Prison Kangaroos: A Dust of the Arena Short Story

Yeah I know, I’ve been doing a lot of DOTA backstory things with Peter and Chaya… I’m trying to figure out more of their dynamic, and after the word “kangaroos” got thrown into the mix I knew I had to write a short story about its origins… but this time, instead of it being from Peter’s POV, it’s from Chaya’s.

enjoy <3

As always, due to Peter’s backstory, he has a lot of trauma involving his physically abusive father, and that is showcased in this snippet. The recommended reading age is 13+

***

What had she been thinking, taking in a child?

Chaya watched Peter from where he crouched in the corner, glancing between him and the absolutely crusted scrambled egg pan she was desperately trying to clean. If she had asked her younger self whether she would ever take in a child– a traumatized twelve year old, no less, she would have laughed and called her insane.

Well, clearly, she was insane. Being a parent was not her forte, and she was getting nowhere in this argument.

“I want to go back outside,” he muttered, glaring at the floor.

“You can’t go back outside until you help me with dishes.” It was the fourth time she’d repeated it in the last ten minutes, and it was starting to get old. She had been fine with Peter living outside for the first two weeks since she took him in, but now he’d gotten accustommed to darting outside every time there was work to be done, and she was sick of the habit.

So today she was doing what parents did– put her foot down. At least, that was what she thought parents did– she never had much experience with the matter.

But the door and windows were locked, in a method that not even Peter’s nimble fingers could undo, and she wasn’t going to budge until he did as she asked.

Nineteen years old and bossing a kid around… Chaya shoved the pan into a tub of water, hoping that more soaking would loosen the burnt-on egg. What has my life come to?

Peter wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking against the wall. It was normally an anxiety tic, like something a much smaller child would do rather than an almost-teen boy, but the stubbornness etched in his expression broke any sympathy Chaya could have for him.

If he wanted to play hardball, he chose the wrong opponent. Chaya put another dish on the drying rack. “You’re just making more work for yourself, Peter. I’m not budging.”

His rocking increased, until he was almost slamming his back against the wall. “I want–” thunk “– to go–” thunk “–outside.” thunk.

Chaya slapped the dishrag into the sink, whirling on him. “I’ve told you fifty times how you can go back outside. I’m not letting you out until you dry the dishes.”

Whether it was her hard voice or some unseen form of persuasion, Peter stopped rocking and froze. His stubborn expression suddenly went blank, and slowly, he stood up.

Chaya breathed a sigh of relief and handed him the drying rag and the plate. “Now, was that so hard?”

Peter didn’t say anything. He just stared at the plate like he’d never seen one before.

“Staring at it won’t get it dry.” She tried to make her voice joking, but the longer he stood there, staring at it, her irritation flared again.

“Peter, don’t test my patience.”

He was stock still.

And in the next second, he turned and pitched the dish at her head.

Chaya barely dodged out of the way before the glass plate exploded by her ear. Peter shoved the entire dish rack to the floor, glass and ceramic shattering everywhere across the tiled floor. He gave a half choked scream of rage– or fear– before he bolted towards the front door, half throwing himself against it like a trapped bird attacking the bars of its cage.

“LET ME OUT!” He screamed, thrashing and kicking the door. “LET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE!”

Chaya, surrounded by glass and unable to walk anywhere without severely cutting her feet, watched in stilled horror as he kept screaming, shoving against the door, then pounding on the windows.

This was a twelve year old boy terrified of a roof.

Terrified of her.

The thought was a punch in the gut, especially since this was her fault in the first place, but if she didn’t do something soon, Peter was going to tear apart the house.

But what to do? What could she say?

I need to reach him first

She slowly hauled herself up to the counter, pulling her feet away from the glass and sliding along the edge until she was out of the shattered mess. She jumped into the living room, looking around for Peter.

He’d stopped screaming and was curled up under the coffee table, shaking like a cornered rabbit and staring out with wide, crazy eyes. It was a painfully familiar look; she’d seen it on some of her competitor’s faces back in the Arena, especially in the higher-up level tournaments. His foot was bleeding quite a bit– it would probably need superglue– but her first priority was calming him down.

“Peter, come out from under there,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “I d-deserve to be in here. You were gonna put me in the cabinet anyway.”

She blinked. “The… what?”

“The cabinet. You were going to put me in the cabinet. Because I disobeyed you.” He shook harder, knuckles pale from gripping his legs so hard.

“Peter, I don’t even have room to do that… but that’s beside the point. I would never lock you in a cabinet.”

He looked up at her, dark eyes fearful. “You said you wouldn’t let me out until I dried the dishes.”

She was confused for a second, then suddenly understood. Chaya closed her eyes, kicking herself.

“Peter… I meant I wouldn’t let you go back outside to Mila. I’d never lock you in a cabinet.” She sat down on the floor, drawing one knee up to her chest. A thought occured to her. “Did your dad used to lock you in cabinets when you misbehaved?”

The boy sniffled, ducking his head.

“Yeah.”

Chaya’s hands tightened into fists. She should have hit that man harder when she had the chance.

“Is that why you don’t like being inside?” She tilted her head, her braid over her shoulder. “You’re claustrophobic because of the cabinets?”

He hesitatd, then nodded.

Chaya groaned and slapped a hand to her face. “Peter… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

He blinked, as if surprised that she would be the one apologizing.

“But I… I disobeyed.”

“You did. Which… is another thing. But I also need to work on my patience, and reading the room better. I really didn’t meant to trigger you.” She bit her lip, then spread herself against the carpet so she could be eye level with him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Peter shrugged. “Because you wouldn’t believe me.”

He was unfortunately right. She wouldn’t have.

Chaya sighed. “Well… I’m sorry for being so impatient.’

He sniffled. “I’m sorry for disobeying, Chaya.”

“I forgive you.” She smiled. “Can we make a deal from now on?”

He uncurled, just a little bit. “What?”

“I’m not so great at reading people, and I’m still getting used to this guardian thing. So we need a codeword that you can use when the memories start coming back. But you have to promise to only use it when you’re actually being triggered– no using it as a cop-out card for chores.”

He paused, thinking about it, then nodded. “Deal. What codeword should it be?”

Chaya bit her lip, staring at the ceiling, before blurting out the first thing she could think of. “Uh… prison kangaroos?”

That got a small laugh from him. “Why on earth would we do that?”

“Because… it’s a meme thing… from way back… kangaroos are just deer that have gone to prison…” She waved a hand. “Never mind, it was before your time.”

He sat up, slowly crawling out from under the coffee table. “I like it.”

“Prison kangaroos it is, then.” She eyed his bleeding foot. “Now, if we’re good… let’s get that foot cleaned up, and then pick up the glass, okay?”

He stood up, giving her a small, shaky smile. “Okay.”

And to her great surprise, he hesitantly hugged her.

“Thanks for saving me, Chaya.”

Shocked, she managed to convince her arms to move and hug him back, surprised by the unexpected warmth in her chest. “You’re welcome, bud.”

Hm.

Maybe she wouldn’t be so bad at this parenting thing after all.