Chapter Text
Vi has always known Powder is a little bit of an unusual duckling—curved beak and black feathers and all—so it's only a mild surprise when Powder's homeroom teacher gives Vander a note and informs him about her increasingly odd behaviors in class. When Vi rushes to the councilor office, all the anger drains right out of her when she spots Powder sitting solemnly by herself at the door, and Vi just wants to scoop the little kid in her arms and take her home.
“I don't want to go to school, Vi,” Powder tells her after Vi's cheered her up with a popsicle.
They're sitting outside Benzo’s on a wood bench, and Vi’s already finished her split of the popsicle while Powder's still nursing on it.
Powder’s always been smaller than kids her age. Too small. Vi tries not to worry that much, and it's working right until she spots a fresh bruise on Powder’s shin.
She hides the worry in her voice when she asks, “Yeah? Why is that,” and watches Powder watching the strawberry juice drip down in between her fingers.
Powder shrugs, and that makes the hurt in Vi’s chest spread wider.
Now she's regretting not punching the counselor in the face when he told her: ‘Powder has trouble focusing on the simplest tasks’ instead of addressing how the bruise got there in the first place. Vi’d looked at him long and hard before throwing back: ‘Tell that to my dad’ and left with Powder's backpack on her shoulder.
She didn't trust herself enough not to do anything stupid that would cause Powder more trouble. Like punching him in the fucking face.
“Is Mylo bothering you?” Vi eventually asks, because even if the little prick is Silco’s adoptive kid, and she’s come to love Silco like a third dad, she has absolutely no problem folding Mylo into a fucking pretzel. Vi declares, “I'll kill him.”
Powder finally turns to face Vi, and the way she smiles with her tooth gap makes Vi forget about the little prick, just a bit. She's still going to punch his face in if he's the one responsible for this.
Powder shakes her head, sitting small and sweet.
“He wouldn't dare, Uncle Sil would kill him first.”
Vi still has no idea what happened to Powder at school by the time dinner is ready. The house’s eerily quiet. Well, more quiet than usual. Tonight, even the clinks of cutlery hitting the plates sounds deafening, and everybody present has barely made a dent into the chicken parm.
Eventually, Vander drops his fork and folds his thick arms together. Her dad’s all rolled up sleeves and gentle eyes, but nobody in town fucks with Vander. “I understand the new change is hard—but you gotta focus more on school, Powder.”
Powder’s slumped in her chair, picking at the Italian takeout Vander bought home, and Vi can't stand the look on her face, small and so fucking defenseless, the words blurt out of her before she can stop, “Why is everybody blaming her?”
Vi’s had everybody and their fucking neighbors blaming her for everything that went wrong in their life. Their kid scraped his knees? Vi’s fault. Lost his bike? Vi must've taken it to the pawn shop. Somebody’s daughter snuck out at night and came back incoherent and reeked of beer? Her fucking fault apparently.
Okay, she did steal a boat—once—and almost crashed it going full speed trying to parallel park, but it was Vander’s boat. And she didn't crash it. But everybody started locking up their boats after that like their shitty Lunds were anything of her interests.
So she can't stand it when Vander starts looking for faults in Powder like she's some delinquent that needed ass-whooping.
“I'm not blaming anybody,” Vander says, and he has the same defeated look he wore after the boat incident. “I'm just saying school is important, and if Powder wants to be an engineer, then school is extra important.”
Vi knows he's being reasonable, MIT is hard as shit to get in, and Powder’s always been the brighter one. So Vi has no doubt that's where Powder will be attending after highschool. But the thought still sticks with her even after the cold shower. She wanted to say to Vander—actually, fuck it—to everybody: “Focusing on 2x + 8 = 36 is fucking hard when everybody else’s on board about making your life a living hell—isn't it?”
Point is, Vi’s still mad.
***
The next day, Vi leaves school early just so she can ambush Mylo at the bus pickup line, but not for whatever fucked up reasons Mylo harbored since his face looks about the same color as when he pissed himself in third grade. Honestly, waiting out under the sun makes her feel a little stupid and a little too sweaty, since all the kids pouring out of the main building keep throwing glances her way. She's not even doing much. Is leaning against a chain-link fence with her arms crossed considered a crime now?
The massive grass lawn at Powder's middle school glows so offensively bright, it takes Vi a good sweep to identify Mylo's spiky head trying to blend in with the twintails and buzzcuts. And he almost makes it inside the bus when Vi dashes for the line and grabs him by the back of his collar.
“I didn't do anything! I swear!” Mylo screams and scrambles backwards, his dirty sneakers slapping on the concrete as he breaks into a run for Claggor, who's just as clueless as the frightened boy. Seeing Mylo almost tripping over himself makes Vi want to laugh a little. She raises both of her hands as signs of good faith. If she wanted his face caved in, his face would’ve been caved in.
“I'm not going to punch you,” she says with her palm open and facing him. See?
“I don't know anything!” Mylo yells, clutching harder at his brother’s backpack. “Uh, Clag, where are you going?”
Claggor glances at Vi, and promptly decides he has no business in this, he's already angling his chest away. “The bus is leaving, and dad’s going to be pissed if we’re late again.”
“No! Don’t leave!” Mylo screams, and that's about all he can manage before Vi drags him back by the elbow, and he's got himself squeezed between the fence and Vi.
Vi wonders about how she looks to him right now. Probably ridiculous.
Claggor’s halfway up the bus steps, and he doesn't look back when he says, “Don't get home too late, you're on dinner duty tonight.”
The further the bus pulls away, the paler Mylo gets, and he’s wearing one of those shirts he must've stolen from Claggor, which do him the opposite of buff and threatening. There's some cicadas screaming overhead, and it's unbearably hot as she's cornering Mylo under the tree's shade. She removes her hands from his shoulders, tries her best to sound neutral, “Look, before Powder comes out, I just want to ask you a few things, okay?”
Mylo presses his lips together intelligently. On a normal day, Vi’d say that's smart, but now it's getting him closer to actually getting punched in the face.
“Jesus, I'm not a cop—relax,” she says, and Mylo still has his head halfway in his shoulders until Vi adds, “Did you notice anything strange about Powder lately?”
“Powder?” Mylo blurts, surprised. And that makes Vi blush a little, somehow. His eyes search for her fists, then her face. When Vi doesn’t do anything except wait, some of the panic drains out of him. “I dunno, I don’t have a lot of classes with her so…”
Well, that's a waste. Maybe she should've gone for Claggor. But at least Mylo still knows she can kill him if he chooses to mess with Powder.
Mylo grabs his shoulder straps, and looks at the tree, his brows scrunching up. “But I heard she's hanging out with this new kid, Ekko.”
Vi looks at him dead in the eyes, and Mylo tucks his neck back into his shell. “Ekko? Benzo’s kid?”
She met Ekko once at Benzo’s. He was helping move inventory when she walked in behind Vander and heard her old man greet the boy. She likes him—sweet little kid with unusual white hair; toothy grin, like Powder—and the boy was nice enough to keep her company while Vander went off looking for wood planks with Benzo.
Vi eyes Mylo, skeptical. “What? You don’t hang out with him?”
Mylo swallows, “Uh yeah, can I go home now?”
***
Summer’s approaching rapidly. Meaning it's about two years since the afternoon Powder arrived at Vi’s doorstep with three garbage bags to her name.
After the hello and how are you doing, Vander’d let Powder settle and get used to the vacant lunches and later the slow dinners at their house. Vi’s parents were long gone, and she’d never had a sibling before, but she knew this day would come and she’d told herself beforehand to make whoever the newcomer to feel at home. She thought she would have to try and love this kid, then during one of those grinding lunches, she discovered she didn't have to try at all.
That day, neither Vi nor Powder had school—it was summer break, blissful summer break—and Vi thought it was good that Powder’d arrived in between school years, otherwise she would struggle with eating lunch alone at school and pretending she didn't care like Vi did. Vander was greater than any foster parents Vi’d ever had to put up with, all gentle eyes and endless patience, but he snored louder than a bulldog with asthma, and Vi’d struggled to fall asleep her first week too.
At least Vander was consistent. Every morning he’d hand over lunch money, start up his truck, and leave Powder in Vi’s care.
“Hey kid,” Vi said. She’d tried to sound like Vander, cool and gentle and not spooking the hell out of the already frightened duckling sitting on the couch.
Powder looked up from the TV and eyed Vi for a moment before saying in a small voice, “Yeah?”
“I'm tired of ordering Chinese. Wanna go get burgers?”
“I don't have a bike,” Powder said, shifting nervously on the couch.
Vi grinned, and went in for the kill. “Who said you needed one?”
Vi’d almost laughed herself sick on the way to Jerico’s. Powder was hanging on for dear life behind her, standing on the two studs sticking out from the wheel. It was an old BMX Vander’d bought for her previous birthday, she loved that thing to death.
“Vi! Slow down!”
“It's okay, trust me,” Vi yelled back, and laughed when Powder yelped and hugged her tighter as the bike rolled down the tree-lined curbside.
Jerico’s was always busy and smelled faintly of fryer grease. People bustling in and out the kitchen, bumping into each other at the front door, and Vi’d put a hand on the small of Powder’s back to keep her steady while they waited in line. The kid just ordered a burger, not even a milkshake or anything to wash it down with. So before returning to their table, Vi’d remembered to grab two straws and settle the Coke between them.
“I told you Jerico's got the best cheeseburger,” Vi said around her mouthful of grease. She pushed her tray over and offered Powder her fries. “Whatcha think?”
“It's good,” Powder said around the second bite of the burger, and it made Vi ridiculously happy seeing the kid reach for the fries.
After a few days of living together, Vi’d come to a conclusion: Powder was too skinny, and the kid barely ate. No wonder she looked smaller than her age.
Powder, though, seemed to disagree.
“I eat a lot—I just don’t grow,” she said and stuffed her mouth with a fistful of fries in retaliation, which nearly made her choke and turn bright red.
Vi pushed over the soda, grinning when Powder washed down the fries in gulps. “Easy kiddo,” and, “Finish your burger then, I'll take you to Benzo’s after.”
“Benzo’s?”
“Uh huh, you like ice cream?”
Powder nodded. She took another tiny bite of her burger while Vi’d already moved on with dipping the fries in ketchup. After another bite, Powder spoke up.
“Vi, did you lock the door?”
“Shit!”
By the time they made it home, the popsicle was half melted. But Vi was relieved the door was actually locked—Vander’d given her an earful the last time she left the door unlocked. Vi dropped down on the steps, her BMX laying half-hazardly on the front lawn, roasting under the blazing sun.
“Well, it's gonna melt if you don't eat it,” Vi told Powder, who was holding on to the popsicle like she had forgotten about picking it out at Benzo’s. Her hair stuck out in twelve places, and she’d got that thousand-yard stare in her eyes like she’d just survived a Dakar race over the desert.
Powder shook herself back to their front porch, and looked down at the popsicle meant for two. “Can we share?”
Vi didn't really like strawberry flavored ones, but she tore up the thin plastic and snapped the thing down the middle, then handed one half over. Vi’d always been a fast eater, it took her approximately two and a half bites before she was chewing on the wooden stick. When she looked over, Powder’d got red juice running down her wrist.
“Are you getting used to the new bed?” Vi asked after she returned from inside the house with a handful of napkins.
Powder took one of the napkins and wrapped it around the popsicle stick. It took her a while to answer, “I dunno, I think so.”
Vi’d smiled, and thought about her first week at the house, tossing and turning and hiding under the pillow to escape Vander’s thunderous snoring.
“I couldn't sleep till the second week—you're doing fine, kid.”
***
Vi gets home before 4pm, just enough time to take a shower and crash on the couch before anybody else gets home. The house is usually empty at this hour, Vander’s working away at his establishment downtown, and Powder’s building robots or whatever she does at her after school science club.
Powder had a hard time fitting in at school, and Vi didn't blame her—not then, not now. Kids are fucking assholes. And Vi doesn't know two shits about robots, but she thinks Powder making new friends is good. School is whatever. The science club, though, she thinks that’s good for Powder. Seeing Powder get excited over the weirdest things always puts a smile on Vi’s face. A broken washing machine could have her talking for an hour about gears and wiring and things Vi barely understands. She breaks more shit than she fixes, but that never seems to discourage her. Powder has time. She’ll figure it out eventually.
Vi wonders if she should do that—let Powder figure it out on her own. Then she remembers the bruise on Powder’s shin, the way she’d looked when she admitted she hated school, and the worry comes rushing back.
She sighs and stares at the ceiling fan, humming its reassurance and Vi flips it off before she realizes what she’s doing. Just then, her phone buzzes in her jorts pocket. Vander’s sent her a text: ‘kid, i might not close up before benzo's closed’ and Vi’s already mid-groaned when the second text arrives, ‘can you come down there and look for pipe seals?”
Benzo thinks it's a good idea to sell deli meat and hardware next to each other. But the store’s been sitting on the same lot of land next to the gas station since forever, so Vi guesses that somehow works. The neon sign flickers on its last breath when Vi walks in, some old tune is blaring out from the aisles speaker.
“Hey kid,” she greets Ekko, who's tinkering with a motherboard—that's about what Vi knows about technology. She looks around the aisles, there are a few shoppers she doesn't recognize, all pushing their carts around idly. “Where's your dad?”
Ekko grins, motioning his head. “He's out back. Are you looking for more wood?”
“Nah, the steps are fixed, the freaking pipes are leaking now,” Vi says, and the words come out easier than she thought. “How's school?”
“Boring,” Ekko tells her, which sounds about right.
Vi grins, putting her weight on one leg. “Powder still hanging out around you?”
“Yeah,” Ekko says. “If I'm being honest, she talks about you a lot.”
“I what?”
“Yeah, you're the only thing she talks about other than nerd stuff,” Ekko says like it's just another day of the week.
Vi knows Powder loves her, but hearing it from someone else, Powder’s classmate, makes Vi want to glow twelve shades of red. She clears her voice, suddenly interested in the candy bars below the register. “Oh yeah? What type of stuff?”
She’s meant the nerd stuff, cybernetics, computers and wires.
“She said you're really good at boxing—is it true you knocked a guy’s teeth out because he made fun of Powder’s hair?” Ekko grins, and that makes Vi want to punch him in the guts a little. He rolls up his sleeves and flexes his tiny biceps. “Man, you gotta teach me how to box, Vi.”
Before Ekko can make her more flustered, she makes him take her to where Benzo stocks the pipe seals.
“You know what pipe size?” Ekko asks and leads the way, past the cured ham and retirees clogging up the discounted roasted chickens. “What kind of leak?”
“No idea,” Vi tells him, she really has no idea. Ekko turns around to face her, the bastard’s already got a glare on his face. She takes out her phone, and says, “Vander sent a picture.”
Ekko takes a long look at the screen and picks out an orange box on the shelf. It's about the size of Vi’s palm—this kid is naturally gifted at finding pipe seals.
After Ekko rings up the total and Vi hands him a crumpled one-hundred dollar bill, he returns the exact change without using the calculator. Damn. Kids these days. Powder’s smart like that too.
“Are you in the science club?” Vi asks, stuffing the change into her pocket.
“Yeah, we’re building a clock this week—Powder said we should install fire alarm sounds when it rings,” Ekko says, and closes the register.
A smile creeps on Vi’s lips, Powder’s always been weird like that. She looks at Ekko, and suddenly can't find the words.
“Can you—” she starts, and forces herself to finish the sentence. “Can you keep an eye on her?”
Ekko’s staring at her like she just told him she's gonna rob his dad. “Me?”
“Yeah." Vi clutches at the pipe seal box, palm sweating. "I'll teach you how to box if you do."