Chapter Text
The Gerry that Eric knew had never been a morning person, but this was taking it to the extreme. Whatever he'd gone out to do the night before had clearly exhausted him, because it was getting close to three in the afternoon and as yet Eric hadn't heard any indication Gerry was stirring at all.
Admittedly, Eric was a little worried.
He'd found the note at six, when he'd woken up, and Gerry had appeared a half hour later, looking utterly drained. He'd muttered something mostly incoherent at Eric, and shuffled off to his bedroom. The door had shut, and Eric hadn't seen hide nor hair since then.
There was a chance he was awake and still hiding away, but even then, surely he'd have to come out to use the bathroom at some point? Eric wasn't sure, but he knew that Gerry was too skinny to be missing meals, and he'd made a sandwich that had gone uneaten.
He'd intended to give Gerry his space. This wasn't the boy he knew so well, after all, and he didn't know if this Gerry would want space or comfort after whatever had happened. His Gerry always wanted a hug and reassurance, but this one probably hadn't ever received reassurance in his life, so Eric didn't want to push. But he did really need to eat something.
And there was the letter, but that seemed less important.
Eric knocked on the door, twice, just lightly, and earned himself a grunt from within that sounded relatively accepting, so he opened the door.
To his surprise, Gerry wasn't in bed, but was instead perched on the window ledge, the window open, smoking out of it. Eric thought about telling him not to smoke in the house, saw the look on his face, and thought better of it. Instead, he stepped in.
Gerry glanced at him, just once, and then went back to staring morosely out of the window.
"You got a letter," Eric said, for a lack of anything else. He didn't mention that it had no address or stamp, primarily because it disturbed him deeply. Even all these years after the Institute, he still felt a deep-seated dread at the idea of those things knowing who and where he was. The single strand of cobweb clinging to the corner of the envelope didn't do anything to quell his fear.
For his part, Gerry didn't look surprised. He threw the remains of the cigarette out of the window and hopped down from the ledge. "Already? Huh. Thought it would have taken longer."
Eric was reluctant to hand over the letter, the front of which read only Gerard in a looping font that was terribly familiar to him. It had to be from Mary, but he doubted this universe's Mary would have any reason to write to Gerry, either Keay or Delano, which meant it had to come from the universe Gerry was originally from.
Not seeming to share Eric's reservations about it, Gerry ripped open the envelope. Eric watched him do so, amused by his struggling - it was charming, in a way, that this boy, who lived and breathed a world of monsters and would-be chosen ones, would find something as simple as opening an envelope such a challenge. He managed it, though the thick white paper was torn almost to shreds by the end.
His eyes flicked over the paper, and he nodded, just once, as if to himself.
"Can I?" Eric asked, gesturing as if to take the paper, and Gerry obligingly handed it over.
I have him.
That was all it said.
Considering it was supposed to be from Gerry's mother, it was suspiciously short. Then again, it was from Mary, so…
"What does she mean, she has him?"
"The other Gerry. She has him, so I've got to go and get him back."
Eric's thoughts screeched to a sudden halt. Getting his son back would be wonderful, of course it would be, but he'd come to love this darker Gerry in much the same way, and he knew that if this Gerry went to get his son back, Eric would never see him again.
"Right," Eric said quietly, and that was all. Then he cleared his throat. "I've made some lunch for you, if you're hungry."
He wanted to keep both of them. He'd always wanted a lot of kids, but Mary had only been able to have Gerry. Getting to keep this Gerry, even as cryptic and wary and paranoid as he was, would be a gift.
But then there was the issue of if Gerry even wanted to stay with him. He knew from Gerry's demeanor and attitude, as well as what little he'd been told, that Mary wasn't a good mother, but Eric knew from experience that sometimes kids preferred to stay in an environment that was bad for them because it was familiar.
"'Kay." Gerry said, and Eric was relieved at his agreement, because Gerry didn't eat half as much as he should. "Be out in a minute."
-
"So," Eric said, folding his hands together on top of the table, primarily to keep them in Gerry's line of sight. He was flighty and anxious at the best of times, but Eric had noticed that he was less so when Eric kept his hands in view. "The letter."
"What about it?" Gerry asked, a touch sharply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"What exactly does it mean for you?"
Familiar by now with the narrow-eyed glare, Eric merely gazed back sagely. As always, Gerry didn't seem to find what he was looking for, because he answered. "Means I've gotta go get him and throw him back to you."
"And you?"
"What about me?" Gerry sounded honestly baffled, and Eric sighed. It hadn't been long since Gerry arrived, certainly not long enough for Eric to convince him that yes, Eric did want him around. "I'll go back to where I belong. The Machination prefers things to be tidy, and me being here… It's untidy."
"Is there no way you can both come back?" Eric asked.
Gerry seemed startled by this question, but he hid it well. "Dunno. Probably not. Why?"
"Because I want you to." The answer came so easily. It was as if it had been perched on his tongue, just waiting for Gerry to ask. "Because you're my son, too."
“No, I’m not.”
Eric considered this for a moment, and then sighed. “You didn’t grow up with me, but I see you as my son. You’re not just a replacement, Gerry.”
Looking simultaneously bemused and disbelieving, Gerry shrugged, getting to his feet. “I can’t just leave him there. If I end up getting back too, then good, but if not, it’s not the end of the world.” He said, certain of himself. “He doesn’t deserve to stay there.”
Eric, his heart aching, said, “Neither do you.”
This earned him another narrow-eyed stare, which he weathered without fuss.
“I mean it, Gerry. You didn’t deserve-”
Before he could even finish his sentence, Gerry had turned on his heel and disappeared back down the hall. Maybe that had been too much, too soon, but Eric had needed to say it, needed Gerry to hear it.
The door to Gerry’s bedroom slammed, and Eric winced. One step forward, two steps back.