It was rainy, your eyes following one specific drop of water that trickled down the window of the back passenger side door. You were currently on your way to a group home with your parents, going to pick up their newest foster.

James Keech.

Having skimmed over his file that the social worker gave your parents after the visit before. He seemed harmless. Only eleven years old, four foot seven inches. Those sweet, baby fat softened cheeks.

Though after reading through the file a bit more, you had found out that James was sent to the all boys home after one of his teachers found out about a stray cat that he “played too rough with”.

You were yanked from your thoughts as the car pulled up to the large building. The conversation between your father and the guy in the booth was drawn out, your fingers fidgeting with your book.

Once your mother and father got out of the car and walked towards the main building, you leaned back in your seat. Eyes staring up at the ceiling, mind wandering to random things.

Would he like you?

What if he was uncomfortable around you forever?

What if this kid tries to kill you–

Getting pulled from your thoughts, you sat up and blinked a few times when the back driver's side door opened. You watched as the young boy crawled into the backseat.

James’ greys landed on you, a tiny bit startled and guarded since he didn't expect you to be back here. Your mother did warn him that you would be in the car though, he should have expected it. He quickly looked up as your parents got into the driver's seat and passenger seat.

“...um, hi, James.” you awkwardly greeted, giving the boy a small nod.

James just stared at you, glancing down at the box and magazines in his lap. Before he gave a tiny nod and little grunt of a hello, James studied you. Your demeanor. Whether or not you were a threat.

But all he found in your eyes was also an awkward kid, trying to make the orphan feel comfortable around you. He didn't want your pity, but maybe a friend would be nice. Someone to talk to.

Plus he'll be living with you until your parents have enough of him.

~

“This is your bedroom. Mine is right across the hall, and the bathroom is to the left of my bedroom. And we can paint your walls if you want.” you slightly rambled, holding James' backpack while you showed him the pretty damn near bare bedroom.

White walls, a twin sized bed pushed against the wall in the corner, a dresser, and a small chest at the foot of the bed.

“Um, thanks.” James murmured, the first thing to ever come out of his lips around you.

You sent him a soft smile, handing him his backpack after he set the small wooden box and magazines down on the bed. “Really. Just say the word. My mom has been on this whole “home renovation” kick.”

James gave you a tiny smile and a little nod, “I'll…I'll take you up on that.”

After giving him an awkward nod, you tumbled with your fingers, “Yeah, um, I'll be in my bedroom if you need anything. My mom is working in her office, and my dad is downstairs playing with his little plane models.”

James watched as you walked out of his new bedroom, and to the room across from his. Curiously, James tried to take a peek into your bedroom, eyes landing on the soft pink walls, and a canopy bed. Probably your childhood room that was yet to be renovated or changed by your teen years.

~

James was still trying to get used to the fact that he had an actual family. It had already been a month, and your parents still put up with his outbursts at school– hell, your parents went through the trouble to get him to a new school.

He had warmed up to you the most, mostly just wandering into your bedroom while you're on the phone, or working on something for school, and just sitting with you. Watching, listening, trying to start a conversation if you as long as you didn't seem too busy.

The young boy had even shown you his own “private zoo”, which worried him at first. Terrified that maybe you'd tell your parents, and he was going to be sent back to the group house and bossed around by the penguins again.

But to his surprise, you were definitely weirded out, but assured him that you wouldn't tell. And that maybe he should take up dissecting on road kill if it really interested him that much.

James even met your friends, and they thought he was just adorable. Those fat little cheeks, puppy dog eyes. He had you and your friends wrapped around his little finger.

And sometimes, when he would have nightmares about his mother, or past abusive families he's stayed with over the years, you'd let him crawl into your bed.

He could recall the first time it ever happened.

~

Jolting up in his bed with a gasp, James tried to calm his pounding heart as tears steadily rolled down his cheeks. Quickly looking around his dark bedroom, trying to reassure his panicking self that he was home. Not in that old place where most of his trauma started.

Wiping his cheeks with the soft cotton of his sweatshirt, James crawled out his bed, untangling himself from the sheets and blankets as he slowly stalked towards your bedroom across the hall.

He could faintly make out the color lights that strung out around the living room. It was the holidays, and James was having his first real holiday experience in a couple days.

Slowly turning the door knob to your bedroom door, James gently pushed it open and walked into your bedroom. Squinting his eyes, James could make out your form curled up under your blankets on your bed.

Tiptoeing his way over, James hesitantly shook your shoulder, nervous that you'd be mad at him for waking you up this late. His heart pounded in his chest when you stirred with a soft groan.

As you tried to realize what was going on, blinking the sleep from your eyes, you caught sight of James standing next to your bed. Jumping a little from the unexpected sight, you quickly softened your gaze when you could see his wet cheeks in the moonlight through your curtains, glistening under it.

“H-hey…what's wrong?” you mumbled, voice thick with a sleepy rasp, sitting up on your elbows as you watched him, waiting for an explanation.

James nervously shifted on his feet, toying with his fingers before blurting out, “Can I sleep in your bed? Please.”

“Yeah…yeah of course. C’mere…” you murmured, lifting the soft, plush throw blanket up, nodding down to the spot next to you.

The young boy didn't waste a second, clambering into your warm bed and practically curling into your side, fingers clenching your pajama top. Burying his face against your chest, James let out a shaky sigh, melting into your touch as your arms circled him.

“...are you okay?” you hesitantly asked, fingers idly playing with his fluffy locks while your eyes trained down at the down of his head.

“...bad dream…” James mumbled, holding his ear against the calming beat of your heart.

You let out a soft, sad hum, “...you wanna talk about it?”

James paused, staring off at the wall, eyes tracing over the posters and pictures littered on the pink painted walls. “...no. I don't really…”

“I'll still be here when you wake up. Promise…” you uttered lightly, closing your eyes and drifting back off to dreamland.

James tried not to frown when the gentle caress of your fingers in his hair faltered, but pushed up into the soft weight of your hand. A soft sigh tumbled from his lips, a headache starting to form from all of the crying he did in his sleep.

~

It had been almost six months since your family welcomed James into your home with open arms. And it had been a very eventful six months. James was much more warmed up to you guys, and he even referred to your own parents as “mom and dad”. Only to you of course.

Just a simple little “have you seen mom or dad anywhere?” is what started it, and he panicked a little after. Scared that maybe he was getting too close, and that somehow he'd lose this family.

It was spring now, and James was currently waiting for you to pick him up from school. He had gotten into a fight with another boy from school. Holding the wad of paper towels to his nose, James perked up when he saw your familiar beat up sedan pull up.

James walked towards the car, reaching for the passenger door. Pulling it open, James crawled into the seat, tossing his bag in the backseat and putting his seatbelt back on with a soft ‘click’.

“...so what happened? Mom called me after your school called her. Something about a fight?” you hummed, shifting into the car into drive and pulling away from the school.

“A stupid dick told me that mom and dad fostered me out of fucking pity.” James spat, glaring down at his lap before glancing up at you.

You slammed on the breaks, accidentally sending both you and James forward. “What?!”

James grunted a little when the seatbelt dug into his neck when it locked. You pulled the car to the side, putting it in park and turning the radio down.

“Pardon?” you looked over at the young boy, eyes darting down to the bloodied wad against his nose, “Did he do that to you?!”

James just stared up at you, a little bit panicked that you were mad at him. “Maybe he did! What's it to you?!”

“James, I'm not mad at you! I want to know if I have to go kill a sixth grader!” you explained, waving your hands around a bit animatedly.

James gave a confused look, but weighed his pros and cons. Maybe if you stood up for him, the bullies would finally leave him alone. But then again, did he want to be known as the kid who had his sister fight his battles?

Yeah. Maybe that would be okay.

~

You and James leaned against the hood of your car, waiting for the little shit to come out of the school building. The two of you absolutely played hooky and ditched school, got ice cream and food too. And came back just in time after school.

“So which one is he?” you asked, glancing down at James, wincing a little at the large bruise on his nose and around his eye.

James squinted a little, looking around the crowd of after school clique kids. “That one. The one in the red shirt.”

James' grey eyes followed your back as you walked over to his little group of bullies. His heart was pounding with every nervous breath he sucked into his lungs. Fingernails digging into the soft, pale skin of his wrist, James waited with a berated breath.

“Hey, little shithead.” you called out, standing in front of the younger boy.

The boys around him looked between their friend and you, silently asking the same question. Who the fuck was this?

“...do I know you?” The twelve year old asked, looking around oddly, before back at you.

“Yeah. You know James Keech? The boy you keep bullying?” you refreshed the boy's mind, glaring at him.

The boy snickered, clearly not scared of you, “The orphan? What about him?”

You leaned closer to him, your breath fanning across his face as you gave him a death stare, “Well I'm his big sister, and I can't keep letting him get bullied by a little fuck up like you.”

“Oh really? You? You do realize your parents only took him out of pity–”

“You keep opening your mouth and shitting out nonsense, I'll have to shove my fist so far up your ass that it reaches your throat, and then I'll rip out vocal cords.” you threatened, eyes hardening as you silently dared the boy to argue. “I also have a car. It'd suck if no-one could ever find your fuckin' body after I dump it in a lake.”

The three younger boys slowly backed away, giving you a look of slight fear and disgust, before the main red shirt one spoke up, “Yeah…we'll leave him alone.”

“That's what I fuckin' thought.” you hissed, before standing up straight and walking back over James.

James watched you in awe as he climbed into the passenger seat, eyes on you as you got in the driver's seat. His mouth was a little agape, eyes full of pure awe and maybe even adoration.

Someone stood up for him. Someone cared enough about him to give a twelve year old a death threat.

You cared about him.

It made his heart race and his chest feel warm as he realized that you actually loved him.

“Wanna go to the mall and get ICEEs?” you asked, peeling out of the school and onto the road.