Chapter Text
His father reeked of beer as he walked into the kitchen at 5 years old. His mother and father were fighting about him again. His dad never wanted him, but of course, his mom did.
“Damn useless bitch!” His dad would yell.
This was the first time Bob truly learned what being scared was.
He watched as his father broke a bottle against her arm, the shards exploding everywhere. He felt one cut his face, then his arm, but his eyes trained on his mothers arm. All of the blood, and the horrific cry she let out. That was the day everything went downhill.
Bob awoke with a gasp, shooting up in bed, gripping his shirt. Another nightmare. Great. His eyes trailed to the scar on his arm, usually hidden under his sleeves. Bob swallowed thickly, rubbing his thumb over it. He should’ve been stronger. Should’ve protected his mother.
He regretted a lot of things.
Shaking his head, Bob stood up, and tugged the sleeve down. He crept out of the bedroom, a bit anxious. He could smell bacon, it made his stomach rumble. Bob didn’t remember when he ate last, and breakfast smelt really good. He had to overcome the fear of facing these Greasers.
Bob padded down the hallway, walking into the kitchen. Darrel Curtis stood at the stove, clutching a pan.
“Goodmorning, Robert.” Darrel muttered, pushing the eggs and bacon around.
“Bob. Just.. Bob.” He said quietly. Robert is what is father would always call him. He didn’t like hearing his full name anymore; the feeling it left him with was horrid.
Darrel nodded, but stayed quiet otherwise. Their house was small compared to what Bob was used to, but he liked it. It felt safer. Bob wasn’t sure if he was allowed to sit in the living room without asking. He didn’t want to upset the Greasers more than he had already. Darrel was much taller and much stronger than him, not that he would ever try to fight the man who took him away from his parents.
“Go sit down.” Darrel told Bob. Darry didnt want to feel bad for the Soc. Bob had hurt his kid brother and Johnny, but the kid just looked so out of it. The things the social workers had shared with Darry, were just horrible. No kid deserved that, not even a Soc.
Bob nodded, sitting at the table. Darrel set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. Bob felt a bit better when he started to eat. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Bob looked up when he the floorboards creak. There stood Sodapop Curtis with a scowl on his face. Bob looked down at his breakfast again. He didn’t blame Sodapop. He deserved to be beaten black and blue for everything he’s done, but instead, he was eating breakfast in the home of a kid he almost killed.
Part of Bob wishes he was still at his own house. He got exactly what he deserved every day. The other part was happy he was saved.
“How longs he staying here.” Soda asked, quieting his voice.
“For a few months. Till he’s 18,” Darrel responded, he lowered his voice even more, “Try to be nice. He’s… been through a lot,”
Bob gripped his fork tightly. He didn’t deserve any kindness. All the times he’d jumped greasers, how many times had he’d hurt Cherry with his drinking? Yet, here Darrel was; asking his brother to.. be nice? He didn’t need pity. He needed to be yelled at, or beaten. He needed to drink his feeling away, or dig his nails into his skin until they drew blood, and pretend he didn’t love the feeling of pain.
He set the fork down, and stood up. Bob stepped away, walking outside to the porch. The cold autumn air felt nice. He felt like he could breathe. Bob sat on the steps, staring at the street. He itched for some beer.
Nobody came after him. He didn’t expect them too. He was an intruder in their house, he wasn’t supposed to be here. Bob stood up, and just walked. He needed to move around. He walked down the street, hoping someone would jump him.
He turned the corner. Bob didn’t know where he was going. He just needed to get out of that house. He didn’t belong there. His head pounded. Bob shoved his hands into his pockets, tears building up.
He shouldn’t cry. He was stronger than that. He wasn’t a pansy. Yet, the tears poured anyway. They ran down his face, wetting his cheeks. The air felt colder now.
He found himself in a gas station, buying a 6-pack of beer. The attendant didn’t bother to make sure he was old enough, he just sold the beer to him.
Bob sat in an alley, downing the cans faster than he should’ve. He shut his eyes, resting his head against the wall. He needed a nap, sure in this alleyway wasn’t a good idea, yet he didn’t care. Bob just let himself drift.