Finding another home

Who: Doc and Dylan
Where: Streets around town, then the Martens household
When: Early afternoon on

He hadn't been in this spot in three years now, and Doc wasn't eager to ever do it again. Not because of Dylan, of course, but simply because this situation? Well, it always meant things were in a bad way. Parked outside what had been Frank Alden's house, Doc had a small trailer hitched to the back of his car for Dylan's things, and by now? Well, most of it was loaded. Just as he'd thought three years ago when he'd first brought Synnove here, there was something painful about how a person's life could be gathered up in a small handful of boxes.

Dylan didn't deserve this, and some part of Doc was angry with Frank for taking off as he had with his other son. The rest of Doc? Well, it understood. Vengeance was a sacred task, and he'd be a hypocrite to argue that it could wait. But that thought didn't make him happy in any way, it just meant that he understood, that he was more than willing to do what Frank had asked. He just had to wonder if he'd be able to help here, to make a difference for the young man who'd been caught up in a world he wasn't familiar with. "I think we've got just about everything, unless you wanted to check again," he said as he stacked a box into the trailer, looking over to his newest ward with a faint, reassuring smile.

All morning Frank had tried to talk to Dylan but he'd ignored the effort. He spent the time hidden inside himself, let Nate pack for him while he watched and when it came to Frank? Well, he was hurt. Once again someone was passing him off as somebody else's problem. His aunt had done it after his mother's death and now his dad was too. He had already decided that Doc wouldn't keep him for very long either and the less he took with him, the easier it'd be to move again but both Frank and Doc had insisted he take more than the backpack he came in with. Some furniture made sense, the bed and TV and other 'bedroom' things that didn't end up back in storage, and there were some things that he probably didn't need but wanted anyway. He'd kept his brother's movie collection even if half of them were horror or things he wouldn't watch and he'd snagged his dad's laptop too. That one was motivated more out of spite than actually wanting it but hey, it was a computer he hadn't had before. He was sure his dad hadn't noticed either or if he had, maybe he let him keep it as an apology he couldn't say. Yeah, right.

Dylan hadn't packed his things the night before and he certainly hadn't made any sort of effort to help Doc either. It wasn't because he didn't like the man, though right now he was blaming him as much as his father, but helping made the whole situation feel final somehow, like he was accepting his dad had left him again. He simply sat down on the edge of the curb in a patch where the snow had melted away and watched. He didn't want any part in this whole thing and was almost happy in ignoring everybody else. He looked up when Doc spoke to him and for a moment, didn't move but then he shrugged and stood up. He brushed the dirt from the back of his jeans and cast a sad look back over his shoulder to the house. Frank and Nate had left maybe half an hour ago but already the house looked abandoned with its curtains drawn and the way the trees around it cast shadows across the front. It almost reminded him of how his mother's house had looked after she'd been killed and a psychologist had forced him back there. He shivered and turned back, shaking his head. "No, it's fine. If it's left, it can stay there. If Frank wants it, he can come back and get it for himself. Why should I look after his things when he won't even look after me?"

There was anger there, obviously. And who could blame him? Foisted from Frank to Doc's care, where Dylan definitely didn't want to be, Doc figured he might react the same. "Well, it'll be here if you want to get anything else," Doc assured him without comment on the hostility, yanking the trailer door down. It hadn't been like this with Syn, that had been more a sea of sorrow. And if Doc guessed, he'd wager that Dylan had that too, though it was buried under frustration for now. He moved over towards Dylan, fishing out a cigarette and holding it unlit as Doc dropped near Dylan, crouching on the balls of his feet to make eye contact. "Look, Dylan..." he trailed, frowning on what he should say, "I know you don't like this, okay? I don't expect you to, but I'm here for whatever I can do. C'mon, let's get going. You can meet the twins and the dog, see the place. We're ordering out tonight, which is... well, just like every night almost."

Dylan stared at Doc, his mouth pressed tight into a thin line, and for a moment he didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. There was only so much Doc could do that would make everything better and it wasn't fair of Frank to expect him to. It should be Frank's job to look after his son, not some stranger Dylan had only spoken to once before. He looked away from the man in front of him, down towards the end of the street. There was a lot of things he wanted to say. Some of them started with 'I know you're trying but...' and others were just outright insults that he couldn't tell the person it was really aimed at. Instead, he shrugged and said, "Whatever." He looked back at Doc for a moment then stepped around him and headed to the passenger side of the car. He opened it but stopped and looked back at Doc. Guilt gnawed at the lining of his stomach, it wasn't fair to take it out on the man who took him in. He wanted to say something else, to make it easier on both of them and get rid of that tense atmosphere but... "I'll be doing this again in a month anyway, you'll get sick of me just like the last two."

Shooting a considering, thoughtful look at Dylan as Doc moved around to the car, his lips pursed thin around his cigarette, arms folding across the roof for a momentary lean. Yeah, there was some hostility there, but Doc was smart enough to know the majority of it wasn't aimed at him. Some of it? Probably. Maybe Dylan felt like Doc could've made Frank change his mind or something, he couldn't know. He was many, many things, but psychic wasn't one of them. "C'mon," Doc said again, climbing into the driver's seat and waiting for Dylan, then gunning the engine to life. "I know it's not shit for consolation in times like these," he said as he pulled away from the curb at a slow pace, "But I've been where you are right now. Both real-world and headspace, I'm guessing."

Dylan climbed into the front seat, there was no way he was going to argue about actually going. He didn't like the idea but as much as he hated the idea of being in some stranger's house with his two strange children, it would be worse to stay in his father's empty house. it would be worse there with nobody to keep him company apart from the little ghost girl he'd seen inside. He shivered at the thought of seeing her again. She hadn't hurt him or May but it had been scary and his dad hadn't had many answers about why she was there either. That hadn't made him feel any better either, he'd have to go back to Nevermore and look up some more books about it, swap the werewolf and psychic books for ones about ghosts. He'd need money to do that though and that was another problem right there. Frank or Nate shared what they had but Doc had no obligation, no reason to give him cash just to get him out of the house. He slumped down into his seat and sighed. Frank's sudden leaving fucked everything up and he hadn't even been able to give Dylan a decent reason as to why. He'd umm'd and ah'd about it but never actually said why and it bothered Dylan now. He had his ideas but he had no proof and that was a bother.

Dylan was quiet for most of the drive. He heard Doc talking but he just didn't have anything to say to keep the conversation going and besides, silence was probably better. If he spoke, he'd say mean things and Doc would probably kick him out sooner. It was going to happen anyway but why tempt fate? A couple of blocks from his house, he sighed again. "Yeah, you've been where I am, huh? Like, for real or just in that way adults say they always know how you feel?" He watched Doc for a moment then turned back to look out of his own window at the street. "He didn't even tell me why he's going, you know. Kind of sucks, keep wondering if it's just him being a nomadic A again or if it's because I had too many nightmares or something. I do that, just so you know, lots of them. It's fuc, uh, fudged up. Sorry."

"No, it's fucked up, I know. No need to edit yourself around me," Doc assured him with a thin smile, half-focused on the roads. "And I've been there for real. Not identical? You know a lot more of the score than I did, which is either bad or good, depending on your perspective. But... I still have nightmares too. Been doing this a long time, and they've never gotten better. As for the details of how I know? Your choice on whether you feel like listening to an old man ramble or not." He glanced over briefly, offering an apologetic smile. Even if he did understand on some level, Dylan wouldn't accept that immediately. Doc would need to build up some trust first.

Dylan watched Doc closely. There was a lot he wanted to ask te other man. They were things he should have asked his father but Frank wasn't there and never had been before anyway. Even when he wasn't halfway across the country dealing with 'insurance', his mother's boyfriends had never lasted long enough to take Frank's place, both for him or for her. In terms of proper fatherly figures like TV said they should be, with caring and concern and all that other good stuff Dylan had never found in Frank? Doc was the closest thing he had ever had and he was nearly an adult. It as a depressing thought. It wasn't Doc's fault, Dylan knew that, but it didn't stop him blaming the man for it. It was easier, he was right there. Who knew where his father was by now and even if Dylan hated him with every ounce of energy he found, he knew it would do no good. Not like Fran would have noticed anyway.

He stared at the man for what felt like a long time and even though he already knew what kind of answer he'd give, he still took his time to answer the question. Pretending to decide was easier than awkward silence. Finally he shook the hair from his eyes and turned back to look out of the passenger window. "Maybe another time," he mumbled. He brought one foot under him and leaned against the cool glass pane. He was quiet again for a long time. He spent his time focusing on the street; a blur of white houses, beige ones, bright gardens with melting snow, happy families, unhappy ones... It didn't matter what kind was likely to lay behind the doors of each building, the thought that they were there with their families still sent a surge of jealousy through him each time he remembered his were not. When they were nearing their new home, although Dylan had no way of knowing it, he looked back at Doc. For a moment he didn't say anything but then he cleared his throat and asked, "Do I get my own room or do I have to share with your twins? Telling you now, not good with kids younger than I am."

"You're in luck on both counts, then," Doc answered with a grin, silently hoping Dylan wouldn't feel too weird with what was waiting for him. Teddybear, the AI that had watched over the twins' mother and then the twins themselves, had a soft spot for kids like Dylan. So Doc really hadn't been too surprised when the sentient program had informed him that it was getting Dylan some new things. A laptop, a decent stereo, a cellphone, they were little things. But they were also decent comforts in some situations. "You get your own room, and the twins are both older than you. Not by a whole ton, but enough that I don't think you need to worry. They're good kids, they're looking forward to meeting you. Only thing to anticipate, I'd say, is Voltaire. That dog is permanently in a puppy mentality."

"We have a dog?" It was only there for a moment but the excitement in Dylan was obvious while it lasted. He turned his whole body to look at Doc. He studied him for a moment with a wide grin until he reminded himself that it didn't matter. He didn't care. He slumped back down into the car's seat and looked out the window again. "You have a dog," he corrected himself. He shifted again to get comfortable and stole another brief look at Dc. It was clear the man was trying to be friendly, to try and help, and Dylan felt bad for the cold wall. But it was safer that way, easier to keep his guard up. Maybe it would hurt less when Doc got sick of him like the others did. He sighed and took another breath before he spoke again; "Do I have a curfew and can I still see my friends? Even if you drive me there and pick me up, that's what Nate did sometimes, but I can still hang out with them, right?"

"We have a dog," Doc asserted with a nod, sighing as he put a note of certainty into his voice. He didn't want to force this, but if he even tried a little? Maybe it'd defeat some of Dylan's worries. "All I'm going to say is that as long as you want to stay, you're part of 'we', okay? My home is your home, as much as it can be." And he didn't expect much progress from the words, so it was good that they were nearly to the house. "Good questions, though," Doc went on, "Yes, you can still see your friends. You can have them over if things don't get too crazy, even. As for a curfew? Here's how the twins and I did things. When it hits dark, you call to check in, you make sure you have a ride home. As long as you do both of those? Eleven P.M. during the week, midnight on weekends. And I'm not trying to be a bastard, but don't go for sneaking out. I don't sleep." And it sounded like a deadpan joke, but with Doc? It was very true.

Dylan didn't believe Doc's reassurances. His aunty had promised the same things when Jade had just died and they were both in mourning. It didn't last long enough. When Amber's grief changed to anger, she put the burden of care onto Frank. Not that Frank had ever really been there in the first place and he'd gotten sick of that burden too. Yeah, Doc wouldn't keep him for very long either. He could promise all he wanted until they almost sounded believable but... Dylan sighed and wriggled in his seat. "Yeah, whatever you want. Sounds fair. It's later than I got before, Nate didn't like me staying out past 10. Didn't care what I did when I got home but I think he liked having me around cause neither of us slept much." He paused and when he started again, his voice was lighter, more teasing; "Like you, guess that's at least something we've got in common. Don't suppose you like skateboards and punk-rock too?"

Doc laughed good-naturedly as he slowed and started swinging the car and trailer up into the driveway of the house. It was a big place, they still hadn't really devoted every room to a purpose. Probably because of possibilities like this. "I was a little old to get in on the skateboarding craze," he answered, "But I can ride one without falling on my ass if I want to. Punk rock though... I've seen the Clash in concert, Dylan. And if you promise not to mock the format and take care of them? I'll let you at my records. Got some choice old Iggy and the Stooges LPs." He pulled in fully, parking and cutting off the engine, then looking toDyl with a thoughtful grin. "C'mon, let's go check in with the twins. If they haven't ordered dinner yet, we can do that before we start unpacking. There's some stuff in your room you might want to keep around. Don't ask me what, I'm not ruining anything," he said, grabbing his keys and hopping out. It was a rocky start, but Doc was used to that. Really, it meant that there was plenty of room for things to get better.