"Is this my punishment? I have to eat dog food?"

Chris looked over at Wesker in confusion, the boy glowering at his breakfast, before glancing at the box in his hand to double check he was holding the right one.

"It's cereal. After last night's run-around I'm too tired to make you something better."

"This isn't cereal. Cereal is hot. This is dog food in milk."

"It's not dog food, Wesker," okay so maybe it did look a bit like kibble but, "Just eat it."

"There's an animal on the box."

"That's there to entice small children to make their parents buy it for them. It doesn't mean it's for animals."

"And yet you, an adult, bought it of your own volition."

Chris glared. "Shut up and eat."

Wesker took a tentative bite and nearly choked. "Too sweet," he muttered to himself but then continued to eat, his face twisting in a myriad of emotions. Satisfied, Chris poured his own bowl and ate standing. He had to show Wesker how to drink the leftover milk straight from the bowl and the kid looked mortified.

That done, Chris sent Wesker off to get cleaned up and dressed for the day while he put away some of the stolen cans of food from Wesker's backpack. When and how had the kid managed to snag these? That one Wesker girl (Alex was it?) said Albert would steal food from the kitchen but this wasn't a mansion where a small child could sneak around unnoticed.

Wesker reemerged in his slacks and button-up shirt, his hair neatly combed and shoes shined. At least he wasn't wearing the tie again. He stood by the front door in silence and waited, hands clasped behind him.

"Ready to go?"

He shouldn't be surprised by the lack of an answer anymore.

Chris dug out the spare keys from the drawer and went to the entryway, facing Wesker. He held up the keys.

"These are going to be yours. They are spare keys to the house and garage. This is your goal. I can't trust you right now, but in time you'll be able to come and go as you please."

"I said I wouldn't run again."

"You can say anything you want, but words are easy. You have to show me, Wesker, got it?"

The boy glowered at him, but then his eyes slid to the ground.

Honestly Chris was worried about this dramatic alternating between pure arrogance and subservience Wesker was doing. Which part was the act? All of it?

He slid the keys into his back pocket. "Anyway, let's go. After you're done testing we'll get you some new shoes and then if you're up for it we can look around town. You should learn the layout, especially the route to school. You'll take the bus but it's still something you should know."

"The bus," Wesker said with the existential dread of a 16th century astronomer who just learned the universe was infinite and that the Inquisition was now at his door.

The drive into town was as awkward as the first time and Chris' attempts at conversation fell flat. He even tried to point things out to Wesker but after about ten minutes the little shit refused to look outside the truck and sat slumped in the too large seat, eyes shut. Chris gave up and listened to the radio instead.

"What's that?"

He nearly jumped when Wesker spoke. "What?"

"This," Wesker said and pointed at the radio, "What is this music? Is it music?"

"Of course it's music, it's Lynyrd Skynyrd."

"I don't know him."

"It's not a person, it's a band."

"I've never heard anything like this."

"It's called rock 'n roll. What did you listen to back…there?"

"Music. Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Schubert…"

"Yeah that's…that's good and all but we're gonna get you some real music."

"I wasn't aware I was listening to fake music."

"You weren't, it's just that there are so many genres and…" Chris got an idea. "You know what, I'm gonna take you to the library at some point and let you run loose. Yeah, maybe once a week or something we'll take a library day and I'll let you look up stuff and catch up on things you've missed out on. How's that sound?"

Wesker gave him an odd look, squinting at him slightly, and Chris couldn't read it.

They arrived at Raccoon City Elementary School and Chris ushered Wesker into the offices.

"Now remember, this is a placement test, so do your best but you aren't being graded or anything."

Wesker held his head up and kept his face blank, though Chris didn't miss the nervous swallow.

The woman that met them was cheerful and greeted Wesker as one would a child. The boy's glare was rancid and Chris tried to shoot her a look that implied that action was not the wisest. She understood one or the other and her cheerfulness dropped to polite professionalism as she explained to Wesker how the test would work before Chris was directed to some chairs in the office while Wesker was led away.

Chris prayed the boy wouldn't make a run for it or try to kill anyone.

Since the loss of cell phones, Chris had developed the habit of keeping a paperback in his truck for life's long waits. He pulled the worn, bent thing out of his back pocket and settled into the uncomfortable chair for what he knew would be an hour or more. The secretary suggested he could go run a few errands but he declined; he needed to be here in case Wesker did Weskerly things.

The book was not that good and Chris snort awake several times from a doze before Wesker was finally brought back. He kept his gaze lowered.

"We'll have the results in a few days, but since the year is so close to the end…" the secretary began.

"Yeah, if I could get him enrolled into a class before school's out, I think he'd be fine for a couple of weeks, then he can start in the proper class after summer, right?"

She nodded and went to fetch the enrollment paperwork. Chris glanced at Wesker who'd positioned himself by the door, once again standing quietly with his hands clasped behind his back. At least he wasn't running but the image was strangely uncomfortable.

"How'd it go, kiddo?"

Wesker said nothing and continued to stare ahead. Chris could see his jaw clenching.

Chris shrugged and thanked the secretary when she returned with the enrollment packet before gesturing the kid back out the door.

Wesker continued to stew over whatever was bothering him during the ride into town. He perked up as they walked into the department store and was so busy trying to look around at everything that he didn't even flinch when Chris gently took hold of his shoulder and steered him towards the shoe department. He gaped at the selection.

"Okay, Wesker," Chris said, "go pick whatever you want."

Wesker looked up at him suspiciously. "Anything I want?" He noticed Chris' hand on his shoulder and shrugged him off.

"Within reason," Chris added, "I have a budget you know. And you're gonna need something you can run around in."

Chris sat down and watched Wesker rove up and down the aisles, pulling shoes off the shelf and looking them over. He was especially interested in the sneakers. It was the closest thing to genuine interest Chris had seen Wesker display yet.

And then it broke as Wesker remembered that Chris was there and promptly stuffed the shoes back, moving quickly.

Chris sighed. "No rush, we have all day. Pick something you want."

Again Wesker eyed him, unsure, then pointed at a pair of boots in the corner. "I want those," he said, voice bold but Chris could hear the uneasiness underneath, like a pit bull on rickety stilts.

Chris stood and pulled the boots off the shelf. A pair of dark brown boys' cowboy boots. Wesker was eyeing him intently now, waiting.

"You sure you want these?"

"You said," Wesker insisted, then his voice dropped to a whisper and he looked down, "You said what I wanted."

Chris frowned. Those two words of insistence were followed by trailing uncertainty and finally acceptance as Wesker just sighed, stuffed his hands into his pocket and regained himself back into a miniature adult, patiently waiting.

How many promises were broken in this kid's life? Were any given at all? Did Wesker ever have a choice? Either way, this was a test and Wesker expected Chris to fail, had already accepted it.

"Okay," Chris said and tucked the boots under his arm. "You still need to pick out a pair of run-around shoes for gym at least, then we'll try them both on. These are your size, right?"

Wesker's calm mien broke and he gaped at Chris, then he nodded.

"Okay, go pick something."

The boy did not look assured, if anything he backed away from Chris like a spooked animal before wrestling himself back under control. He calmly walked to the boys' sneakers and looked at them blankly.

"I've never seen shoes like this before, help me pick a pair that would work best."

"What do you say?" Chris urged.

Wesker arched a little brow at him, then said, the mockery blatant, "Thank you?"

Chris sighed. There went progress. "You say 'please' when asking something of someone."

"Why?"

Little shit. "Because…because then it's a request, not a demand. Just pick some shoes, they're all the same except those ones are blue and those ones there have ducks on them."

"I hate ducks…" Wesker muttered to himself and shoved the offending shoes out of sight. He glowered at Chris in frustration. "Help me pick a pair. Please."

"Certainly, I'd be happy to!" Chris said, voice dripping with false graciousness.

He looked over the small selection; not as many as he was used to back in the future, but apparently more than Wesker ever saw.

"How about these?" he asked, pulling out a pair with a blue stripe.

"Are they the best ones?"

"I don't know, they're shoes. I'm already getting you the boots too."

"Fine then, those will do."

"Okay, let's try 'em on."

"Why? They are my size."

"You always check, Wesker. Shoes that don't fit are murder for your feet."

Chris directed Wesker to a bench and wait while the boy removed his shined shoes and changed them out with the boots and sneakers. He had to fight Wesker to get him to walk around in them and only then was Chris satisfied.

The boots and shoes tucked under his arm, Chris asked, "Anything else while we're here?"

They didn't leave the department store for another hour, Wesker determined to see everything. Chris indulged him but was surprised when Wesker didn't ask for anything else; he just wanted to look. Watching Wesker climb into a circular rack in the clothing department and disappear among the shirts was a strange reminder to Chris that this was a child, no matter how he acted.

They finally left and Chris tossed the shoes into his truck. "Where next?"

"How would I know?" Wesker groused.

Chris thought a minute. Where did you take children? He recalled when he was young, if he behaved when his mother dragged him out on errands, she'd reward him with an ice cream cone from the shop down the street.

"How about some ice cream? What's your favorite flavor?"

Wesker stared at him in that unnerving way, eyes wide as though afraid but too rigidly entrapped in his conditioning to even notice it himself.

"I… We only got sweets when we accomplished a task at highest rank."

Chris shouldn't be surprised, what else would Umbrella do, but there was suddenly a hole in his gut. "Okay, well we can have it anytime now. So what do you like? Chocolate? Vanilla? I like strawberry myself."

Wesker was trying so hard to keep his composure, but his hands started twining together. "I never… I don't know." He straightened, looked Chris in the eye, his own burning in sudden anger and challenge, "I never got any."

Wait, what? "Never? You said…"

"At highest rank," Wesker repeated, then looked away, arms crossing and his lower lip sticking out the slightest bit.

Oh.

That implication was not what Chris expected. Wasn't Wesker Spencer's little golden boy? Up until he got a fist through the chest, anyway.

He really needed to get Wesker's files. He had no idea what he was dealing with.

"Okay," Chris said slowly, scratching at the back of his neck, "I guess you'll have to try some samples before you pick. I think they do samples…"

Wesker kept his gaze away from Chris. "Thank you, but no, Chris. I'm not one for sugar."

Liar. Chris had seen Wesker's morning coffee.

"Well, I want ice cream," Chris said with a shrug, and it wasn't a lie, "I'm gonna get a cone and you can have some too if you want." He was going to have to entice the kid to normalcy.

Wesker neither argued nor fussed but by the time they arrived at the little ice cream shop, its business booming now in the late spring heat, he began to fidget. He wouldn't stop rubbing at an eye and as soon as they entered the building he went straight to a table and sat down, eyes shut.

Chris frowned at this. Where was the curiosity from a few minutes ago?

"Hey," he called, "don't you wanna try some?"

Shrinking a bit into himself, Wesker shook his head.

Chris could only shrug and get in line, shooting a 'kids, what can you do?' look at the woman in front of him. One two-scoop strawberry and vanilla ice cream cone later, Chris sat down with Wesker, who only stared at the table in front of him, squinting.

"This looks great," Chris prodded, "You sure you don't want one?"

"I do not want one," the formal tone was back but ruined by Wesker's muttering of it.

Shrugging again, Chris decided to enjoy his ice cream. It dawned on him it had been a long time since he had any, and taking a large lick his brain was assaulted both by delicious, creamy goodness and brain freeze. "Mmmm…this is so good…"

His attempts at enticing Wesker bounced right off the boy and back onto adults who glared at Chris, thinking him some horrible parent taunting his child with ice cream while the boy remained bereft. Another lick, more over-the-top noises of pleasure, and Chris finally caught Wesker glancing at him.

"You sure you don't want…"

"No."

"Okay, you don't need to get any, but here," Chris held out his cone to Wesker, "Give it a try, since I already got it."

He was expecting a little snob nose in the air, or for Wesker to argue about gross germs from eating what Chris had already started, but instead, slowly, Wesker took the cone, eyeing it like one would a grenade. Chris was patient as the boy looked the thing over, not worrying about its melting state.

Wesker took a tiny lick of the vanilla, the movement awkward like he'd never done it before, and his eyes flew wide. Chris barely got the cone as Wesker thrust it back at him.

"Sweet!" Wesker hissed and snatched a napkin from the holder on the table, coughing into it.

"You okay?"

"How do you…ugh…"

With a soft chuckle, Chris went back to his cone and let Wesker fuss. The boy finished his little fit and glared at him.

"Good, huh?"

"That was vile."

"Want another lick?" Chris offered the cone again.

Wesker continued to glare, then tentatively took the cone and tried again, this time from the strawberry side. Chris got the cone back just as swiftly but less violently as the pint-sized monstrosity sat with the napkin over his face, his eyes burning a hole into the table top as he processed what he just put in his mouth.

Chris left him to it and slowly finished the cone, managing to get Wesker to try it twice more before he turned down any further offers.

This isn't so bad, Chris told himself, especially compared to last night. He could do this, Wesker could probably do this, Chris just had to keep offering him something better than the mansion or whatever fucked up promises and goals they had forced into his head.

That shouldn't be so hard, right?

Chris popped the last of the cone into his mouth and rode out the brain freeze. "Okay, anything else you want to do?"

"Does it matter? You're the one with the plans."

And back to morose Wesker. Chris sighed. "I don't have anything else planned, that's why I'm asking. If we could do what you wanted right now…"

"I want to go home."

"…Within reason, what do you want to do?"

Wesker pinched at the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tight in such an adult gesture it gave Chris whiplash. "My head hurts. I wish to go back to your house."

"Okay, let's go." Chris had hoped for something else, some other great curiosity the so-called child within the little shit wanted to try to nudge him to normality, but Chris considered he shouldn't push his luck. They left the shop and went back to the truck.

They made no conversation the way home; not on the music, or ice cream, or school. Wesker sat in his seat with his hands in his lap and his eyes screwed shut.

Once home, Chris gave Wesker his new shoes and told him to go put them away. The boy's eyes flicked between Chris and the boxes briefly.

"Do you require anything else of me at this time?" he asked, face and voice expressionless.

"Uh, no. Not until dinner. Wesker, you don't need to ask me stuff like that."

"Then I'm going to my room."

Well yeah, he just told him to put his stuff away… "You feeling okay?" The kid looked out of it and was still squinting.

"I am fine." Wesker turned and vanished into the hall.

"Door open," Chris reminded him.

"Yes."

With a frustrated grunt, Chris scrubbed at his face and went into the kitchen, tossing the enrollment packet onto the counter. He needed a drink.

Wanted, not needed, he reminded himself as he stared into the fridge. He grabbed a soda instead, taking comfort in the fact it tasted better in this time period. Turning on the radio, he sat a the kitchen table with the packet.

He still hated paperwork.

After an hour with no sound from the bedrooms, Chris got up and went to check on his ward. The blinds were shut in Wesker's room and through the dimness he could make out the boy curled into a ball at the head of the bed, his back to the door. Chris presumed him asleep until he heard a groggy, soft voice:

"What do you want?"

"Just makin' sure you're okay."

"I'm fine."

Yes, because all ten-year-old boys sat in the dark doing nothing, brooding in the corner. "How's your headache?"

"Better."

"That's good. You get those often?"

There was the slightest hesitation, then, "No."

Well that wasn't concerning. But what could Chris do if Wesker didn't fess up about it? He took a moment, straightening his thoughts.

Wesker didn't trust him, that was obvious and if Chris wanted to be honest with himself, he didn't blame the kid for it. Moreover, considering Umbrella and the kind of man they'd wanted to produce through Project W, admitting to pain would be alerting everyone around that you had a weakness. It made sense the little shit wouldn't talk about it. The best he could do was let Wesker know what options were there.

"Okay, but if you get another one there's painkillers in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom," did he have children's painkillers? Shit. "Come get me if you need help but I figure you're smart enough to read the directions."

Wesker was quiet a moment. "I'm fine, I don't need anything."

Chris shrugged, "Okay, whatever you want, big guy. Anyway, we missed lunch so I'm making sandwiches, you want one?"

"No. I'll eat dinner but I'm not hungry now."

Chris went back to the kitchen and the paperwork. Frankly, Wesker being quiet and not trying to escape or kill him was more than he could ask for, so if the kid wanted to mope all day for the next eight years then Chris would consider that a success.

It was either very late in the night or very early in the morning when a thump woke Chris. His knife was in his hand before he was even fully awake and he sat up in bed, listening.

A door opening, movement. For crying out loud, was Wesker running again? He slipped out of bed and crept to his door, sliding the wedged chair free.

Wesker was definitely moving around, trying to be quiet but not doing as well of a job as he had the first night he tried to get away. Was he dragging something? He moved into the front room then…the kitchen?

Stealing food again, maybe?

Chris crept out his door, years of experience making him stealthier than a man his size had a right to be, and followed Wesker into the kitchen. The kid was definitely carrying something, something somewhat large but not heavy. But then the boy passed through the kitchen and into the laundry room. There was fumbling and then the creaking of a small metal door opening.

Alright, enough of that.

"What are you doing?" Chris said, voice low but not without warning as he reached out and flipped the light switch.

Wesker shrieked as the light above flared on and he dropped, arm flung over his face. The bundle he carried fell to the floor.

Even Chris flinched under the sudden brightness, though that was one hell of a dramatic reaction from an otherwise emotionally constipated, evil child.

"Sorry," he said, and Wesker raised his arm enough to glare at Chris from under it, "It's the middle of the night what are you…?"

The bundle at Wesker's feet was his bed sheets and blankets, and Chris suddenly noticed an acrid odor coming from it. There was a slight trace of… Oh. What?

"Did you…?" Chris cut himself off before he said it as Wesker actually scoot back into the corner. He turned his face away, red blooming on his cheeks and ears, teeth grit, but when he glanced at Chris there was something else Chris hadn't truly seen yet, not in this Wesker or the other one. The kid was genuinely afraid.

And goddamn him if Chris didn't feel a bit of satisfaction in that. Finally, feel even just a fraction of what you inflicted on everyone else, you monster.

Chris shut his eyes and took a breath. Rein it in, rein it in now.

"What happened?" he asked, voice soft, struggling to keep the edge out of it.

Wesker gaped at him, then regained some control and sat up, grabbing at the bundle and readying it to toss into the opened washing machine. "The…the sheets are not properly clean," he lied, so blatantly even Wesker could tell it was obvious, yet he plunged ahead, "I was going to do them to my satisfaction…"

Chris took another breath. On one hand, he wanted to scold Wesker for lying but on the other… Was he really going to make the kid fess up to wetting the bed? He was obviously distraught.

What did Umbrella do when their science project children weren't perfect?

"It doesn't matter, really. You go get cleaned up and I'll do the sheets, then we can both go back to bed."

"But…"

"It's fine, Wesker, things happen." Even though the kid was too old for it to be happening, but that was something to possibly bring up to the therapist when they went. Or maybe Gary would have a suggestion.

Wesker got to his knees and started gathering up the bundle. "I can do it, don't concern yourself."

"You don't know how to do it, you said so yourself. Seriously, go clean up and I'll throw these into the machine, I want to go back to bed."

Hands nervously kneading into the sheets, Wesker wouldn't look at Chris. "And then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"I…what I did…"

"We'll deal with it in the morning," Chris sighed. He snatched the pile of blankets from Wesker and stuffed them into the washing machine. "Go on."

Wesker stood slowly, eyeing Chris with uncertainty, and then dashed passed him to the back of the house. Chris listened to make sure he didn't try to escape or do some casual terrorizing before he grabbed the detergent and started up the machine.

A part of him was certain the brat did that on purpose, but a larger part knew Wesker wouldn't debase himself like that just to be a nuisance.

The sound of water thundered through the walls as the kid got into the shower. Chris pulled out a spare set of sheets from the hall closet and left them on the dresser before checking Wesker's mattress. He didn't expect anything like this from the boy and hadn't put any protection on it and, sure enough, there was a wet patch.

Chris sighed in frustration. If he got it quick it shouldn't be a problem, the patch of kid piss was small and hopefully hadn't gone deep. He returned to the utility room for whatever cleaning materials he had and did the best he could. He then tilted the mattress against the wall to let it air out better.

Wesker appeared at the door, his pajama pants replaced with some sweats. He regarded Chris warily. Chris in turn tried very hard not to glare at the kid in return.

It's not his fault, knock it off, hissed a voice Chris hadn't heard in decades, from when his parents had just died and Claire would throw tantrums at him in her grief.

"I cleaned the mattress, but it needs to dry. You're gonna have to crash on the couch for the rest of the night." Please don't piss on my couch.

Wesker looked away. "I'd have cleaned it all. You didn't have to get up…"

"It doesn't matter. Grab your pillow and a blanket, come on."

The fear was unmistakable now as Wesker came into the room to grab his stuff. He practically edged around Chris, keeping as much distance as he possibly could. This wasn't a good sign and yet that nasty part of Chris was still enjoying it while the tired side just wanted to go back to bed.

Wesker went to the front room and stared at the couch. "I'm sleeping here?"

"Just for tonight. The mattress should be fine tomorrow. I'll flip it over anyway once it's dry."

Wesker hesitated, then tried again, "Sleeping here then is just for tonight…"

"Yeah you'll get your bed back tomorrow," Chris repeated and then paused, reconsidering Wesker's words, "It's a couch, Wesker. You can sleep on a couch. I nap here all the time. Couches are for napping."

Wesker climbed onto the couch, dragging the blanket over himself, and lay there in expectation. Chris had no idea what he was expecting and gave a short "good night" before he clicked off the lamp and went back to his room, turning on the bathroom light so Wesker wasn't left in the dark as he went.

So much for today's optimism. Every time he started to see a spark of a possible future for the both of them reality, and Wesker, came crashing back down. The proverbial two steps back except there never was a step forward.

God, he hated this.