greatamazingfeelingsboy

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au,
michael guerin

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He's not new, not exactly. Caleb's been here maybe a month or two longer than him, but he's the latest new kid to come to the city, so he's still The New Kid. His emotions are always a swirl of hope/boredom/excitement, tinged slightly with a bitter edge, like he's constantly got a bad taste in his mouth, or something. There's more to it, but Caleb can't pinpoint it. He's furtive, distrustful, but it's not an active thing. It's always under the surface, this dark plum purple that's not fear but not suspicion, either.

Wariness, he thinks.

His name is Michael Guerin, and Caleb hates the days he's not in class. His feelings are always so easy to latch onto, because he never has to try. He doesn't stress out. Class is easy for him, but he's going to fail out if he doesn't start participating, which is why Dufresne had suggested him when she'd told Caleb he should look into tutoring.

It's not like Caleb is dumb. He's usually a pretty good student. But he's under eighteen, so he still lives at the Children's Home. He's surrounded by pubescent kids, some of whom don't know how to control their urges, some of whom never fucking sleep, which means Caleb gets, maybe, two hours a night. He goes to school exhausted, has no focus, and has stopped being able to balance the most basic emotions. So his grades are slipping. If they keep slipping, he's going to be kicked off the team, which he really, really doesn't want, so he finds himself outside the auto shop some of the music kids said Michael works at part time, staring at the door like it might swallow him.

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Michael hadn't necessarily meant that his only exit had been back through Roswell. For him, the stars are equally as promising, and he can't help but think that he could still get up there, even if it's in orbit around Darrow.

The alien, going home.

"So you're just good with being here, hanging out?" It's not accusatory, more a real question.

Caleb shrugs. "What choice do I really have?" he points out. He sounds a little bitter, but resigned, and he stands so he can put his math shit away. "I mean, I'm fucking tired, Dude. I'm tired of not sleeping, I'm fucking tired of feeling crazy, I just— I just want to be a normal fucking teenager."

That's more than he'd meant to say, and Caleb huffs an exhausted half-sob as he sits in the booth again, this time across from him, like he's just too tired to even stand anymore. He rubs his face and curses softly into his palm.

"I'm, I'm sorry, you don't need my shit."

"How come you can't sleep?"

Michael gets it, he does. It's nice and decent in Darrow most days, but the winters have been shit and he doesn't sleep so well when it gets too cold, but Caleb's at the group home. It's warm there, they even feed you and give you cash.

If it weren't for his bad experiences with homes, Michael might even be there. He settles the pencil on the table, shifting to lift up his knees, looking him over, reaching to lightly touch Caleb's shoulder, just to get his attention. "You look pretty normal to me."

Caleb shakes his head. "Never mind, um." He pulls out his science textbook and sets it on the table between them. "I don't, I don't want to talk about it, can we just—" He taps the book and rubs his face a little, indicating he just wants to get back to studying.

Michael reaches for the textbooks, closing them. "Okay," is all he says, collecting papers and books, sliding them back into Caleb's backpack. The thing is, he's not hustling them out so he can abandon him.

It's the opposite.

"Move," he says, nudging at Caleb's hip with the tip of his boot. "I know a thing or two about being so exhausted you can't think," he guarantees. "You know what always made me feel better? The other kids at the home would curl in with me. All that warmth, all that hum of noise gone, and then I could sleep."

He prods again, trying to make it clear with a single look that this is his intention for Caleb.

Caleb looks briefly panicked, like he's fucked up, but Michael doesn't want to leave — or at least, he doesn't want to leave Caleb. Then he mentions the home, and he shakes his head.

"No, I, I can't, it's too loud there," he argues, a little desperately. He just needs to be somewhere quiet, somewhere alone, and he can't get that surrounded by other teenagers. "They, they all have their own problems, and someone's always awake, and I can't—" He shakes his head.

"Dude, you clearly need sleep," Michael says bluntly. "And unless you got enough money for a cheap motel, then we're going back to the home, cuz that's the only place I know that's got a bed."

That's the one non-negotiable thing.

They're going somewhere where Caleb can sleep. "I'm waiting for options, otherwise, come on." If he still had his truck from home, maybe that could work, but the bench seats in this one have a center console, so they can't stretch out.

He sighs heavily and rubs his face again. He's too tired to keep arguing, and he doesn't have enough money for a cheap motel. And who knows? Maybe he'll get lucky and everyone will be dead and he'll be able to sleep.

He doesn't mean that. He's just fucking tired.

Flo approaches with the check, but Caleb's wan, apologetic smile is enough for her to rip it in two.

"On the house, Kiddo," she says. "Go take care of whatever you need to take care of."

Michael tries not to be bitter, but he fails. While he got sympathy in Roswell, Arturo had a business to run, and while he could top up his plate with more fries, he never got a check ripped up like that. Clearing his throat, he gestures for them to go.

"Cool," is all he says, and pushes at Caleb, frantic to get out of there now, trying not to relive old wounds, but finding it difficult not to. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

Caleb pulls his bag onto his shoulder, and he follows Michael out of the diner. Once the door closes behind them, he frowns.

"Wait, why are you mad?" he asks, too tired to edit himself.

Michael hadn't said anything about being pissed, and while he might be, he's got his blank face on, which looks more dissociated than angry. Max and Isobel can read him like this, but not usually anyone else. So why does Caleb think he's pissed?

"I didn't say I was mad," he says, and throws Caleb a suspicious look, wondering where that came from.

Caleb flinches away from the suspicion that prods at him, and he shakes his head. "No, sorry," he says. "I just, I thought maybe..." Fuck, he doesn't know. Now that his body is starting to acknowledge how really tired he is, and he's full, and Michael's being pushy and insistent, Caleb's brain is ready to rest.

Michael keeps pushing because whatever is going on, he thinks Caleb's just reading into things. Maybe he's overly sensitive, who the hell knows? Still, he's not about to fuss too much about it. "Cool, I'm not pissed, so let's go," he says, digging out his keys, leaving all the hot dogs still on the table.

He had his fries and his shake, he knows better than to take too much, when he can't offer anything back, and he needs to save his money for a place of his own.

Caleb keeps his mouth shut, because he's certain Michael's lying, but he can't get into it. They climb into Michael's truck, and Caleb hugs his bag close on his lap. He falls quiet as they drive, but after a few moments, the only feelings he can feel are Michael's, and Caleb starts dozing.

Michael parks at the home, reaching over to nudge Caleb awake, but he pauses when he sees how he's sleeping, how peaceful it is. He really wishes he had a truck like his Chevy back in Roswell, but he doesn't. He's got this.

Caleb's going to be more comfortable in a bed, he thinks, and he reaches over to give him a light shake. "Hey," he murmurs. "Wake up, sleeping beauty, we're here."

Caleb grunts as he stirs, and there's a moment where he's still peaceful. Then his brow furrows, as the feelings from the Home flood him. He rubs his face and shakes his head, trying to wake up a little.

"Fuck, that didn't take long," he mumbles.

Michael raises his brows, reaching over for Caleb's bag to take it off his body, remove the weight from him. He doesn't want to push and prod, but clearly he needs the sleep and he's doing okay. "Come on, let's get you inside."

They might make a few comments about the fact that Michael's back after signing his emancipation papers, but he's allowed to visit, he figures. "I bet I can get you right back to sleep in there."

"Yeah, sure," he says. He yawns hugely, and reaches blindly for his bag as he slides out of the truck before realizing Michael has it. He leads the way to the door, then up the stairs to the dorm he shares with three other boys. They're all still awake, because it's not that late, but Caleb knows from experience that at least two of them will be awake until after 2, and he'll have to pretend to sleep for most of that time.

Michael hitches Caleb's bag on his back alongside his own, heading inside and letting Caleb lead him into the room, then grabs at his elbow and shakes his head. Then, he nods towards another room. It's the sick room, where kids can go if the nurse needs to look at them.

"Here," he says, knowing that no one uses it. He used to stash booze here, if he needed a hit, and he knows there's only the one bed in the room.

Caleb frowns, but he follows him down the hall a ways. "Are we allowed to be in here?" he asks, taking a look around. The bed isn't big, not like the double beds in the dorm rooms, but it should be big enough for Caleb to stretch out on. But he's never been in here for any reason except a basic external physical when he'd first arrived.

"Who cares?" is Michael's instant reaction, because it's not like he ever cares if he's got permission to be in a place. He turns the light on, but only so he can dump their bags and get situated on the bed. "Come on, there," he says, nodding to it while he turns on his phone for light, turning off the main light before he lets go of the door, locking it.

Caleb is still frowning, but it's a gentle, confused expression. He toes his sneakers off and sheds his jacket, then sits on the bed before laying down. He can feel Michael's chilly determination, for now, brighter and sharper than the hope he carries like a protected candle flame. He can feel the kids in the next room: one of them is frustrated, sharp, annoyed jabs that pull at Caleb's arms; one is sleepy and lonely, a blue mist that blankets Caleb's lungs in cold damp. Someone else, further away, is horny and trying to fight it, like they think it's wrong, or something. He tries to push it away before he can key into it, and finds the panic of schoolwork not getting done on time. He's too familiar with that, and it's exhausting in its own right.

With a heavy sigh, he stares up at the ceiling, but any trace of that easy sleep he'd had in Michael's truck is gone, replaced by tension in his jaw, shoulders, and forehead.

Michael isn't paying attention to any of that, other than Caleb's sad little sigh, which he can do something about. He reaches out for him as he settles in on the bed, deciding that he's in for a good night of sleep himself if he can get Caleb down here.

"Come on," he says. "I sleep better with someone holding onto me, get down here." It's not even sexual, not this. His best sleep had always been when someone at the home let him glom on, whether it was Max and Isobel, or one of the other long-term kids.

Caleb blinks at him, but he can feel that it isn't anything weird. Michael's being truthful.

"What, like, you're the little spoon?" he asks, a little confused and too tired to keep up, really.

"Yeah, it's the best place to be," he says, and lies down, reaching out for Caleb's arm so he can grab it and yank it around his mid-section, wriggling close to the wall to give Caleb space to climb on. "Then you get all that warmth and the pulse and it puts you to sleep."

Sort of like white noise, he figures.