JOAQUÍN CUATE: 1993
Joaquín was quite sick of the whole "find your own dinner" nonsense. He thought he wouldn't mind as much, if it weren't blisteringly hot. Bebe was panting behind him, but he would never blame her for it. The pavement was probably hot on her paws, poor thing.
He'd hold her, but he hadn't eaten today and they'd spent a good portion of time running from the dog catcher.
He made his way into the neighborhood he'd been frequenting. He'd come to realize that a lot of them had money, and lots of it. Their trashcans were always full of food, and he thought they were fools.
Sometimes, when he was lucky, there'd be actual dog food there. Most of the time he just had to find something safe for Bebe to eat.
He'd been caught a few times, never had he been invited inside; until tonight. He'd been rummaging through the trash and tossing small things to Bebe when the front door opened and light flooded out onto the street.
"The heaven are you doing?" A voice shouted, and Joaquín shot out of the trashcan, nearly falling on his butt. Bebe barked, and the silhouette stepped out of the house.
The sun had just gone down, basking the street in the glow of a summer night. The silhouette became more pronounced as it came closer. It was a man in shorts and a tucked in shirt, he looked harmless. Joaquín's heart was pounding in his chest.
"Shit, how old are you?" The man squinted, leaning on the fence just in front of the trash can. "Where are your parents?"
Joaquín glanced around, opening his mouth to squeak a, "No hablo Inglés—" even though he very much so did speak English.
"¿Cuántos años tiene?" His accent was weird, it sounded distinctly non-Mexican, but Joaquín couldn't pin where it was from. It certainly didn't sound English.
"Diez," Joaquín had pushed himself to his feet, and Bebe was spinning around his legs. "Lo siento señor, nos iremos."
The man paused, tilted his head as if he were processing, and then sighed. "¿Tienes hambre?"
"¿Qué?" Joaquín stopped halfway through his initial step backwards. His stomach rumbled.
"Entra," The man turned to point to his front door. "Tengo comida."
Joaquín would rather die than deny this man the right to feed him, but the words "¿Puede venir mi perro?" fell out of his mouth without his permission.
The man frowned, and clicked his tongue. "¿No inglés?"
"Hablo algo de Inglés."
"Does he have his shots?" The man's voice was kinder in English, like he didn't have enough practice being that way in Spanish.
"Yes," Joaquín nodded swiftly, feeling his brain rattle. He wasn't entirely sure if that was true or not, but he hadn't gotten any diseases from Bebe, so what did this guy have to worry about?
The man gestured for Joaquín to follow him, and the moment he stepped in the door he called, "Dean! It was a kid!"
A giant man emerged from a doorway, Joaquín assumed this was Dean. He was taller than what Joaquín imagined Jesus to be. "¡Dios mio!"
"No Dios," The man from outside hissed, "¿Sabes dónde estás? Este es Salem." Dean looked lost, and the man from outside bit at his lip. "Are you a warlock?"
"Yeah," Joaquín figured it wasn't crucial to tell these men that he was only half warlock.
"Who's kid is this?" Dean looked alarmed, and the man from outside shrugged as he started to walk. "Rune!"
"He was eating out of the trash, Dean," Rune turned quickly, giving an apologetic smile to Joaquín. "Just through there is the kitchen," He instructed softly, pointing to a hallway. "You can eat anything in there. I have cat food, not dog food, but I have meat if he'll eat it."
"She." Joaquín frowned at Rune, glancing between him and Dean. He didn't want to cause problems between these men, especially not when Dean was a million years bigger than Rune. "She will."
"Good, off you pop." Rune gave a tense smile, and nudged Joaquín through the house.
Their voices were hushed, but Joaquín assumed they were theorizing over whether or not he was a runaway. Most people did. Boy and a dog? Runaway. Call the cops.
Bebe barked, and Joaquín turned to see a quite flustered cat. It looked prim and proper, this must be why Rune has cat food. "Hola," he murmured, holding his hand out to the cat. It sniffed, then backed away, then sniffed, then bumped its head against Joaquín's hand.
Rune came into the room with a flush on his face. "Oh! That's Motley Bean. She's the sweetest, but I dunno if she'll be nice to your dog." Joaquín nodded, more invested in the way Motley Bean purred at the slightest touch. "Did you find something to eat? I was about to make dinner, if you can wait."
"What are you making?" Joaquín mumbled, turning away from Motley Bean for just a second.
"I can make anything. What do you want?" Rune's eyes looked tired, sad. Joaquín wondered what Dean meant, and if he was going to leave soon. He felt too big for the homey house they were in. Too out-of-place. Joaquín wondered if he looked just as out-of-place.
"Pozole."
"Pozo— the soup?" Rune frowned, ducking his head. "I'll try...I'm Costa-Rican, so I might make it differently than you're used to."
Joaquín shrugged, turning his attention fully back to Motley Bean. Bebe barked, and he bent down a bit to pet her at the same time.
"You can wash up," Rune broke the silence in the kitchen as he started getting ingredients. "The bathrooms just off from the walkway. Dean can show you, if he's here."
"¿Habla él español?" Joaquín dropped his hands from the animals, and stood upright.
"No."
"Lo encontraré yo mismo." This earned a small laugh from Rune, and Joaquín departed from the room.
Dean intercepted him on his way to the bathroom for the simple fact that he was coming out of it at the same time as Joaquín tried to go in.
"Who're your parents?" Dean inquired as they passed each other.
"No hablo Inglés."
"Yes you do?" Dean's face scrunched up in confusion, and Joaquín's lip quirked up as he walked past him.
Bebe followed him into the bathroom and he made her sit while he washed his arms in the sink. He made a promise to himself to convince Rune to let him take a shower before he got kicked out.
The following dinner was endlessly awkward. Dean kept trying to ask him things, and Rune kept telling him "he won't answer unless you ask in Spanish, love."
"But I don't speak Spanish," Dean groaned, his face red. Joaquín hoped he was embarrassed. They were clearly together, why didn't Dean know enough Spanish to say who are your parents?
"Entonces aprende." Joaquín had chirped helpfully, kicking his feet against his chair under the table.
Rune had told him to shower and sleep on the couch, had whispered that You don't have to tell me about your parents if you don't want to, just tell me they're not worried sick.
And Joaquín shook his head softly, mumbled that They're dead. They don't worry about anything.
Rune gave him the smallest pyjamas he had, but they were too big. Had promised they'd go out tomorrow to get dog food and clothes. Asked if he wanted Rune to call someone.
He shook his head and slept on the couch that night.
He never seemed to make his way out of Rune's house, because he was being officially adopted four months later. And Dean failed to learn Spanish.
( quick lil thing shoutout rune for being a community kinda guy -clique )
