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When Chas gets up early on Sunday to surprise everyone with breakfast, he’s definitely not expecting to spot Geraldine out in the back garden, standing near the shed, taking a drag of a cigarette. It takes him a moment to recover from the shock of it, then quickly storms out of the back door, frowning at her.
Geraldine looks up and winces as she hands the cigarette off. “Shit. Busted.”
“What exactly do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Chas chastises, putting on his best Disappointed Dad look. “And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing giving her cigarettes-” He peers around the shed, expecting to find John but surprised to find a much smaller figure. “Amon?”
“Sorry, Chas.” Amon says sheepishly, shrinking into his overlarge red hoodie. “She asked to try it.”
“You shouldn’t be smoking them either.” Chas tells him, crossing his arms. “’Specially not at your age.”
“Dad says that he used to smoke when he was my age.” Amon defends himself, idly tapping the ash from the cigarette and watching it drift away on the wind. Chas sighs.
“Yeah, and your dad got lung cancer which he had to blackmail God to survive.” He says flatly.
“He said you used to smoke with him.” Amon adds.
“Oh, you used to smoke, but I’m not allowed?” Geraldine huffs, and Chas rubs at the bridge of his nose.
“No, you are not. Just because me and your Uncle John smoked young doesn’t mean either of you can or should.” He says. “Look, it’s bad for you. Real bad. Even if you don’t get the worst of it like John, you’ll be stuck with all kinds of other shit. I’m still knocked on my arse every time I get a cold.”
“I’m not gonna stop.” Amon frowns, hunching into himself. Despite the agitated flick of his tail and the black of his eyes, he’s viscerally reminiscent of John at that age, defensive glower and all. If he’s anything like his father, the line of his shoulders is telling Chas to back off, shut his gob, and leave well enough alone. “I won’t give Geri any more but I’m not gonna stop.”
Chas sighs. “Alright. But I’m gonna talk to your dad about it.” He says. He turns back to Geraldine. “And you, missy – if I catch you again, I’ll be telling your mother. She managed to make me quit and she won’t be bloody happy if she hears you’ve started.”
“Alright, Dad.” Geraldine groans. “I get it. Go back to doing whatever boring adult stuff it is you do.”
Chas ruffles her hair, just to listen to her whine at him in annoyance – she’s properly into her teenage years now, and he’s discovered the joys of being terminally uncool and embarrassing in her presence – and chuckles.
“The ‘boring adult stuff’ is breakfast. It’ll be done in twenty minutes.” He tells them. “Amon, no more than that cigarette, alright – it’ll ruin your appetite.”
Amon rolls his eyes, but nods as he takes a drag, and Chas leaves them to it.
John comes padding down into the kitchen in the middle of the breakfast preparations, in a pair of joggers and what Chas is pretty sure is one of his old The Clash shirts. He has no idea when John nabbed it, but it makes something bloom in his gut, to see John swamped and comfortable in something of his. John goes about making tea, patting Chas’ arse as he walks past to fill the kettle.
“Good morning to you too, John.” Chas snorts, shaking his head.
“Need tea and a ciggy. Then we c’n talk.” John mumbles.
“Speaking of.” Chas says, poking at the eggs and the turkey bacon John insists they use whenever Amon is joining them for meals. “I caught your Amon sharing his cigs with Dina.”
John laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Teenagers.” He grins over at Chas. “How much of a bollocking did you give her?”
“Enough of one she won’t be doing it again, I hope.” Chas hums. “You’ve not given Amon a talking to, though?”
“Nah.” John says, turning to pour the water into his mug as the kettle reaches a boil. “He was already smoking pretty regular like, and I’d be a massive hypocrite to lecture him about it.”
“Being a hypocrite is part of parenting sometimes.” Chas points out. “Teaching your kids to be better than you are and all that.”
John shakes his head, looking over at Chas. There’s something quiet and tired in his eyes as he fiddles with the packet of Silk Cut he’s pulled from his pocket.
“You remember why we smoked as kids, Chas?” He asks lowly, looking out of the window to where Amon and Geraldine are still stood in the garden chatting.
“Uh, cause everyone did back then?” Chas says. John chuckles.
“Sure, probably why we never thought anything of it.” He says. “But you gotta remember how good it felt, right? Helped you relax. Kept you sane.”
Chas hums quietly. He tries not to remember too much, because otherwise he’d never stick to being smoke-free. But if he thinks about it, he does remember how good a smoke felt after a hard day at school, after a particularly nasty incident with his mother, after a long drive. He remembers John smoking more during those weeks where money was particularly tight, and Tom would refuse to feed him; remembers doing the same, the few times Queenie’s magic business failed to bring in enough. He remembers how goddamn hard it had been to quit, how snappy he’d been with Renee, how often he’d paced out of the house and down the street because Geraldine had been crying and he’d been low on sleep and he’d wanted a fucking cigarette but he’d been trying to do his best by his family.
“Yeah. Yeah, alright. I do.” He agrees.
“Amon’s been through a lot. Literally Hell. I mean, our childhood wasn’t rainbows and sunshine, but compared to him… We almost look lucky.” John says. “And he didn’t grow up with any mates. No-one who got it. Even your Dina, sweet as she is, don’t got a clue the kind of shit he’s seen, and you know as well as I do that it’s not the same, when it’s people who don’t really understand.”
Chas crosses his arms, staring out at the kids himself. Amon seems relaxed, leaning back against the shed, smiling as he talks to Geraldine; but there’s a familiar line of tension to his shoulders, a burden that he’s carrying there. He’s seen the way Amon flinches sometimes, heard him wake in the night screaming like John does. He hasn’t gotten all the details, yet, but he knows some of it, and what he doesn’t know is easily explained by “Hell is a fucked up place to raise a kid”.
“I wouldn’t let him drink. God knows that fucked me up a while, good and proper, back when I was really a boozer. And I don’t want him… taking things out on himself, like. How I did.” John continues quietly. “But he’s half-demon. Smoking won’t hurt him, not the way it’d hurt us, or Geraldine. His body heals any damage it could do pretty sharpish. So I reckon it won’t do him any harm to let him have that. Just something to help him cope, y’know?”
Hearing it put that way, Chas admits, Amon could do worse than smoking. He remembers John at his worst, and it hadn’t been pretty. The thought of Amon staggering home black-out drunk, day after day, making himself senseless to try and block out all the things he’d rather not think about makes his heart clench painfully. The thought of finding him in a bathtub and bleeding makes it stop. It’s all too easy to replace John with Amon in his memories, and he’s suddenly hit by just how fucked up him and John had been, as kids, as teens, as young adults. It had been different, seeing it alongside himself, back when he’d been smoking and drinking and a bit of a boozer himself – but now he wonders who the hell let them carry on like that for so long.
At least both of them know better than to let their kids tread down that path.
Chas sighs softly. “You sure it won’t hurt him?” He asks.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Demon blood is a hell of a thing. He’ll be alright.” John nods. He looks over at Chas. “Bacon’s gonna burn.”
“Shit.”
Chas quickly turns off the hobs, checking how salvageable everything is – luckily, everything except two pieces of turkey bacon is still perfectly edible. He starts pulling out plates and setting them out to serve everything onto.
“’S alright. That stuff’s a crime against breakfast anyway.” He mutters as he throws the offending pieces into the bin. John laughs.
“Too right, mate. But Amon can’t stomach the usual stuff.” He agrees. He pushes himself up from leaning against the counter with a groan. “I’ll go get the kids in. Make me another cuppa, wouldya?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Chas says sarcastically, even as he makes sure the kettle’s full enough to make everyone tea. “You’re worse than the missus was.”
John laughs at him again, a rich and easy sound that Chas is really thinking he could start to get used to. Chas watches him as he makes his way out into the garden, smirking at the kids, says something that makes Geraldine drop her head back and groan in annoyance. He watches the way Amon grins up at him, shoulders lax and posture easy, tail perked up and twitching like a cat’s as he gravitates easily towards his father. It’s all him, every inch, an easiness to him that runs far deeper than John’s careful facades ever had.
Chas chuckles and starts on the finishing touches of breakfast and the four mugs of tea. All things considered, he supposes, they’re doing fairly alright. He can let a smoking habit go.
For Amon, at least. Geraldine, on the other hand, gets no second chances.