Work Text:
Over the past year, Jesse had become an expert at taking care of Mr. White. Most importantly, he had become an expert at taking care of Mr. White without letting the older man know that he was actually being taken care of. Otherwise, he would never allow it – he was the kind of man who never asked for help, insisting on retreating to the bathroom to throw up in private rather than let anyone stay there and comfort him.
Somehow in the past year, Jesse had learned how to exist within the exceptions. He didn’t know where he’d picked it up initially; his aunt Jenny had never had the same sort of pride complex.
But now he slinked in the shadows, waiting for a moment when Mr. White would let his guard down, when the man would need him, would need someone.
He wondered if Mr. White’s wife ever did this, whether she ever let him lay his head on her chest and just sleep, or whether he had too much… too much… Jesse couldn’t even think of the right word.
Right now, they were lying in a bed, both wrapped in a big blanket, as Mr. White leaned over a big red bucket.
Jesse knew what Mr. White was thinking – well, no, not quite, but he could guess at it at least. He probably didn’t want Jesse to see him like this.
But Jesse wasn’t going to go anywhere. This wasn’t how this worked. Jesse had gotten good at being a pain in the ass, a kind of permanent fixture in Mr. White’s home since his wife had left. Sometimes he wished Mr. White would just thank him… but he knew better to pursue it. That just wasn’t his way, had never been his way. There was something that had shaped him, molded him, just like Jesse’s impossible-to-please parents had molded him.
“Not feeling too good?” Jesse asked gently, taking care to not be patronizing. That wasn’t what he needed; to hear Mr. White tell it, he got enough of that from his wife.
Mr. White looked up at him with a glare.
“What do you think, Jesse? This is chemo. This is what happens. You think you’re about to throw up every second of every day.”
Jesse moved his hand, ever so slowly, on to Mr. White’s shoulder.
“I would say I’d hold your hair,” he said softly, smiling.
To his surprise, Mr. White smiled.
“I don’t think I’d have a whole lot of luck holding yours either, Jesse,” he said tiredly, leaning back over the bucket again. “Sometimes I don’t know why I do it.”
“Because you’re, like, a genius,” Jesse told him, “And the world without you would be a lot dumber. You’re hanging on for, like… increasing the IQ of the world, Mr. White.”
The older man chuckled dryly.
“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Jesse,” he told him, but he shook his head. “Maybe I’m just too stubborn to go.”
Jesse leaned his head on the man’s shoulder. It felt right, somehow.
“Well… I hope you keep being stubborn, Mr. White. Okay?”
Mr. White looked back at him with a sigh, and slowly pulled Jesse in for a hug.
“Sure, Jesse. I’ll keep being stubborn.”