Work Text:
Theon sat in the middle of the kitchen on the cold linoleum floor, looking up at the green numbers on the oven clock that read 2:07. He was up late. He didn’t want to be up late. He wanted to sleep, but every time he slept he had nightmares, and no one was there to comfort him. He had just recently turned nine years old- an occasion that was not celebrated. He’d asked his daddy why they didn’t have cake or presents, and had gotten smacked upside the head and scolded.
“Your mother always spoiled you rotten.” His father had scolded. “What makes you think you deserve anything? You’re nine, whatever. I don’t give a fuck. Don’t ever ask me shit like that again, do you hear me? Do you hear me, Theon?”
Theon had lots of nightmares. Often they were of his father, screaming and glaring and hitting him. His mama never, ever used to let his daddy hit him, but now he did. It wasn’t often, really, but it hurt when he did. It hurt when he dreamed about it. Other times, he dreamed of his big brothers crawling out of their graves and coming to bury him instead. His daddy wanted them more, his mama too, they told him. They had empty eye sockets and their skin fell off in chunks, and no one was there to comfort him when he woke up screaming. He’d taken to hiding under his bed with Mister Squid after his nightmares. Yara always seemed annoyed with him, and his daddy hated to be woken up.
He wasn’t under his bed now, though. He was sat on the kitchen floor, thinking of all the times he’d spent with his mama in there, helping her bake. All the times she’d fed him cookies and tickled his belly. As he thought of it, his tummy grumbled and twisted and he remembered how hungry he was.
Daddy didn’t feed them. He came home with take out every night, and none for them. A nice boy at school brought him lunch sometimes, but that was almost the only time he ate anymore. Yara tried to help, he knew, tried to bring home food she got somewhere from school when she could, but it wasn’t often, and it wasn’t much. His tummy hurt all the time, it grumbled and bubbled and he felt so yucky all the time. He sniffled as he thought of it, rubbing his eyes with his little fists, yawning. He was so sleepy, and so hungry... he stood up slowly and walked over to the fridge, pulling it open.
No juice. He hadn’t had any juice since his mama had stopped acting like herself, since his big brothers had died. No milk either, nothing at all except cans and bottles of beer. There was no food in there or in the freezer, not even an old frozen loaf of bread. He caught sight of a tupperware behind some beer bottles, and reached for it. When he saw it was empty he nearly burst into tears. It was Saturday night and he was so hungry, he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime on Friday with Robb. He climbed clumsily onto the counters to look through the cabinets, finding them empty as well except for the spice cabinet. It wasn’t even spices, really- some salt and pepper, a half-empty bag of flour, a bag of sugar... his mama always had things to bake. Not that she ever baked anymore. He grabbed the bag of sugar and hopped off the counter as quietly as he could, placing it down and going to the fridge to grab one of his daddy’s beers. He was sick of only drinking water. He wanted juice boxes, or strawberry milk, or lemonade.
He cracked open the can and took a sip, gagging at the taste. His Uncle Euron had let him try beer once, and it didn’t taste good that time either. He had to finish it now, though... couldn’t leave it open for his daddy to find.
He stuck a hand into the wrinkled bag of sugar, pulling out a fistful and shoving it into his mouth. He chewed it as best as a person can chew sugar before swallowing. It felt kind of gross, the taste was a bit overwhelming, but he took another fistful nonetheless. And another. He was so hungry, and having anything in his belly was satisfying. He took a few big sips of the beer, forcing it down despite how vile it tasted. He kept eating fistfuls of sugar and drinking beer until he felt sick, his belly gurgling and churning and twisting. But there was still a quarter of a can left, and he still felt so hungry. He took another fistful of sugar, forcing himself to eat it before putting the bag back in the cabinet. He then picked up the beer can with shaky hands, tipped his head back, and chugged the rest of it as quickly as he could.
He was starting to feel dizzy, as well as nauseous, and his belly kept making yucky sounds. He wanted his mama. He wanted his best buddy, the pretty boy who gave him sandwiches and little mini snack cakes at lunchtime and made butterflies flutter in his tummy whenever he talked to him.
Before Theon even realized what was happening, he was falling to the floor on his knees, too disoriented to stand, and beginning to dry heave. It only happened a few times before he threw up for real, vomiting up a disgusting mix of bile, beer, and sugar. He tried to hold it back, but he was puking again just a few seconds later, coughing and choking, tears leaking from his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. He kept gagging and coughing and puking until his belly was empty once again. Even once empty, he stayed on the floor dry heaving for a little while longer, practically sobbing as he did. It hurt and he felt yucky, so yucky, he just wanted to crawl into bed with his mama and cry. But he couldn’t.
He must’ve made more noise than he realized, because when he stood up he made eye contact with his father standing in the archway of the kitchen. He began to tremble where he stood, though he was already rather unstable on his feet.
“I-I’ll clean it- I’m sorry, daddy, I’m sorry, I-I was just so hungry...” He looked down at the floor, seeming to shrink in on himself, as if fearing he’d be hit. And yet Balon made no move to come closer. He just stood there, glaring at his youngest child, his last boy.
“Then clean it, and go the fuck to bed. Don’t drink my beer again. Stupid kid.” His daddy snapped, eyeing the empty can before turning and heading back to his room. Theon let out a long sigh of relief and stumbled to get paper towels and a garbage bag to clean up his mess. It took a while, and he ended up feeling even more gross after, but the floor was all clean and he was going up to bed.
His tummy made a grumbling sound, as if to remind him it was still empty. He sniffled and looked down at it. His mama would’ve never let his tummy hurt this bad, but his mama was... practically gone. He told himself for the thousandth time that he’d just have to get used to the hunger pains and grumbles. His tummy would have to make do with what it got. Even if what it got was nothing at all.
He went to bed hungry, and fell into a sleep full of nightmares.