they all piled into Sora's room.

Kairi pretty much immediately welcomed Roxas into their group, and treated him almost exactly the same that she treated Riku and Sora- quiet amusement at their antics, and snarky comments when there was a need. Riku and Sora wrestled on the bed, fighting for no particular reason. Kairi was sitting in Sora's desk chair, and Roxas was sprawled out next to her, back against the door. It was nice, for all that it was loud, and every few minutes Mrs. Strife called up and told them to quiet down, and he and Kairi talked a bit, about nothing in particular.

For once, he was in a place where his reputation hadn't preceded him, and it felt good.

A/N: I started this intending it to be a one-shot, but it kind of took on a life of its own, and it's definitely going to be a chaptered fic.

Returning Home is still my priority, and I'm planning to update that every three days or so, but y'all can expect this a minimum of once a week, and knowing me, it'll probably be more often than that.

Enjoy!

-Nyeerg