Chris shut off his alarm clock as it shrieked at him and lay there, staring at the ceiling in horror as the weight of his choices suddenly bore down on him.
He was picking up Wesker to bring home today.
What the fuck have I done?
Up until this moment, Chris had actually been excited. He received word from an angry Mrs. Ryan that he could foster Albert and spent several hours in her office filling out paperwork and even drove several hours to the next town for expedited classes. She wanted to know what the hell he'd said and to whom to warrant this but then shut him down when he tried to give her one of his planned excuses.
He spent the next day prepping the spare room in his house. It was small but would serve for a young boy. Chris had been using it to store his extra gear but tossed all that into boxes and then stacked them in the garage; he'd figure out a better storage situation later.
His teammates were baffled by this development but were helpful if not fully supportive. Lake helped him haul in some new furniture for Wesker's room: a twin bed, a desk and chair, and a small dresser. Nothing else would fit even if Chris wanted more. Gary enlisted his wife, Rita, to help Chris shop for things a boy would need.
The pantry was full, Wesker's bed was made and his room ready, Chris had made some calls to the school, and a spare set of house keys were on the counter.
The day was here, and Chris knew he was in over his head.
He couldn't back out now.
Guts churning, Chris cleaned up, did a last minute run-around the house to make sure everything was set, clean, or at least out of the way, and then got into his truck and headed into town.
A receptionist was waiting for him this time when he arrived at the Child Services office who directed him to a seat while she alerted Mrs. Ryan to his arrival. She came out to meet him alone, her mood improved from last time Chris saw her, though he guessed that was more for Wesker's benefit than his.
"I'm not happy about any of this," she said, "but for Albert's sake I hope everything works out."
"I wouldn't have made the offer if I couldn't handle it." Yes he would, he was stupid like that.
No, he'd make this work.
She sighed, unconvinced, and held out a card to Chris. "This is the number for a local therapist. Child psychology is a relatively new field but Dr. Pritchard has experience in trauma and I think it best Albert have someone he can talk to and who can help deprogram him."
Chris thanked her and took the card. Therapy was common enough in the future but in this time was still heavily stigmatized. It was both relieving to him that Mrs. Ryan had someone she trusted enough with this available to him but also worrying that she knew Wesker needed it.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
No. "Yes."
Mrs. Ryan once again led him to her office where a couple of uniformed officers stood watch over a boy sitting in a chair. He stared straight ahead in disinterest with his hands folded in his lap.
"Albert," Mrs. Ryan said in a soothing voice, "This is Mr. Chris Redfield. He's going to take you home now."
Wesker glanced up at Chris, his flat, grey eyes suddenly sharpening and his mouth twisting in recognition. He slid out of the chair and stood to his full height.
"I do not want to go with this man," he announced.
Mrs. Ryan lowered herself to her knees, meeting his eyes and placing gentle hands on his shoulders that he shrugged off, looking to the side as though she bored him.
"Now, honey," she began, "Mr. Redfield is going to look after you from now on, I've already explained this to you. You'll live in his home and you'll have your own room and bed and will go to school with all the other children. Doesn't that sound much better than being shut up in a motel with scary police officers watching you all day?"
"None of this is acceptable. I demand to be returned to Arklay."
"That's not going to happen and you know it. I understand this is hard, but what was happening at that place was wrong and you should have never been there. Until we manage to find where you came from Mr. Redfield has kindly offered his home to you. Don't worry, I'll check up on you regularly and you have my number in case you need anything."
"Like you're any better," he muttered.
Mrs. Ryan ignored his comment and stood, stepping aside and looking to Chris to take over. Chris was nervous and afraid it showed in the too-friendly smile he gave Wesker.
"You ready to go, kiddo?"
"Would it change anything if I said 'no'?"
"Not really. I mean do you have everything?"
With an annoyed sigh Wesker picked up a small backpack from beside the chair in which he'd been sitting. "You people bring me some of my clothes from home but then don't give me access to an iron or someone who will iron them for me," he bitched, sliding the straps over his shoulders and leaving the office without a backward glance at Mrs. Ryan or the officers assigned to him.
"Good luck," one of the officers said to Chris flatly.
Chris thanked Mrs. Ryan and then hurried after Wesker. They left the Child Services office and Chris grabbed the top strap of Wesker's backpack when he turned the wrong direction. Chris didn't miss it was the general direction in which the mountains lay.
"My truck's this way, kid," he said, steering Wesker in the right direction and gently patting him forward so he stayed in front of Chris. Wesker glanced up and glared but said nothing.
If there was one advantage to going back to right before Raccoon City's second industrial boom it was that parking was plentiful. Chris hadn't parked far from the office and while the streets weren't crowded the idea that if Wesker made a dash for it Chris might not be able to maneuver as easily and catch him made him glad they arrived at his truck within a couple minutes.
He unlocked the passenger side door and gestured Wesker in. He was about to give the kid a boost up but Wesker tossed in his pack and swung up onto the seat with ease. Chris shut the door then went to the driver's side. He expected Wesker to lock the door on him or something equally as petulant but Wesker sat quietly in his seat, looking around at the interior of the red 1965 Ford. He was especially interested when Chris started the truck and pulled out into the street.
"Watching how I drive so you can try it, huh?"
Wesker made a noncommittal 'hm' noise.
"Could you even drive a stick?"
"Who can't?"
Chris shook his head and headed out of town, the interior of the truck settling into awkward silence. Wesker gazed out at the streets but quickly lost interest in that and stared at his hands, picking at a thumbnail.
Coming to a stop at a red light, Chris looked over at his new charge. This was going to be a lot weirder than he first imagined. Wesker was smaller, too small really, with the smoother face that children all had and a lack of that proper, confident air of his older counterpart, but he was unmistakably Wesker. The blond hair was cropped short, not slicked back, and his eyes only seemed to gain that familiar intensity sometimes, otherwise looking flat and bored, but the man he was going to become was there…but was not.
Again Chris reminded himself how stupid and in over his head he was.
"Anyway," he began, "I was planning on pork chops tonight but if there's anything else you'd like to have I can try to whip it up for you. Kind of a 'welcome' meal, I guess."
Wesker didn't even look up.
"I'm not the best cook, I'll admit it, but I do well enough."
"It doesn't matter," Wesker said, rubbing at his temple with his eyes clenched shut, "Make what you want, Mr. Redfield."
"Chris is fine. We're gonna be living together, no point in being formal."
"It's only temporary, but fine. Chris."
Okay, that was not the best idea, actually. His voice was so much younger but Chris still tapped the brake as his hands clenched the steering wheel too tight. That fucking sneer…
Suck it up, what else is the kid going to call you?
He took a breath. "Why do you say temporary? You thinking they'll find your family soon?"
"Because they will come back for me. I have a purpose."
Not if I can help it, Chris thought, and drove the rest of the way home in silence.
The house was a single-story ranch style, built in the early sixties and what a person with a positive outlook would call 'cozy'. It sat on a small plot of land, nestled in trees that made it seem like more by blocking the view of the neighbors just over a fence. It had a garage Chris never parked in and now definitely wouldn't as it was currently filled with stuff.
"Here we are," he said cheerily as he parked in front of the garage.
Wesker squinted at the house through the windshield.
"I know it's nowhere near as big as a mansion but you'll find it a hell of a lot less creepy." And zombie and PTSD free.
Chris climbed out of the truck and opened Wesker's door, taking the backpack while Wesker slid down and looked around, toeing at cracks in the driveway pavement. Chris went to put his hand on Wesker's shoulder and the boy ducked away, glowering and heading towards the front door.
"Okay, no touching," Chris sighed.
He unlocked the door and guided Wesker in. The boy immediately stopped in Chris' way and glanced around, his mouth turned down in disapproval. To the right was the kitchen which led to the utility room, which in turn had the door out to the garage. There was no dining room but the kitchen had room enough for the dinner table. To the left was the living room, housing a couch, fireplace, and the television which led to a short hallway which led to the bathroom and two bedrooms. Chris had claimed the larger room to the right that made up the corner of the house. Wesker's room was to the left, wedged between the bathroom and the utility room on the other side of the wall.
Chris had to admit the small size of the house had been advantageous in regards to décor; with no photos of family and friends, framed pictures, or extra furniture or knick-knacks, the place came off as rather Spartan as he'd spent little time in it. Fortunately Wesker barely noticed and his disgust was aimed at the house overall.
"You're really expecting me to stay here?" he grumbled.
"There are much worse places to be, kid. Believe me."
The tour was short, Chris able to point nearly everything out from the entryway. "That's my room," he continued as he led Wesker to the back of the house, "feel free to wake me up if there's an emergency or something. The bathroom… We've only got one so we're gonna have to work out a morning schedule once you start school and I go back to work."
"School."
"Yeah, you need to go. I figured we'd take a couple days to let you settle in but day after tomorrow I'm gonna take you down to the school for testing."
Wesker's attention caught. "Testing?"
"Just placement tests, so they know which grade to put you in. I know you're smart but I'm still hoping you can be put with kids around your age."
"I don't want to go to school."
"Nobody does," Chris said, unable to help the slight chuckle, "Don't worry, it'll be fine. Okay, here's your room."
Wesker stepped into the small space and looked around, touching the dresser and opening the closet, peering in. "This is all for me?" he asked, almost expressing an emotion other than bored disgust.
"All yours. I know it's not much right now but you can rearrange things if you like, decorate, hoard shit… Just keep it clean. Now I bought you some clothes but I wasn't sure on your size, so try them on. If they don't fit we'll exchange them, or if you just don't like them."
"How often is inspection and what are the expectations thereof?"
Oh boy. "No inspections, just don't let it get gross in here and vacuum now and again." Chris set Wesker's backpack on the bed and then stepped back into the hall, "Lemme show you something, Wesker."
The boy glanced at him, faint brows furrowed in confusion. "Wesker?" he mouthed to himself and then shrugged.
"This is your bedroom door," Chris explained, "I believe in privacy so if your door is shut I don't come in without your permission, understand?" After his time in the Air Force Chris came to appreciate something as simple as a door and the privacy it allowed, and considering the setup the Wesker children had at the mansion he felt Albert might appreciate it too.
Wesker looked doubtful. "No inspections and you will not come in if I just…shut that door?"
"Within reason," Chris added, "If there's an emergency or I think you're doing something dangerous I'll kick this in if I have to."
"I see. So to make you leave I just need to do this."
Wesker slammed the door shut in Chris' face.
"I did walk into that one," Chris muttered to himself. Louder, he said through the door, "Dinner's at six, we'll go over some of the ground rules then." He doubted he'd see the kid before that, if Wesker came out willingly at all.
Chris killed some time doing laundry, then watched television with the volume turned down low, one ear focused on the back bedroom. He heard a bit of rattling earlier, then the sound of furniture being moved and it took all his effort not to go find out what the little monster-to-be was up to. His offering of a sandwich around lunchtime was ignored.
He heard the bedroom door open when he started making dinner. He tried not to quiet his preparations to let the kid know he could hear him, especially when he heard the familiar rattling of his own bedroom windows.
Yeah, I bolted them from outside, you little shit. You're not getting out that way.
All the windows were locked inside and out. It was not an easy choice considering it was early June and already too warm during the day, but Chris was hoping Wesker would give up trying to run by the time things got sweltering. There was little he could do about the front door save watch it, but it had its own alarm in the horrible creak it let out, no matter how slowly it was opened.
Chris couldn't help but grin at the kid when Wesker poked his head out into the living room with a scowl. He disappeared back into his room after that.
The rest of making dinner was accompanied by Chris' inner mantra that he could do this, that this would all work out.
Wesker did not come when called for dinner but did emerge without a fight when Chris knocked on his door. He stood in the kitchen entryway silently while Chris pulled out plates.
"You hungry? You should be, I haven't seen you eat yet."
Wesker said nothing.
Chris sighed and loaded up Wesker's plate with a pork chop, some green beans, and a large dollop of mashed potatoes.
"You want some applesauce on your pork chop? Nevermind, I'll just put the jar on the table. Here," Chris held out the plate to Wesker who stared at it, "This is yours. Come on, help out a little, it goes on the table."
Wesker took the plate and held it awkwardly a second before placing it on the table.
"I said I can cook but I admit I don't do things this fancy most of the time. I'll try to do better now that you're here but this is kind of the peak of my culinary skills. Can you grab some glasses? They're in the cupboard right there. Do you have milk or water with your dinner?"
The shattering of glass made Chris jump and whirl around to Wesker who stood there, hands up and staring at the broken glasses on the floor.
"Seriously? Did you do that on purpose? Don't try to pick it up just… Just go sit down, Wesker!"
The boy backed up to the table and slid into a seat, his face blank. Not wanting the food to get cold Chris pushed the glass out of the way with his foot and grabbed two more glasses himself.
"I'll clean that up after we eat, don't go over there until then," he said, placing the glasses heavily on the table and then serving himself. Holding his own plate he took a breath. This wasn't going to work if he got so riled up over something simple like broken glasses. He set his plate on the table and then grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. "Milk it is, you're still growing."
Finally Chris sat down to eat, sawing at the pork chop that was a little too tough, damnit. Wesker didn't move and continued to stare at a point beyond Chris' shoulder.
"Go ahead and eat. Try the applesauce, it'll help with the toughness."
Wesker picked up his cutlery and began to pick at the food, moving slowly as though waiting for something. Chris sighed again.
"Look, don't worry about the glass, okay? Accidents happen. Here," Chris spooned up some applesauce and plopped it onto Wesker's pork chop. The boy frowned at it. "Anyway, let's lay out some rules. We're going to be together a while though so these aren't set in stone, got it?"
Wesker took a bite of his pork and blinked, almost shocked it wasn't disgusting, but said nothing.
"Bedtime's at nine. When you start school I want any homework you have done before then. I'm not gonna put a limit on TV unless your grades are bad. What else… Laundry needs to be done. Do you know how to do your own laundry?"
Silence.
"Wesker, answer me when I ask you something."
"I can iron and press my clothes, but the staff washed them for us."
"Okay, I'll show you how. Until then just throw your things in with mine."
"Fine."
"Also, I don't want you out after dark, at least for right now. If you're, I don't know, out at a friend's house and it gets late give me a call and I'll come get you. Memorize the house number and have my work number on you on you at all times. Oh, and I don't want you answering the door; if I don't hear it just come get me."
Chris expected an argument or at least some sass but Wesker just nodded, focused more on his food. Well then.
"I guess that's all I can think of at the moment. Do you have anything for me?"
"What?"
"You know, things I need to know about you. Things you like or dislike, anything you expect or want to know about me, or me about you…"
"No."
It grew quiet again, even more strained than in the truck. Still, Chris found it was better than eating alone. If anything since he'd be cooking better food for Wesker it meant he'd be eating better himself, though he'd have to look into less time-consuming meals. There would also be more dishes…
"Oh, chores. I want you to help out a bit around here, but we'll start small. What kinds of things did you do around the mansion? Which girl was it…Laura? Laura said you guys kept the place looking nice in case Father," he nearly spat the word, "showed up."
"We just lit a fire or two and kept the lights on. Maintenance and cleaning were the responsibilities of the help."
"So what did you? What were your responsibilities?"
"I maintained myself. I kept up with my physical and educational regimens and kept my living space and clothes neat. Nothing else was my concern."
That explained a lot, actually. "Okay, we'll start there. Keep your room clean and do your laundry. Once you're more settled in I'll show you how to do the dishes and a few other things around the house. It's gonna be you and me so we need to learn to live and work together."
Wesker just stared at him through his lashes as he chewed, his eyes intense and focused.
After eating Wesker was dismissed and fled back to his room. Chris cleaned up the broken glass and did the dishes before settling in front of the TV for a bit. Aside from Wesker making a bathroom run he stayed quiet in his room until Chris knocked and reminded him to brush his teeth before bed.
It was one of those eventful uneventful days and Chris collapsed into bed, exhausted. He'd double-checked the windows and doors and decided to leave a lamp on in the front room in case Wesker ended up a late-night prowler. Chris had been notorious for that in his own youth, creeping into the kitchen for a snack when he was supposed to be asleep.
His bedside clock read a little past midnight when he woke to the sound of his bedroom door being opened. If Chris wasn't such a light sleeper he would have missed the soft click of the turning handle, the sound of the wood gliding over the carpet, the light from the front room leaking in, and the ever cautious steps of someone trying to be quiet approaching his bed.
"Wesker," Chris grumbled. The steps stopped. "Go to sleep."
He was not in the mood for this, he was tired, but he'd wait the little bastard out. Sure enough, the minutes slid by but there was no more sound.
"I know you're still in here. Go back to bed."
Eventually he heard the retreating steps and the click of his door shutting. Chris got out of bed, slid a chair into place under the door handle, and then crawled back into the sheets.
"You couldn't kill me as a badass tyrant like hell you're getting me as a child."
In the morning Chris made his first call to Dr. Pritchard's office to set up a consultation with Wesker later in the week and then started breakfast. It was another 'fancy' meal (ham and cheese omelets) to celebrate their first morning but Wesker once again remained absent.
Grumbling to himself Chris went and knocked on his door but received no answer.
"Hey, Wesker," he said, leaning against the wall, "I meant what I said about privacy but if you don't answer when I knock I'm going to assume something is wrong and open the door anyway. Want to try this again?" He knocked.
There was a pause and then, "What?"
"Breakfast is ready. I made something nice for you."
"I don't want it."
"Come on, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Up and at 'em!" and he started knocking again.
The door threw open and Wesker stood there, glowering up at him. He was wearing a collared, button up shirt tucked neatly into slacks and a goddamned tie.
"I am not ready. I demand access to an iron."
"You going on a business trip or something?"
"My shirts and slacks are wrinkled from being stuffed in that pack. Surely you can comprehend even that."
"It's just breakfast, kid."
Wesker's mouth dropped open like he intended to argue but had nothing to say, Chris' stupidity beyond words or something.
"Look, come eat and I'll show you where the ironing stuff is, deal?"
Wesker huffed and left his room, slamming the door shut behind him.
"And take off that tie, will you? Have you been up this whole time?"
"What else would I be doing?"
"I dunno, sleeping in?"
Wesker went silent as Chris steered him into the kitchen and sat him down. He shifted in his seat until he was facing forward, staring ahead and hands in his lap. He ignored when Chris placed his plate with a fluffy omelet before him with a flourish and Chris couldn't help but roll his eyes as he served himself.
"You want some orange juice?" Chris asked and then served it anyway when Wesker remained silent.
Chris sat and started eating. His omelets were much better than his pork chops and he had to say they were quite good and found himself wolfing down his breakfast. Wesker sat still, staring somewhere else.
Chris paused. "Don't you like omelets? Go ahead, give it a try."
Wesker picked up his fork and began to eat slowly, each movement deliberate as though choreographed.
"How is it? Wesker, don't be rude and answer me."
"It's fine."
Figuring that was the best he was going to get, Chris gave up and finished his own breakfast. He started cleaning up before Wesker finished and the boy immediately stopped eating and sat back.
"Finish up," Chris told him, filling the sink. He didn't have a dishwasher and that hadn't been a big deal living alone but now he was regretting it. He heard Wesker's fork clink against the plate.
"So anything you want to do today? We can go into town and get anything you need. Do your clothes fit?"
"Everything's fine."
"How about shoes? Fine doesn't cut it for footwear and you're gonna need better than what you've currently got." They were good quality dress shoes but not appropriate for everyday life for a boy Wesker's age. "I didn't buy you any yet because I wanted to be sure they fit you. You want to do that today or wait?"
"I'm finished," Wesker said.
Chris sighed in frustration. "Okay, bring me your dishes."
Wesker stood and held out his plate, the fork lying across it tines down in what was probably some proper eating etiquette style Chris didn't know or care about. He took it and placed it in the water and Wesker disappeared, most likely back to his room.
Chris picked up the fork and… wait. He glanced back at the table, but there was nothing. Again he let out a long frustrated sigh. The knife was missing.