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[ Red. All he can see is red.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the second floor, where Pico just fled to. Those final four words struck him, like knives twisting his guts. Paralyzed, is what he is now, unable to determine if that last shout was said without a shred of doubt. The shock subsides, and Captain feels energy rise in his legs, spurring him to move and chase that red like a bull. A tight hold from behind is the only thing preventing him from stomping up the stairs and ripping the slammed door off its hinges.
The hands moving up and down his arms are hypnotic, settling the precipice of anger and creating a path that only went downwards, back to normalcy. Stubbornly, he still looks up, glaring holes into the son he could no longer see, and he’s deaf to Steve’s nervous, cautious comforts. Deep breaths… deep breaths… colors other than red come back slowly, and his hearing rings back to functionality. Finally, he hears what’s being said behind him.
“Cap, let him go. Calm down.” And he listens, pretending the swelling in his chest was anything but his suppressed sobs. ]
———
It was hard to tell where the steam spilling from the shower was coming from. Easily it could be from one of two sources: the warm water from the shower head, or the gloomy, irate John trying but failing to neutralize his emotions. Captain can’t stand it anymore, having showered for over twenty minutes longer than he usually did. Normally it cooled him off, let him relax, and calm down. However, the anger and underlying guilt and dejection he’s been seething in was too strong to be tamed by the shower.
After thirty long, ineffective minutes, John finally leaves his hiding hole to dry and dress himself into his night clothes. It’s a fucking cold ass winter, so he has a hoodie and fuzzy plaid-patterned pants ready for him - like he needed those to warm himself up, the boiling blaze in his chest was enough for tonight. And instead of leaving the bathroom to the bedroom, he remained to huff away and try not to become violent towards any inanimate object unfortunate enough to cross him.
“…Cap?” He didn’t even notice when a perturbed Steve, also dressed warmly for the night, opened the door to check on him.
———
[ “Please!” John tries not to groan. He’s counted, this is now the eighth day Pico has asked them the same exact question. The same question he will say no to, always say no to, at least, not until he’s older. However, Pico is being very insistent today, determined to change his dads’ answer to a ‘yes’. Now he turns to Steve for that ‘yes’, desperate to even query the stricter of his two parents.
“No, Pico,” he says, “your dad and I have said it multiple times: you are not going to these parties, at all. We don’t know who this girl is, or her parents, or what happens there, and it seems you don’t know either.” John then pitches in, remembering a certain odd detail about these ‘gatherings’, “You said these parties are secret, yeah? Nobody knows what happens outside them, only the, um, attendees?” That detail rubbed them both the wrong way, completely negating a single chance of letting Pico attend one of them.
“So!?” Pico shouts, and Captain’s calm demeanor staggers at his tone. “I’ll know her and what they do if I go! People go to her house all. the. fucking. time, and they’re fine!” He flings his arms in the air. “Darnell and Nene go to them, too! It’s, I, I’m the only one who can’t and people think I’m lame because of it.” The frustrated middle schooler sinks further into his seat. John let’s an amused laugh slip, and he laughs harder when Pico snaps his head to glare at him.
“What’s so cool about going to these parties at this ‘Cassandra’s’?” the noirette inquires, “Are there drugs? Alcohol? The marajamij?” He laughs again when Steve clarifies for Pico with ‘marijuana’, but he continues after his son’s face further sours. “Peek, if people think you’re lame for not going, then they’re the lame ones. Be yourself, who gives a shit?” The boy groans, crossing his arms, gritting his teeth, growing redder in the face. ]
———
Pico’s attitude had pissed him off today. He does everything for him: works, helps him study, drives him everywhere, does what’s best for him, raises and fucking loves him. Apparently all his efforts were going to be rewarded with vitriol and irritation, no gratefulness included! Then he’ll lock himself away in his room and rage and refuse to speak to him. Fine, he can be like that, hide away and run from the consequences of being a little shit.
(It’s not like Captain was being immature about this as well, by doing the exact same thing, not at all! See, he was the adult here, so he knows what the fuck he’s doing!)
“Cap.”
———
[ “I would be myself if you let me go!” argues Pico, pointing at Captain accusingly, “And I give a shit! I want to go because I want people to like me!” It’s turned into a debate now, and John can’t help but be irked by Pico’s expression. His temper blinds him to what’s actually in those eyes - insecurity, judgement, self-deprecation - but a challenge is what he picks up on, so that’s what he attacks. “Why is doing what everyone else does so cool?”
The ginger audibly growls, which ticks his dad off further. “It’s not THAT! I’ve been invited dozens of times and they all think-“ Captain interrupts him, “‘They all’? All, huh? All these punks don’t care about you unless you go to a girl’s panty raid party!?” Pico opens his mouth, but is cut off again, “Who gives a shit? I certainly don’t!” This sets Pico off once more, who pushes his chair away and stands. “Really, because I think you do! It’s not fair! You and Papa did crazy shit when you were younger! Why is it wrong when I want to!?”
John’s nerveless right hand slams on the table, making the other two jump in surprise. “Pico, I know that you know this: we had very, very different childhoods, compared to yours,” John hisses. “You are staying here,” he points at the floor, “you have a place to stay, a permanent one! You are not starving, you are not fighting for your life every night, and you are not going to these secret tween clubs where nobody else knows what happens in them! Is that understood!?” ]
———
Kids these fucking days, with their snarky, selfish bullshit, biting the hands that feed them, and- … god fucking damnit, he really was getting old. John glowers at the mirror, raking his senseless fingers through damp, dark hair, which he swears is turning greyer by the second. He scoffs somewhat, trailing his hands through his lightening hair, from his head to his sideburns to his beard. Yup, getting whiter there, cupcake!
Moving closer to the mirror, Captain takes in his appearance, especially his face. He’s shocked, stemming from the fact he frightened himself, what with his stormy wide eyes, dangerously tense jaw, and a pointedly aggressive scowl. He looked like a maniac, and John wasn’t sure if the look itself or the fright of his own face was more concerning. This day keeps on getting better and better, huh, he thinks bitterly.
“Captain!”
———
[ Flames burst in both pairs of grey eyes. Steve notices the metaphorical thickening smoke in the kitchen, and attempts to intervene to prevent things from becoming irreversible. “Hey, hey! Settle down or-“
“SHUT UP!” The synchronized shout directed at Steve would have been funny in any other context. The only neutral person in this scuffle was now silenced and ridiculed if he intervened, paving the way to chaos. Steve really did try to prevent the fire from spreading, but it was too hot, even for him. So now he was the unwilling witness to a heated, emotional argument between his husband and son… this… this isn’t going to end well, is it?
Seconds later, and Steve’s fears are correct. ]
———
John hasn’t felt this upset in years, much less determined to keep an angry act going for so long. He’s reminded of the times he called himself a sergeant and needed to intimidate the lower ranks into submission… Is this what Pico saw earlier? Was he that scary when he’s angry, even after leaving the battlefield? He better be scared, Captain thinks with a growl he couldn’t prevent, or else Pico is going to have to correct himself the hard way or so help him he’ll-
“JOHN!” After hearing his name shouted so loudly, he whips his head to the side, inner rant now interrupted, directing his scowl at Steve. His husband already has a glare ready for him, arms crossed, leaning against the bathroom door’s frame.
Steve is drumming his fingers against his arm, foot tapping expectantly, eyebrows raised, awaiting Captain’s acknowledgment and silently selling that ‘you better fucking talk to me, asshole’ look that he knows all too well. John finally relaxes the tightened muscles in his face, only now realizing just how painful it was preserving that angry frown for so long. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then sighs.
“What?” The younger man keeps his cool composure for a moment, before letting out a sigh of his own. Steve’s in front of him now, tugging the strings of his charcoal sweatshirt, and guides his hands to rest against his face, rubbing the soreness away and combing his hair for him. Captain tries to let his hands roam too, to play with the buttons of Steve’s green nightshirt, or something, but his arms are pushed away. Calming himself a little more, John sighs again as his lover attends to him.
A gentle push on his chin makes Captain look upwards, sharing his gaze with Steve’s stern ceruleans. The glare is gone, replaced with concern and a worried, knit brow. They stare at each other - blues and greys observing, admiring - before Steve responds to John’s question. “Cap, baby,” Captain hums, snaking his arms tightly around Steve’s waist, as he speaks, “you need to talk to him. It’s time.”
The older man groaned, dreading the post-argument discussion so, so much. Captain hated arguing with Pico, he did, truly he did. It left them both hurt at the end of the fights, and it sometimes took a few days for their relationship to be right back on track again. Considering how awful tonight’s fight had gone, a new record might be set before they move on together. His son was just as stubborn as he was, and still is. Their shared stubbornness made their fights particularly… explosive.
(All three of them are stubborn. Although Steve's stubbornness is more malleable, he can adjust his position for a moment, even if he wasn’t willing to completely budge, or move himself combatively against his opponent’s. John and Pico, on the other hand, glued themselves to the floor and demanded others to unstick themselves first. This similarity created very heated quarrels between the two of them as a result.)
———
[“Why do the differences matter!?” Pico asks dumbly, knowing full well why they did, but aimed to get a reaction from Captain, because he was too bitter to take ‘no’ as an answer. That, that and a prodding sensation within him. Something told him to act stupid, to act selfish and mean. It manifested inside him, like an itch spreading in his bones. He couldn’t get to it unless he urged himself to be a dick, and aim for an equally rude reaction.
And a reaction he got, indeed.
“Are you fucking with me?” John raises incredulously. “You are, aren’t you!?” Pico’s not-so-hidden whimper is enough to confirm it, and Captain presses further. “Do you even want to go!? Is there some alterior motive that you want to share with us? Because we can fight about it all night!” ]
———
“Sunshine I want to, but,” John inhales, “it’s really fucking hard for me right now.” The younger nods, noticing when his husband’s voice turned more gruff and formed a growl. “It’s just- fuck me! I can’t, I can’t! I love Pico so much but the - did you hear what he fucking said to me!?” His voice rises again, aiming his reignited anger at the calm man he loved so dear in front of him.
“Who the, who the fuck does he think he is!? Steve, we didn’t waste all this time to raise an ungrateful brat, did we!? So I don’t know why- how or where- shit! When did he-,“ a hand slaps over his mouth, muting John’s voice and making him notice Steve’s uninterested glare. The twitch of the younger’s eye was just enough of a warning.
“Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t yell, not at me, asshole,” Steve snaps, and John’s resurfacing temper capitulates. He obeys his husband’s request, not wanting to burn a second bridge tonight. The hand covering his mouth moves to his cheek, prompting John to lean against it. “Nng… I won’t,” Captain assures, “I won’t.” The blonde brushes their foreheads together, sighing, but smiling. “Good, now go, go talk to Pico,” a kiss, “he… he needs you, to talk. Even if you don’t want to, the both of you.”
———
[ “Dad,” slit eyes glare at his seething parent, “I want to go to Cassandra’s! That’s it!” Not even the most naive can be convinced by that correction. “What, Pico, what is - COME HERE!” Said boy spins back around after attempting to leave, swinging his fists down angrily. John’s mind was so frazzled with anger and confusion. What has gotten into him? He’s never acted like this before. The two parents looked at each other, and with the way Steve hides himself John thinks his lover isn’t willing to step in. “Can I fucking leave now?” This snide comment whips Captain back into reality.
“Stop. The. Attitude,” Captain pronounces each word individually, and Pico is avoiding looking at him. “Pico,” he leans forward as he says this, “the fuck is your problem? Tell us, stop disrespecting me, and we can talk this out.” The bubbling annoyance in his gut tries to relax, thinking a calmer approach could help sort everything back to normal. The pissed off look on Pico’s face, however, dissipates any and all hopes of that. Pico is a teenager now. He should have known better.
The night only gets worse from here. ]
———
The noirette nods, finally willing himself to do the responsible thing. “Fine,” relents John, hugging Steve a little tighter, “I’ll go- I’ll go and talk.” The taller of the two returns the hug, placing his head on the other’s and caressing his back. “Be nice,” Steve reminds softly into dark hair. Captain half-smiles, hiding his internal upset, nodding at Steve’s whispery guidance. He unwraps his arms from around Steve’s torso, separating to leave and speak to Pico, who is undoubtedly sulking in his bedroom. Before he departs, John notices Steve’s worried glance, so he turns to give the younger man one last kiss.
“I’ll be nice, Sunshine, I promise.”
———
Meanwhile, the other bedroom of the house has become the den of an aggravated, agitated Pico.
He’s curled into a ball, back facing the door, reining in quiet sobs Pico desperately wanted to stop. They weren’t stopping, and that added another wave of shame into the already contrite hurricane in his heart. Pico tries to snarl them away and preserve his anger from earlier, but none of his efforts work. He is absolutely devastated at the moment. Usually things were alright between himself and his parents. So whenever a bump in the road was made, the resulting incident was unfun and heartbreaking for all parties involved.
———
[ “Listen to me!” Pico requests hoarsely, walking towards the living room entrance, but turning back into the kitchen so he isn’t hollered at again, “You don’t ever do that for me!” The laugh that follows his plea pisses Pico off. Papa hides his face behind his hand, silently begging for this confrontation to conclude. “Yes, I do! I always do! BUT, YOU need to listen to ME!” Captain orders, balling his fists tightly. “I’m your daddy, LITERALLY! So stop acting like a brat and talk to me like I’m NOT!”
“Jesus Christ, John, please,” Steve attempted again, but the two combatants had tunnel vision exclusively focusing on the other.
“That doesn’t fucking matter! I just want to be heard, and actually do things, without- without all the- all the hang ups of an ASSHOLE that ONLY THINKS OF HIMSELF!” Pico wasn’t sure if he was projecting or not, but that strikes a nerve in the man he’s yelling at, as well as brings about a scolding look from Papa. The look switches between him and Dad, so he runs with it, with the slightest bit of encouragement he scraped from inside him. Something deep inside him is getting what it wanted.]
———
It also didn’t help that Pico had been particularly cutthroat tonight, saying mean things he didn’t mean but saying them in a way as if he did mean them. All the things he said, Pico didn’t even believe. But he said them anyway, just to be cruel and take a chance of winning an unlosable, unwinnable, useless argument. He’s not sure why feeling like the most horrible person on the planet felt… gratifying, if that was the word? He hated that, that he was spurred to act the way he did, when he didn’t even know what fueled him to do so.
God, he hates himself.
Then there’s the fact that, arguing with Dad, was always terrifying, in a way. The man’s voice carried louder than his own at full volume when he was angry, which made Pico jump in surprise whenever Dad decided to interject. Increasing volume led to less things being heard on both sides, and sometimes John’s thick skull made it especially difficult for him to actually hear what others were trying to say. The boy could almost never get through to him, his perspective never being considered at times.
(Then again, Pico was just as impervious, his youthful ignorance pushing his inexperienced defenses too hard.)
———
[ He thinks of everything, the swears he’s allowed to say, any slight from the past he can think of, and all the personal details he knows will hit him hard. Pico expects Dad to do the same, which he definitely does. So he dishes it out, and Captain provides him with it too, in an endless cycle that feels like it will never end. That itch inside him is finally being scratched, the one Pico knows is there but doesn’t know why it is. It’s satisfied by the yelling, at being yelled at, and he doesn’t know why the cruelty towards his dad and himself fixes it, but it does.
”LET ME TELL YOU THIS, YA’ LITTLE SHIT!” Pico recoils at that, the loud tone and the cursing name accompanying it. He takes a breather, huffing, gasping for breath to rest his now scratchy throat. “Life isn’t fair. I’ve got experience that you don’t so listen up before it’s too late!” ]
———
Pico didn’t count on the insults being hurled right back at him tonight, at least not as bad as they were. It was unexpected how easily he and Dad lost themselves. He flinched, clawing at his red pullover, as he remembered each bad dig in particular, and the sickening sting he got from each one, even his own. The effects of all of them nearly made him burst into tears once more at how intensely he shouted them, received them, and how badly they treated each other.
———
[ “I deal with so much shit in my life, Pico! Lot’s of it!” John waves his hands at himself to emphasize. “I have to work, which fucks me and everyone else in the ass! I deal with bullshit in my head- trauma, kid, which will NEVER leave me be, ever! And then there are bastards everywhere, that I also deal with on a daily basis!” Deep eye contact is made, and Captain points his hands at the heavily breathing Pico. “That’s life; it’s not fair, and will never be fair! Shit happens, and will stick with me forever, like a certain someone that I’m talking to right now!”
The boy halts to observe that last phrase. His immature brain picks at it, treating the irritated scab of worthlessness. Pico can’t move on from it, the itch inside him flaring, so he drops another passionate bombshell made of scraps of doubt. ]
———
Pico deplored ever going so far, guilt embedded into his lasting anger over the worst argument he ever had.
Which is why Pico is curled up on his bed, trying to cease the tears falling down his face and pretend they weren’t really there. He’s thirteen, he shouldn’t be fucking crying, but he was hurt, very hurt, for himself and his Dad. Many of the things said were meant to hurt, sure, but he didn’t intend for them to get so out of hand. The argument had been so stupid in the first place, and Pico felt repentant that the night turned into a screaming match.
(Everyone raves about that weird girl Cassandra and her secrets, even Darnell and Nene, but he didn’t actually care about her. He just wanted to be with and make friends, which still draws him to her secrets. That rash inside him made him beg to go, even though his logical self knew not to trust any of its enticings.)
His pride, as shrunken as it was at the moment, had not humbled, still refusing to take up the challenge of seeing his dad and apologizing. Pico tried to psyche himself up, bite the bullet, and go, but his fears and doubts prevented him from moving a muscle. He’s convinced himself that he shouldn’t even be here in the first place.
———
[ “THEN WHY AM I HERE!?” He cries, vaguely gesturing to the house, “Why!? Fucking taking me in! How can that help!? With money, th-the bad stuff in your head, and Papa’s, and adding people’s prob-“ Dad’s angered stomp on the ground as he stands is enough to silence him. Furniture shakes, Pico’s leg aches sympathetically at the strong thump, and he backs away as Captain starts to march right to him.
“Repeat that again, Pico!” Captain yells, skimming over revealed insecurities due to his blinding anger. Steve tenses and tries to hint, “John, stop-,” but he’s ignored again. “Repeat that! Tell me when I said, or even THOUGHT, any of that shit!” He demands through his teeth, and Pico has never seen Dad’s face be this terrifying, it nearly immobilized him. He bares his teeth back, trying to appear bigger and braver, then snaps, his confident façade shattering as he backs away in retreat.
He wants to flee, and so he does. ]
———
There’s a knock on the door, and Pico wipes the tears still dribbling down his face, hoping it wasn’t who he thought it was. He still wasn’t ready for a talk, not now.
“Pico,” and of course it was Dad, the universe hated him so, “are you alright, kiddo?” The boy curls into himself even more, debating if he should answer at all. He’s still upset, not sure what would happen if he let his father in to see him. There’s silence for a minute, and Pico’s gut instinct informs him that Captain has yet to leave his door. So he swallows his pride, very aware and embarrassed of how shaky his voice sounded, “I’m fine.” Pico discards more tears and snot from his face, hoping he can calm himself before anything intense starts again.
More silence. Another question. “May I come in?” Again, silence, but longer this time. He weighed the options again, after an even longer period of time. Silence continues to ring in the air. “Door’s unlocked.” Pico hears the door open after that. Light spills into the room and he sees John’s shadow climb up the far wall as he walks up to him. The young teen tries not to start crying again, not fully comprehending the emotions he’s feeling and the ones he wants to feel, and it would be humiliating if his dad saw him do that at his age.
So Pico toughens up, awaiting whatever lecture he’s inevitably going to receive. The shadow on the wall lowers itself a bit, accompanied by the mattress sinking from behind him. Again, the silence takes over. Awkwardness soon follows, too. Pico thinks about being the one to start, but he couldn’t brave up enough to do so. Thankfully, Dad had him covered, finally beginning the hardest part of the argument process.
“Hey, look, I’m not- its, I, fuck this…uh,” Dad starts, pausing to steady himself, then continues with, “Pico, first, let me just say,… I love you, no matter what. I’ll always love you. I- I hope you know that.” The boy tenses, confusion and shock now added to the messy recipe of his emotions. “Even if you drag me through hell and back which, heh, you’ve done multiple times already, I swear,” Captain’s breath hitches, “Always, I will love you, Pico, no matter what.”
“What I said back there was- it was all horseshit, and a complete lie, all of it. I’m sorry. Really, I am.” That’s not something Pico prepared himself to hear, especially not at this moment. He’s at a loss for words, the long, heavy declaration pinning his tongue behind his teeth. Dad waits a bit for a response, the one that Pico can’t seem to muster, then he proceeds. “N-not all of it, uh, there were truths, and the truths… were not said in the best way.”
John leans back, his shadow at an angle now that Pico knows he’s looking at him. “It’s just… I want what is best for you. Which is you being safe, and happy, and at home, with us. You, Papa, and me, all of us, okay?” Pico’s heart climbs up his throat guiltily, his post-argument logical half brutalizing his pre-argument emotional half. He nods at his dad’s words, encouraging himself to allow their matching grey eyes to meet after hours of avoidance.
At this point he’s not so angry anymore, and so is Dad. “We can’t trust you to- to go somewhere by yourself. If anything, we don’t trust ourselves!” Captain tenses a little and his voice strains in the way that Pico knows he’s thinking about the past, the past before he was born. “I’ve… Papa and I’ve lost a lot… it would kill me if- if we lost you, too; that’s why we hold you so close, Peek, that’s why.” Captain keeps his composure, rambling on, father to son, “And you being pissed at us, at me, for that… is normal. It’s alright to want to be a certain way when you’re not, especially at your age, that’s okay-.”
———
[ Pico screams in frustration, closes his eyes, and covers his ears to discard the anymore of John’s yelling. “Fuck. This. GAAH!” He turns on his heels, back turned, both to retreat up to his room and hide the eruption of tears making his way down his face. This is when Steve takes the opportunity to spring to action and separate the two, wrapping his arms around Cap’s chest and hauling him back before he can tail their upset child. “DON’T RUN AWAY FROM ME!” Captain shouts, whilst naturally submitting to his husband’s frustrated, diplomatic efforts.
“WE’RE NOT DONE HERE!” Pico can’t think anymore. His heart, his voice, and his pride is too beaten to want to continue. “Leave me alone! I’m going to my room!” He runs up the stairs, away from his parents, and towards a shelter for his unstable emotions. Even if one isn’t showing it, both John and Steve were concerned by their son’s departure. Still obstinate in anger, the noirette’s worry, sounding more aggressive than he intended, says, “Pico, wait, come back here!”
Distress at its peak, decorated alongside a last spiteful spark from that deep itch within his soul, Pico spins himself from atop the stairs, giving Dad the most intense, genuine look in the eye he could garner, and screams: ]
———
“It’s not okay, Dad,” Pico mumbles, interrupting John and his rambling. His voice is meek and quiet, still recovering from the crying, the screaming. “I started it, and I said bad things… ‘cause I‘m a fucking jerk, and an asshole,” he sniffles, wringing his hands, “and I got mad like I always do, instead of- instead of thinking about what was actually important.” A large hand rubs Pico’s back, soothing him, but the action couldn’t prevent the internal spiral in his head. “I get it, I get it, why I can’t go, but I don’t know why I even want to!”
A new ramble commences, now from son to father. “It’s… - I don’t know! - I don’t know why, an-and how it s-sounds, or any of that shit!” Pico covers his face, hiding his reddening face and quivering lips. “And I hate it! I w-want to be like you, and Papa, but I always ma-make things worse when I try!” Captain’s body is now fully on the bed, trying to pry Pico away from the path of worthlessness with his presence. That prying hand on his shoulder tries to turn him, but Pico twists away each time his body is pulled.
“Is it, i-is it, is it me, Dad!? Is th-there something wrong, wrong with me!?” The young teen continues, descending further into self-doubt, “Y-you get scared, which makes me sc-scared, then I fuck it all- all up and make it worse, ruining everything!” The dam holding back his tears is cracking. “So I t-took advantage of that, just to do fuck all, and not actually try, a-and, and, and…” It all comes back to Pico: the yelling, the insults, the hurt, and the short, conclusive, final jab:
———
[ “I FUCKING HATE YOU!” The raucous, brandishing slam of a door is deafening and finite. ]
———
“… I’m sorry!”
Pico’s sobs return, despising how easily they did after recounting all of the fight. He thinks maybe Dad would scold him again, or restart his yelling, or just leave and never come back, thinking he deserved it because of how terrible he was and how pathetic he’s being right now. Rather than do any of that, Pico is lifted off the bed and entrapped into a tight hug on Captain’s lap.
Apology accepted, the ginger welcomes the noirette’s embrace, crying, letting his father hide his face in his neck, soaking the shoulder of Dad’s hoodie with saliva, snot, and tears. “I love you,” Pico keens, and something wet trickles down his neck, “I- I love- d-don’t hate, I don’t hate you, I don’t!” He mumbles that over and over again, and Captain continues to rub his back whilst muttering an ‘I know, I know’ after each utterance. Pico muffles his bawls into the offered shoulder, thankful for the emotional outlet he’s wanted - needed - all night.
In between hiccups and cries, he finally notices the warm liquid flowing down his neck. Pico takes a moment to realize why there’s wetness on his neck, and that it was from John, his crying not as vocal or obvious. That fact shook him to the core, making him tremble harder and squeeze his arms tighter around his dad’s neck. So they both sit on the bed, clutching each other, saying their regrets, their corrections of those regrets, their love. Pico can’t see past the teardrops in his eyes, but looks up anyway to wipe away Dad’s silent, salty tears.
It’s that little act that finally makes Captain smile, wiping away his son’s and thinking back to all the memories he’s had with his little Peekaboo, even if he isn’t so little anymore. “Oh my god, kid,” Dad perseveres through a soft, wet laugh, “fuckin’… look what you’ve done to me. Is this what I get for being a dick?” Pico laughs as well, thumping his head onto John’s chest, hugging him tighter, then decides to play along. “Dad, I’m… also a dick, hehe, but it’s your fault, sin-since I got it from you.”
There wasn’t a rebuttal to that statement, the lack of a response loud enough to even confirm it, which makes them laugh again. Minutes later, the crying is over, and what’s left behind is a father and son finding solace in each other’s company. Newly found comfort evaporates any tension and conflict in the air, providing them a place of bonding and care. The rebranded atmosphere in the room makes Pico think of something… nostalgic.
It’s dumb, and maybe he’s too old to ask for it, but he really wanted to capitalize on anything good-feeling right now. Hesitantly he asks, “Hey Dad,” John hums in response, “I, um… - fuck, this is embarrassing - is it okay i-if I ask you something?” The boy hides his face in hands, already feeling stupid and babyish at the idea. The older male snickers, gently carding Pico’s orange locks, then says, “At this point, Peek, anything. Ask away.”
———
Our room is so quiet without you, John, Steve thinks. He’s been rereading written drafts and work emails on his laptop for nearly an hour now, and there’s still no sign of his husband’s return. Is it going well? It would have to be, because there hasn’t been any sign of yelling or arguing. Earlier he did hear raised voices, but they were gone as soon as they started. Steve brushes his hair back, then rubs the tiredness out of his eyes. …Okay, what the hell is going on right now!?
So out of concern and curiosity, Steve leaves behind his laptop and the comfortable spot on their bed to see what the fuck the hold up is. He reaches Pico’s bedroom, and slowly opens the door, hoping to not intrude too terribly in whatever business is being discussed. The room is dark, the light from the rays of moonlight is enough to see why the night was so quiet and lonesome for Steve.
Captain and Pico were together, asleep, on their child’s queen bed. Steve does everything in his power to prevent a loud gasp or murmur in surprise. A large, toothy smile presents itself on his face, silently expressing his joy. This wasn’t what he was expecting to see tonight, and Steve is thrilled that a peaceful avenue had been traversed tonight, instead of another harsh battle of verbal slights.
(They looked so cute, and comfortable, too… He can’t help it, so fuck it! Steve has to join them!)
Cautiously he approaches the smaller bed, where he observes his hugging husband and son. Cap is on his back, left arm securing Pico, who rests his head on his left shoulder. Steve picks up on their puffy eyes - they’d both been crying, huh? - and their subconscious, lopsided grins. Even if John and Pico didn’t look very similar, their personalities certainly were, even as they slept.
The blonde joins them after discarding his glasses, kissing both the ginger’s and noirette’s foreheads. Steve then curls his body around Pico’s, places his head next to John’s, and closes his eyes, with a smile still persisting throughout. The queen bed was a little cramped, sure, but it didn’t really matter. Such an awful day was finally resolved, where they were all together and peaceful, which is prioritized above anything else.
Finally, the family rests, prepared for the harshest of each other’s grievances by combatting it with their mutual understanding and love.