#bbsd

The first thing Shay thinks when she wakes up at four in the morning to the sound of something in her trash can is, “Fucking raccoons.”

“Sam,” she says, sitting up and nudging her brother with her foot as she turns on the light. “Get up.”

“Nn,” Sam replies, rolling over so his face is swallowed by his pillow.

She nudges him again, using the sharpest part of her elbow. “Sam, get up. Or I’ll cook breakfast.”

One minute of exaggerated retching sounds later, Sam is up, rubbing his eyes and stumbling his way into a pair of pants. “You’re the worst sister, you know that right?” he mutters, shooting a fuzzy, bleary-eyed glare to the wall behind Shay. She snorts.

“Something’s in the garbage outside, and I made sure not to leave food out there, so any potential raccoons are your problem.”

“Shay,” Sam says, mouth hanging open, eyes still bleary but managing to look deeply wounded. “You would do this to me? Your own twin? You would heartlessly sacrifice me to the raccoons, without even a way to defend myself?” He places his hand on his chest, shaking his head slowly. “And here I thought you loved me.”

Shay rolls her eyes, grabbing the broom from the corner and shoving it at him. “Don’t die,” she says, pushing him towards the sliding glass door.

With a final dramatic sigh, Sam steps out onto the patio. He shuts the door behind him, luckily, but Shay can still dimly see his shape through the glass as he approaches the trash can and immediately starts smacking whatever’s inside with a broom.

Her brother is many things, but he has never claimed to be smart.

He’s dealing with it, at least, so Shay lies back down and pulls the covers over her head. She’s in that floaty space between awake and asleep when she hears Sam screech, and she’s up as fast as she can manage, pulling the patio door open before her eyes are open.

“Not a raccoon!” Sam yelps as she steps outside, rushing over and trying to hide behind her despite being half a foot taller. And indeed, Shay can see the thing in the trash, and it’s definitely not a raccoon. For one thing, raccoons don’t come in that shade of orange. For another, they don’t talk.

“Ow,” the not-raccoon says, and Shay gapes.

“Why are you in my trash can?” she blurts out, and the not-raccoon hunches their shoulders, retreats into the can a bit. Their eyes shine in the dim light. Shay rubs hers, hoping to wake back up in bed.

“Uh,” they say. “I was. Uh.” Their eyes dart around, looking at everything but Shay and Sam.

There’s some food on the ground, Shay realizes. A collection of scraps.

“Are you hungry?” Shay asks, and this time they look at her. “I can get you some food, if you want. Like, food that isn’t garbage.”

She can feel Sam’s disapproving glare, which she chooses to ignore. The person slowly climbs out of the trash can.

It’s a kid.

Okay, maybe not a kid, but there’s no way the person standing in front of her is over 18, and if she’s honest, they look closer to twelve. They’re short, really short, with a mop of fluffy orange hair and a smattering of freckles and eyes that are more gold than brown. There’s something about the eyes, something that tells her this kid is older than they seem. Those eyes aren't a child's. They're the eyes of someone that's seen something awful.

“I’m Shay, and this is Sam. What’s your name?” she asks, and the kid looks away, tugging on the sleeves of their oversized hoodie.

“Cinna,” they say quietly.

“Sam, can you go start some water for tea? And, y’know, a snack. I’m sure they’re hungry.”

“He,” Cinna says, barely audible, but Shay corrects herself regardless, even as Sam retreats inside.

“I’m sure he’s hungry,” she repeats, and Cinna looks startled. “You wanna come in?”

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Inside. Where it’s warm? And we have a kitchen table you can eat at?”

“Why?” Cinna asks. It’s Shay’s turn to be confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being all….nice?” he asks, now fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie.

It’s…..not an unreasonable question, if Shay’s being honest. Why is she doing this? It’s four in the morning and she found this kid in her trash can. Why is she inviting him into her house?

“Sleep deprivation,” she says, and opens the sliding door. “You wanna come in or not?”

Cinna hesitates as she walks through the door, then follows after her. She shoots him a grin, leading him down the hall to the kitchen table. Sam’s already got some food started, and Shay can recognize the familiar hum of the tea kettle. Cinna’s eyes are wide as Sam cracks a couple eggs into a bowl, then shrugs and adds in all the eggs.

“Sam,” Shay starts, but he cuts her off.

“If I’m getting woken up at four am to make eggs for a raccoon, I’m making enough eggs for me to eat too,” he says, and Shay can’t really argue with that. “Grab me the cheese. The good cheese, not that garbage stuff.”

“I’m banned from the fridge, remember?” Shay says, smirking as she goes to the pantry instead, grabbing a couple bags of tea and squinting at the kid at her table.

He’d probably like cinnamon tea. She gets the tea bags and sugar and honey and focuses on making tea, rather than the cloud of worries buzzing behind her.

(What is she doing? There’s no possible way this ends with anything good, she’s lucky if this doesn’t end with her or Sam getting stabbed, why is she being such an idiot-)

The timer dings. She pours the tea into a few tea cups and brings one to Cinna, who stares at her blankly.

“It’s tea,” she informs him, then clarifies, “cinnamon tea?” when he still looks blank.

“Cinnamon,” he repeats, staring at the cup like it holds the secrets of the universe. Hell, maybe it does. It’s four am, weirder things have happened.

Shay takes a seat across from Cinna. “So, uh… Where you from?”

Cinna tenses. Shit, bad question. Shay sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, different question: What were you doing in my trash can at four in the morning?”

“Looking for food,” Cinna admits, still staring intently at his tea.

God, this is awkward. Shay glances over at Sam, sending a prayer that he’ll hurry up and finish cooking, but he’s as oblivious as ever, whistling as he grates cheese. The eggs aren’t even in a pan yet.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” Shay says, after a minute of painful silence. “I’m just - it’s a little weird to find a kid in my garbage, y’know?”

“I’m not a kid,” Cinna mutters.

“Doesn’t make it any less weird. Hell, if I found an old man in my garbage, that’d be even worse.”

There’s a very faint noise from Cinna that might be a laugh. Shay feels like she’s just won a prize. “For real, though. I’m not gonna bite.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Cinna says.

“Then what are you worried about?”

He doesn’t reply, just takes a long, slow sip of tea.

“Everything,” he says finally.

How do you respond to that? Short answer: you don’t. Shay and Cinna spend the next few minutes in tense, awkward silence, while Sam hums and makes scrambled eggs.

Finally, finally, he finishes, bringing three plates over to the table. He winks at Cinna when he puts down his plate, then gives Shay a quick “what-the-fuck-are-you-doing” glance once Cinna’s distracted.

“So, Cinna, right?” Sam asks, shoveling eggs into his mouth. Cinna doesn’t respond, focused solely on inhaling his food as fast as is physically possible. It’s a little terrifying, if Shay’s being honest. “....Alright then,” Sam says, giving Shay a nervous side glance.

“Huh?” Cinna says, literally licking his plate.

“...Do you want more?” Sam asks. Cinna nods at first, then stops and shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Shay pushes her plate over to him, and he looks back and forth from her to the plate, looking stricken.

“I’m not hungry. Go ahead, eat mine,” Shay says, trying for a gentle, comforting smile.

With some hesitation, Cinna does so. Sam stands up dramatically, pushing his plate towards Cinna. “Well, I think I’m done,” he announces, nudging his plate just a little closer to Cinna, who doesn’t seem to notice Sam’s dramatics. “Shay, can you help me wash the dishes?” he asks, giving her a Look.

“Sure,” Shay says. She follows Sam to the kitchen.

“Shay, what the fuck,” Sam says, turning on the sink and speaking just above a whisper.

“Uh,” Shay says.

“Seriously, Shay - What the fuck?”

“I couldn't just leave him there!” Shay whispers defensively.

“Yes you could! He's not a stray cat, Shay! He's a random kid we found in the trash! We're lucky if he doesn't steal everything we own and stab us!”

He's not saying anything Shay hasn't already thought, but somehow it's much more annoying said by him.

“He's like, four feet tall. I've seen dogs scarier than that kid. Tiny dogs.”

“Tiny dogs are the most vicious,” Sam says. Shay sighs.

“Look, you're right, okay? I just - felt bad for him. And I really don't think he's gonna try anything. He-” there’s a crashing sound from the living room.

“You were saying?” Sam says, raising an eyebrow, and Shay just gives him an annoyed huff before rushing to check the damage.

Except….there isn't any. The plates on the table are empty but unbroken, the chairs out of place but intact, even the tablecloth is fine.

The sliding door, however, is wide open, and an outside chair's been knocked over. There's no sign of Cinna.