Chapter Text
What do you do when you find a snotty nose kid digging through your trash can? Because George sure as hell didn’t know.
His first instinct had been to call the police, but that thought was quickly diminished when blue eyes peaked out of the blue bin.
The two stare at each other for a very long time. “What are you doing in my trash can?” George asks hesitantly, slightly scared for the answer.
He’d just gotten off from work, planning on ordering chinese and then calling it a day. But it seems life had other plans for him tonight.
“Fuck you bitch, this is my trash now.” The kid said in a squeaky voice, the subtle rasp is there though. George frowns and tilts his head in confusion.
“Why would you want my trash?” He questions, the kid’s eyes seem to narrow.
“Why wouldn’t I?” The blond curls bounce as the child seemingly slips on something.
George grimances, “Because it’s a bunch of waste?”
“So you don’t want this shit?” The question had a hopeful undertone that made George's stomach twist.
The brunette shakes his head, “It’s trash for a reason.”
The blond's eyes crinkle as a grin forms on his face, “Great! I’ll be on my way then, but uh.” He stumbles on his words, “Could you maybe, I don’t know, get me a bag or something?”
George doesn’t say anything for a while, “No.”
The kid seemed to be offended, mouth agape and brows furrowed. “What do you mean no , bitch? You just said you didn’t want any of this shit!”
“It’s trash.” The elder states bluntly.
“Well you know what they say, a rich man's trash is a poor man's treasure.” The kid says confidently, an echoing thought of how this sounded rehearsed rang in George's head.
The brunette’s brows furrowed, “Sure kid.” He says despite the conflicting thoughts happening in his head.
“Alright well, I’m gonna leave now. Bye weird man.” The child slightly struggled hopping out of the bin, trash clanging together and making a racket for how late at night it was.
George's feet were running before his mind even processed what was happening, hooking his hands underneath the armpits of the child, he scooped the small blond up. “Not so fast kiddo.”
The child once again seemed like he’d been personally attacked by George's actions, “How dare you.”
The brunette raised an eyebrow, and then suddenly there was thrashing and screaming.
“I demand you put me down! I’ll bite you motherfucker, I have rabies you know!” For such a small child, he sure did know a lot of profanities.
George's nose scrunched up when he got a whiff of the kid, “Loud and smelly. You need a bath.”
The kid gasped, “What the fuck?! You are so rude! Put me down!” The child squirmed more, twisting and turning to escape Georges grasps, but the brunette held on firmly.
And maybe that’s why the kid was running rampant in his small apartment now. George had made the mistake of setting the blond down, only for a few seconds, to turn the knobs for a bath. But now the child was screaming bloody murder while the adult chased him.
“You predator! Leave me alone!” A pillow was thrown at George's face.
“Calm down! It won’t take long!” George tried to bargain but the child kept screeching words that were sure to concern his neighbors. He’s positive he’s going to end up with a noise complaint by the end of the week.
And finally after a screaming match, his apartment now trashed, the bath water probably room temperature now from sitting so long. George figured he’d have to use his final resort, “If you get in the bath, I’ll give you a bowl of ice cream.” Bribery.
The kid perked at that, seeming to weigh his options. “And if I don’t?” He tested.
“You take a bath but don’t get ice cream.” The blond frowned and reluctantly inched his way to the bathroom, watching George with careful eyes.
“If you’re lying to me, so god help me I will call the children helpline.” The child bit out, but marched his way into the bathroom.
George sighed and fell back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. God what was he doing? He wasn’t fit to watch a kid! He’d more than likely have to call Wilbur tomorrow morning, the guy already had a son and probably knew how to deal with children way better than George could ever dream of.
“Weird man! How do you take a bath?” A high pitch voice shouted. George frowned, where on earth were this kid’s parents?
“Hold on,” George shouted back. He went to grab a washcloth, he’d just use his own soaps for now.
The kids name was Tommy, or at least that's what the kid had claimed halfway through his bath.
George had been washing the grime and dirt from the blond curls, the bath water had since begun to shift into a rather grim color. The brunette nose scrunched up in distaste, slightly thankful he’d found the kid sooner rather than later.
There’d be a soft murmur from the kid sitting in his own filth while George combed through tight knit knots that were coming undone more easily thankfully to the conditioner. The elder hummed questionably, sadly not being able to catch what the kid had said.
“What are you deaf, dickhead?” The blond scoffed before sheepishly fiddling with his fingers. “Listen closely because I won’t say it again, my name’s Tommy.”
A small smile crept onto George's face, “Hi Tommy, I’m George.”
The two continued the bath in silence, George noticed how Tommy seemed to be nodding off halfway through it. A warm feeling blossomed in his chest, his head reprimanded him to not get attached, that the kids stay here would only be temporary.
True to his word, George had taken the ice cream out of the freezer to thaw. Tommy stood on his tippy toes, small hands gripping the edge of the counter. “How long?”
George huffed, “Around ten minutes or so.” Tommy groaned and shuffled back from the counter, taking a look around the apartment.
The small blond was practically drowning in one of George's old graphic tees, which just so happened to be teenage ninja mutant turtles themed, he is a man of taste after all. “How old are you anyways kid?”
Tommy looked confused for a second before counting his fingers, and then repeating the process again. “Six,” he stated despite the look of confusion still planted on his face. “I think,” He added.
“You think?”
“I lost track of the days geez. You’re gonna put a fucking six year old in charge of time management, you dufus?” Honestly George wasn’t sure what shocked him more, the fact that he of all people had found a feral six year old digging through his trash bins. Or, said six years old rather creative vocabulary.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, George pushed the child out into the living room. “While you wait for your ice cream, why don’t you clean up the mess you made.” Tommy pouted but picked up the thrown pillows nonetheless.
The elder stepped out of the room to ring a certain brunette a call.