It's getting real cloudy outside, Sly notices. He lies his cheek against the car window and watches houses go by without really seeing them. Weather is a weird thing to focus on, but it's a neutral one. It's an easy one to think about compared to everything else. His hands ache to pull out his dad's cane for comfort, but he can see Campbell glancing at him through their rearview mirror when they think he doesn't notice.
He'll have to wait until it's safer, when he's no longer being watched. His fingers twitch against his knees.
The social worker meets his gaze on accident, and it's enough to make them clear their throat and speak. "I understand how hard this must be for you, Sylvester, but I promise that it'll get better soon."
Oh, how he loathes that thing they're calling him. "John" had been frustrating but understandable, because he had no way to tell anyone what his real name was, and the kind nurse had said it was a temporary thing to keep him safe. But now, everyone knows who he really is, and they've decided it's safe enough to finally move him out of the hospital. Now, they're doing this deliberately and it's awful.
Even worse, he recognizes that last name. James. That had been his mom's last name. He had once seen the hyphenated name on her driver's license and asked her why it was like that, and she'd told him that she had chosen for it to be that way. Not because she was ashamed of the Cooper name, she'd promised him, but because she wasn't a master thief like his dad, and it didn't "feel right".
Well, it definitely doesn't feel right to be called anything other than Sly Cooper, and while he understands much more what his mother meant now, he's already starting to dislike her decision. Because these adults are trying to use her last name to erase his and his dad's, and he hates everything about it.
Campbell must have still been talking, but Sly only tunes back in to catch the tail end of it. "-phanage is a lovely place. I'm sure you'll get settled there just fine."
They wait, perhaps for a response. The raccoon doesn't know why they even bother.
"...Well." The lizard coughs and breaks eye contact to look back at the road. "At the very least, I'm sure you'll find your voice again there."
Sly doesn't want to ever find his voice again if it means having to talk to Campbell, or those inspectors, or anyone who isn't his parents. He wraps his arms around his duffel bag and stares out the window as silence fills the car once more.
They reach the far end of town where it's more countryside than anything. A large, lone building stands tall at the top of a hill. It looks like an old farmhouse, painted in faded beige with a brown roof and a gated back property.
A wooden sign sits at the bottom of the driveway: Happy Camper Orphanage.
Sly's stomach flips in place.
"Here we are!" His social worker says way too cheerfully for such a run-down place. "Come on, let's not keep the headmistress waiting. She's a very busy woman."
The kit steps out of the car and immediately his father's hat slides down over his eyes. He pushes it up with one hand as the other holds his bag close, and follows Campbell up the hill and onto the front porch. He can feel eyes on him from the many windows of the house, but they're too dark to see back into. Apprehension makes his fur prickle.
An adult wearing a name tag with a smiley face answers the door, exchanging low words with the social worker with only a quick glance down at Sly before leading the two of them further into the house. The raccoon catches glimpses here and there of other children in the rooms they pass, but most are busy and don't pay the visitors any attention.
They stop in front of a door that's a little bigger and fancier than the others they've seen so far, and the staff member disappears after one more acknowledging nod to Campbell. The lizard crouches before Sly and gives him their most serious look.
"Now, Sylvester, I'm afraid I can't stay very long," they say as if it's going to break his heart. He simply stares at them. "So I'll only introduce you to the headmistress of this lovely place before I have to go. But I'm sure she'll take good care of you, alright?"
Sly blinks, startled by the abruptness of this information, and can only give a dazed nod that Cambpell smiles at. They stand back up, knock on the door, then hold it open for the kit when they hear a muffled "come in".
An elderly bird sits behind a desk, eyeing both guests as they enter. A nameplate sits straight in front of her and reads "Mrs. Puffin: Headmistress" in polished metal perfection.
She looks down her beak at Sly, and he knows immediately that he's not going to get along with her.
"Mrs. Puffin," the lizard greets her, cordial and brief.
"Campbell," she responds in a scratchy, snobbish voice, confirming the raccoon's initial impression. "Is this him, then? Sylvester James?"
"Yes," comes the reply without even the slightest pause, and Sly feels his resentment grow. "Sylvester, this is the Happy Camper Orphanage's headmistress, Mrs. Puffin. She's owned this place for almost thirty years now. Isn't that amazing?"
What's amazing is the staring contest Sly has found himself in with her, but he doesn't break eye contact until she does to look at the social worker.
"I've already received his case file. Is it true he can't speak?"
"Can't or won't, we're not sure which, but yes."
"Hm." She realigns a few papers on her desk and looks back at the raccoon. "I'll take it from here, Campbell. I understand you're very busy today."
The social worker nods, gives Sly an awkward pat on the head - making the oversized hat slip again - and takes their leave with barely more than a goodbye.
Mrs. Puffin fixes the glasses balanced on her face as the kit does the same with his cap, and squints. "Let me make a few things clear, Sylvester."
The way she says the fake name sounds like someone making fun of a snake's accent. The kit hates it even more, now.
"While you are living at this institute, you will be abiding by my rules, understand?"
She doesn't give him the chance to respond before listing said rules off.
"One: you will obey me, your social worker, the staff, and every other adult you see here. There is no room at the Happy Camper Orphanage for disobedience and disrespect. Two: proper manners, at all times. I will not tolerate slovenliness from any child under my care. It gives off a terrible impression, and no one will be willing to adopt you if you look like a heathen."
Sly's hands clench into fists, shocked not by the rules but by the mere suggestion that he could be pawned off to even more strangers. Adoption might as well be a word in a foreign language.
"Three," Mrs. Puffin continues without noticing the raccoon's reaction, "we have in-house schooling four days a week, and you will keep up with your studies, no matter the circumstances. Four: you are to get along with all the other children and work out any issues on your own. Do not expect me or the staff to take care of your problems for you. Frankly, we have bigger concerns than such petty little squabbles."
Finally the woman stops speaking for a moment to stare down her beak at him, as if his mere existence is an irritation.
"And number five. Children," she folds her hands and leans forward against her desk, "are meant to be seen. Not heard. Boys, in particular, are loud and messy and disobedient, and need to be corrected often."
Sly wonders why she ever bothered to be the headmistress of an orphanage if that's what she thinks. He wonders how a person like this was ever allowed around children to begin with.
The bird pauses, as if expecting him to complain or protest. When all he does is stand there and watch her silently, the feathers around her neck fluff up like she's pleased that he's docile but irritated that he isn't proving her right. She looks back down at her precious papers.
"Your admission paperwork says you used to be an only child. You are probably used to having everything to yourself, aren't you? Clothes, toys, your own room, even."
This time when she pauses again, Sly gives a cautious nod. Mrs. Puffin sniffs the air.
"Not anymore. Here at the Happy Camper Orphanage, you'll be expected to share everything. It builds character and keeps you from growing spoiled rotten. Not to mention, we don't have the luxury of so much space like you're obviously used to."
The raccoon isn't sure what kind of face he's making, but it's enough to make the old woman scoff and wag a scolding finger at him.
"I don't want any attitude from you, Sylvester James. You'll find rather quickly that such a revolting display won't help you here." She taps a pen against the papers on her desk. "Fortunately for you, a vacancy has just opened up in Room 8. I expect your things to be properly put away within fifteen minutes, as it is almost time for dinner and you'll be joining us in the cafeteria for an official introduction. Off you go, now."
She makes a shooing motion with one hand, not giving him anymore attention nor even bothering to direct him in the general direction of his new room. Sly wastes no time getting out of her office.
The hallway is dim and empty. He stands there with his bag, looking left and right, trying to guess which way to go while pushing down the awful feeling of panic bubbling up his throat. It's okay. He's okay. He's always considered himself independent for his age, and now he has a chance to prove it.
If his dad could see him, he'd obviously be so proud.
The raccoon squares his shoulders before picking a direction. A few corner turns and he stumbles onto a row of closed doors with numbers on them, and releases the breath he hadn't realized he's been holding. Room 4, Room 5, Room 6. He chose the right way.
Room 8 isn't locked, so Sly carefully opens the door and finds that there's no one there - another relief.
The carpet is some weird, dull kind of reddish orange. That's the first thing he notices as he enters his new room. The second thing he notices is that there are two sets of bunk beds lining opposite walls, and one of the bottom bunks is very obviously occupied. The blanket is rumpled and the space underneath the bed is lined with packed bags and shoes and other things.
None of the other beds seem to have been taken, so the raccoon tentatively steps to the other bunk bed and tries to lift his duffel bag onto its top bunk. It's heavy, and he can't quite find his balance, and he's too busy trying to keep the hat from slipping down over his eyes again to hear the door swinging a little further open.
A shadow covers him from behind.
Sly whirls, heart pounding, only to come face to face with a wall of pink. His startled eyes rise to meet the big blinking ones of a hippo.
"Uh, hi," offers the new boy standing barely two feet from him, along with a shy little wave.
Sly lifts a tentative hand in response.
"Sorry for scaring you. I didn't mean to." The way he says it implies that this isn't the first time that's happened, and the raccoon suddenly notices how he's shrunken back as if to make himself seem smaller. "Did you, um, need help? WIth your bag, I mean."
He hesitates, tightening his grip on the strap. The hippo plays with his hands and watches him anxiously.
"I won't look through it or anything, promise. I just wanna help."
It sounds sincere enough. With more than a little uncertainty, Sly hands the bag to him. He hefts it easily over his head and places it gently onto the top bunk, then gives an awkward smile.
"My name's Murray. Are you my new roommate?"
The raccoon nods.
"Cool! What's your name?"
He wavers, knowing what he wants to tell the other boy, but he's unsure if it's going to bring the headmistress' wrath down on him. That would really, really suck on his first day here, especially if he's going to try to keep his head down until he can get out of here. The notebook digs into Sly's leg where it sits in his pocket.
Then he decides to screw that, because this is his name, darn it, and he's not going to let anyone scare him into pretending otherwise.
So he pulls out his notebook and thrusts it forward. It's already open to the most important page, and he watches as Murray leans down to squint at the words. His lips move, sounding it out to himself, before he looks back at the kit.
"Sly…Cooper?"
It's an utter joy to hear his name said out loud again. Sly holds his notebook tight against his chest and nods vigorously. His delight seems to affect the hippo, who beams right back at him.
"Nice to meet you, Sly!" He lurches forward as if to shake his new roommate's hand; a towering form of pink that takes up all space.
Sly tenses and takes a step back with wide eyes.
Hurt flashes across Murray's entire face. His hands drop limply to his sides and he's right back to making himself seem small again.
In any other instance, the raccoon would have felt bad about causing that reaction. But this boy is much, much bigger than him, and he's far too close, and he's blocking the way to the door and the carpet is red and his dad is -
"Hey, are you okay?"
Sly jolts back to himself, right out of a closet and into a room with a hippo looking at him like he's crumbling into a million pieces. Maybe he is. His heart is pounding and his body is trembling and his head feels light. But he can't let himself fall apart. Not here.
It's not safe here.
The kit takes a deep, shaky breath, and nods. Yes, he's fine. Look how easily he can calm himself down. He's not even quite so faint anymore. Isn't that proof that he's fine?
Murray doesn't look too convinced, but just as he starts to say something else, a bell blares out from the hallway, startling them both. The hippo jumps practically three feet in the air.
"Oh jeez! We're gonna be late for dinner!" He scrambles out of the room. Sly follows only because he has no idea where the cafeteria is even supposed to be, much less how to find it from here, and the last thing he wants to do is get in trouble right off the bat.
And it's a good thing he decided to do so - this building is bigger than it looks from the outside, or at least is built like a maze. Several twists, turns, and sets of stairs later, Murray steps into what's probably the biggest room of the orphanage with the raccoon close on his heels. There's a good twenty or so kids already there, in a line for food that borders two whole walls. Both boys step into it without anyone giving them much attention.
Murray looks back at Sly like he wants to make more conversation, but the raccoon wasn't in the mood for it the first time. He avoids his eyes and scans the room instead, hoping the other boy will get the hint.
He does. Sly sees him sort of slump and turn away, dejected, and it makes him exhale in silent relief.
Five minutes and a tray of food later, the kit finds the emptiest, quietest corner to sit down and hopefully eat in peace. All these other people make him nervous, even the ones his age, and he keeps his back to the wall while he watches the activity in the cafeteria. He can see Murray sort of looking for him, but the hippo gives up way too easily before sitting at the end of another table halfway across the room.
Sly still feels a little bad about being so cold to the other boy, but he doesn't want to make friends at this terrible place. The fewer attachments he makes, the better, because there's no way he's going to stay here any longer than strictly necessary. Just enough to get his feet back under him, figure out what all that…weirdness in his head is and get it under control, and make a plan to leave forever.
As for where he's going, well. He'll cross that bridge when he gets there.
Not long into the dinner period, he spies Mrs. Puffin's hair bun bobbing as she steps to the very front of the room where everyone can see her. The chatter quickly dies down when she holds up a bell and rings it loudly.
"I have an announcement to make today, children." The bird searches the cafeteria until her eyes land on the little raccoon doing his best to remain invisible. "Sylvester. Please come up here."
She gives him a sharp look and points to the space on her left, where she obviously expects him to join her. Sly's face burns as a sea of gazes turn to stare at him the moment he stands.
Making his way across the room sets off every alarm in his head. Thieves aren't supposed to be the center of attention. Thieves aren't meant to be seen at all. He resists the very powerful urge to bolt as he finally reaches the woman's side and feels her feathery fingers settle heavily on his shoulder.
"This is Sylvester James, our newest resident," she says. Sly stares at the far wall above everyone's heads. "Make sure he feels welcome, and show him how things are done around here."
The bird prods him forward in dismissal, and he marches back to his corner as best he can without looking like a scared wimp. Already he can feel the difference in the way the others are looking at him - some disinterested, some intrigued, and some downright mean. His dad's hat slides down over his eyes as he takes his seat, and he pushes it back up just in time to catch the gaze of a group of bigger boys who are very obviously sizing him up.
He already has enemies. This is why thieves aren't supposed to be seen!
Food doesn't sound even remotely appetizing anymore. Sly pushes his tray away as nausea builds in his stomach and wraps his arms around his midsection, absolutely miserable. The moment everyone is dismissed from dinner, he rushes straight back to Room 8 before anyone can so much as say a single word to him.
Without brushing his teeth, without changing his clothes, without doing anything but fighting back tears, Sly closes the door and climbs to his bunk, pulling his father's cane out. He burrows under the blanket and wraps himself around it, absolutely miserable. Grief and pain hit him hard in an unforgiving wave.
He doesn't hear Murray entering the room. He doesn't see him hesitate, standing below his bunk, before reluctantly getting ready for bed himself. He doesn't notice anything but the feel of the cane and the smell of his dad in his hat.
He falls asleep with wet cheeks.
A/N: We did it! We finally made it to the orphanage after eight chapters and *checks watch*...3 years! Ehehe, well, the important thing is that we got there at all, right? And we've finally met Murray! Bentley will be coming soon too, don't you worry.
Mrs. Puffin didn't have a lot of information beyond a few mentions from the comics, so I took inspiration from Trunchbull from Matilda with a dash of Ms. Hannigan from Anne. She's absolutely awful and I adore writing her.
I also will forever adore the Sly 3 animation of little Sly's head being too small for Connor's hat.