"Children are not a distraction from the important work.

They are the important work."

-CS Lewis

"You flew all the way out here. You had to know what was going to be asked of you." The woman said voice in a soft whisper but tone biting. The kind of verbal tone normally only seen in new mothers berating husbands or other family members when they ran the risk of waking newborns. Seeing as this woman was pushing sixty and was dressed in a brightly colored woolen suit that had fallen out of style years ago. Complete with large hair and the most pigmented red lip he had seen this century David Rossi was surprised she was capable of such subtlety.

"This didn't seem like a conversation you have on the phone." David offered back his tone equally as soft. They exchanged parting pleasantries and David exited the small Las Vegas house surrounded by misplaced children and crossed the two lane road for the black rental car he acquired a few hours prior. He allowed his body to slump forward for a moment. Reminding himself that this had been the right decision. That he had thought this decision through and that he had come to the right conclusion. He had a job that took him away from his home for days on end at the drop of a hat. A job where being shot at was more common that it has any right to be. A job where he went toe to toe with psychopaths, sociopaths, sadists, serial offenders, and other human versions of the monsters science fiction writers made so much money writing about.

He had no business being in charge of anyone else's wellbeing. Especially not the well-being of a 'troubled' boy. He could not help but wonder why Diana Reid, a woman he hadn't seen or heard from in more than twenty years, had thought him willing or capable of taking in her son.

Godparents are supposed to be fixtures in children's lives. Asked by parents before or soon after birth so the child is raised with this non-familial uncle. He knew that he had been a godfather for Steven. Still was even though the boy was well into adulthood and wanted little to nothing to do with the monster hunters that permeated his formative years. He had gone to birthdays and other special events. Took him on his first hunting trip because for all the things Jason Gideon was a traditional hunter he was not. He had seen less severe bumps and bruises and helped guide his moral compass. But even in that he had been adment that Betty's sister be the next of kin. He would be Uncle Dave but he could not, or more aptly would not, raise the boy.

Godparents were not supposed to be strangers called at zero dark thirty by a social worker to take charge of a child they never met.

A knock on the window had him startling for a moment a small girl with fire red pigtails stood on the other side of the car door situated firmly in the middle of the street. She pointed her finger down with a pinched expression that seemed to give severity to her non-verbal request.

"Can I help you?" Dave asked eyebrows raised in question.

"I know who you are?" The girl said as greeting which had Dave even more interested in what the exchange could be.

"You do."

"Your the man that Mrs. Jacobs called about Spencer but you don't want him." The blunt tone that could only come from a child who didn't fully understand the implications and the trauma the statement held caused David to flinch.

He had gotten this far with his conviction by telling himself he was giving the boy his best shot. He wasn't cut out to raise a child he wasn't cut out to kiss boo boos or wake up early for sporting events.

He wasn't good at all that stuff anyways.

He wasn't a parent.

He didn't want to be a parent.

Spencer deserved a parent.

"Who told you that?" He asked after swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Spencer." The name held the same blunt tone. Which made Rossi close his eyes and suck in a breath.

"Jesus." He breathed out. Of course the kid heard him.

"Christianity is valid but other religions are just as relevant." The girl recited, and Dave let out a hiccuping laugh at the growing absurdity of this conversation.

"Do me a favor when you become president please don't change." The girl nodded and the conversation lulled. Dave looked around the front yard. Three preteen boys were playing with a basketball and hoop that had seen better days. A group of younger kids were drawing with chalk. One girl up near the house was skipping rope. It looked a lot like a school yard at recess.

"You a friend of his. Or what?" He asked, returning his eyes to the girl next to his car.

"No, he's a weirdo." The girl whispered quite loudly. "He doesn't have any friends."

"He doesn't. " Dave repeated looking around once more trying to find the boy he had stubbornly not looked at a picture of before flying out here. That doesn't mean he was flying blind though. He had been at the wedding and seen Diana and William, the man who despite getting a law degree always seemed to be hanging out around the arts building like a dog after a particularly juicy bone.

He had grown up around Diana's toe headed mop and chocolate brown eyes. He had given the shovel talk to William watching the man shake his brown hair and watching the man's own brown eyes go wide with shock at the mere thought of harming her.

So their kid would be pale, hair would be somewhere between Diana's blonde and William's brown and no doubt he would be tall for his age. He looked around to try and fit this vague description with a kiddo he could see. He couldn't.

"Where is he hanging out?" He decided to ask.

"He is in the box. He doesn't come out until night."

"And why is that?" The words came from his lips before he could stop them.

"The sun. He hates the sun." The girl said as if that was the only logical conclusion as to why anyone would spend all their time in a box.

"Right" the little girl trotted toward the misshapen cardboard box in the corner the word fragile written on the front she leaned down to the handle and whispered something before trotting away to go jump rope.

Dave took a deep breath before starting the car and pulling off the curb. Trying to scrub the memory of the boy in a box from his mind.

He wasn't a parent.

He didn't want to be a parent.

Spencer deserved a parent.