Chapter Text
The alarm clock beeps loudly in his ear and the wise decision would be to open his eyes, stretch over, and turn the damn thing off. But he isn’t wise at all this morning and he buries his face further under his cocoon of blankets; his head is killing him and for some reason all he wants to do is to sleep off the pain. The blaring alarm grows louder though and he groans in response, thinking that maybe if he’s louder than it then it’ll stop. He finally gets sick of it though and unburies his arm and hits around on the bedstand table until his hand connects with the stupid piece of plastic and he hits snooze again for the third time this morning.
He doesn’t feel like going to work today and he wonders if maybe he’ll be able to call off. It’s not like it’s an important time of the year like tax season or anything. Accountants are always needed though and if he starts skipping now, well, then it’ll just encourage him to do so more down the road. It’s not that he hates his job, it’s just that most days he doesn’t really want to go and his coworkers are all pieces of trash that really make the workplace intolerable. Plus, there’s his overattentive boss that has to be meddling in everything and it makes him feel stupid most days whenever he can’t remember the smallest details. Okay, so maybe he does hate his job. He would honestly love to work anywhere else rather than an accounting firm, but he has a family to support and sometimes, sacrifices have to be made to bring money in. Sometimes, happiness is one of those sacrifices. And it’s not like his family isn’t poor; they’re actually pretty well off. He just likes to keep it that way so it’s one less thing he has to worry about.
He’s just on the precipice of sleep again whenever he feels something start wiggling around his legs and it freaks him out because he doesn’t have a clue what it could be. He throws back the covers and pulls himself out of his cocoon in a panic, reaching for anything to protect himself with. There’s nothing to use though--which feels odd--but he doesn’t have time to think about that right now because he’s face to face with a small terrier with wiry brown hair.
“Biscuit?” He asks sleepily and he sits up more as the dog gives a little pant and digs slightly at the blankets. He hates the name for the dog, he had wanted to go for something more logical like Romeo or Henry, but the kids wanted to name it and so he gave in. Sometimes though, he finds himself referring to the dog as Romeo in his head instead and he thinks it fits the animal so much better. Honestly, Romeo is just a fitting name for any animal overall and he’d fight anyone who says otherwise.
“Potty?” He asks, pitching his voice up an octave. The dog yips and jumps off the bed, dancing urgently by the closed bedroom door. “Yeah, yeah. Hold on then.”
Well, there goes his lazy morning and he climbs out of bed, his bones popping as he does so. There’s a sharp, quick pain in his chest and he tries rubbing it away. He takes a few large, slow breaths to alleviate the sensation and it takes a moment, but the pain falls away. For a brief second, he was worried maybe he was having a heart attack, but he’s too young for those, right? There’s another high pitched bark, alerting him that he’s not alone in the room and that there’s a specific reason for getting out of bed. He opens the door and watches the dog zoom out and down the hallway, towards the kitchen’s sliding door that leads to the backyard. His brain is telling him that he’s missing something as he walks out of the bedroom too, but he can’t really remember what it is at the moment. He’s got a terrible short-term memory and he’s sure that he’ll be reminded about whatever he forgot eventually.
He makes his way down the hallway, blinking against the shockingly white paint. He’d rather it have been a softer color or maybe a dark blue whenever they painted it, but Erica insisted on white. She had explained that the color white came off as pure and innocent. He had asked why a hallway needed to be innocent and she had gotten angry at him. He knew the answer, of course; white made the house look spotless and she always has to have the best of the best. The white made it look boring and bland to him though despite the perfectly straight photos lining the walls. He takes his time and stops to look at the pictures, he doesn’t remember taking half of them, but honestly, they all look the same. The photos are family snapshots with him, his wife, and their two children in their best attire and the same positions year after year. The only change is that occasionally one member will look older and that’s usually one of the kids. Hell, even Erica’s hair looks nearly the same in every photo; but he can’t say much because his is the same way too. God, he wishes the photos looked just a little bit more exciting. Boring pictures for a boring wall.
He sighs and continues moving into the kitchen to let Biscuit out. He can hear the sound of the morning news playing on the television and the smell of toast fills the air the closer he gets. For some reason, he almost expects the familiar smell of burning bread accompanied with it. Burnt toast isn’t a thing in this household though and he’s slightly confused about why he feels disappointed by that or why he thinks it’s comforting. The thought quickly leaves his mind whenever he steps into the kitchen and sees Erica standing leaning against the counter and their two kids eating breakfast at the island where the small television is playing. He’s about to say something like wishing them all a good morning, but Erica turns around first and sees him.
“Barry Benson!” She shouts at him and it’s not a happy tone of a loving wife. It’s more like she’s annoyed she has to take care of another kid. “What do you think you’re doing!?”
God, her yelling makes his head hurt even more. “Biscuit.” He points to the poor dog waiting at the door.
“Barry,” She says, obviously struggling to be patient. The kids are snickering into their breakfast now and Barry’s very confused. “The neighbors can see you.” She gestures to his entire body.
Right. He’s still in his pajamas, which consists of only his underwear. That’s what he was forgetting. “Well, if someone listened whenever I wanted to get curtains, we wouldn’t have this problem.” He mumbled under his breath.
The giggling from the kids stops and Erica gives him a look with a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I said I’m going to go change.” Barry says louder, maintaining her eye contact. “Jonathan, go let out Biscuit before it’s a problem.”
“Sure thing, Dad!” Erica’s glare relaxes slightly and Barry breaks eye contact to watch his son hop out of his chair to let out the dog.
Barry makes his way back down the bleak hallway and back into the equally depressing bedroom. Luckily, the bedroom is at least beige so there’s not the blinding sensation whenever he flips on the light switch and makes his way to the closet. He slides the mirrored door to his side of the shared space and looks at the dull clothing options. He swipes the hangers left as he tries to find something to wear. All there is are suits or dress shirts which are really not speaking to the mood Barry is in today. Everything just looks so boring and he wants something… He can’t put his tongue on the word, but he knows that it’s related to color. For once in his life, he wants to wear something bright and he has no clue why. He starts pulling one of the pairs of black slacks off the hanger whenever something else catches his eye. He pushes back the slacks and grabs the old pair of jeans instead. Something tells him that he should be looking for a vest or jacket too, but he’s not sure why. It’s not like he’s ever owned anything of the sort. Maybe when he was younger, but definitely not now. He usually hates how denim feels so stiff, but holding the jeans right now is the first thing that’s felt right since his alarm went off this morning.
He quickly shoves the pants on, noting that denim is still very much a stiff type of material but he finds himself not really minding. He searches the closet for a more casual shirt to wear with it, but he stops himself. What is he even doing? He has work today and the office most definitely would not allow him to even step inside with jeans on. Reluctantly, he shimmies out of the denim pants and switches into a more respected black pair of slacks paired with a white dress shirt. He’s not feeling a tie today though and he’s certain that he can get away without one, but he does put on a black suit jacket to make the whole outfit look more respectful. He looks in the mirror and sighs. He matches the bedroom, the hallway, and the kitchen with no curtains but full of windows; he looks bland and drained of any personality. But he’s successful though and has a great family, so that shouldn’t matter, right? He should be happy living the dream he’s always wanted, but instead he just feels blank. There’s an overwhelming feeling that things aren’t right.
He does the rest of his morning routine such as making his side of the bed--Erica’s is already neatly pulled on her side--and brushing his teeth, putting on deodorant, and combing his hair. He looks professional by the time he’s done and the only thing he regrets is not taking a shower before getting ready, but he can probably pass for a day and be fine. It’s not like he’s doing anything extremely dirty at the office; he sits in a chair all day and types. Shit. He’s really in a mood today, isn’t he? Usually he tends to have a more positive outlook, but today he’s just not having it. He blames the headache that he can’t shake and he pops two painkillers, hoping that it does the trick. He makes it back to the kitchen, only pausing slightly to stare at the pictures on the wall. The more he thinks about it, the more he doesn’t really remember taking them.
“--cops say that the criminals sped through an alleyway wher--” The television is turned off the moment he comes back into the room, hopping on one foot as he shoves his last shoe on.
“Better?” He asks, forcing a smile.
“Much.” Erica smiles back, and she gets on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Good morning.”
The smile on his face becomes more genuine as he reminds himself that this is the best life he could live. He's just had a shitty morning, that’s all. His life is pretty okay, despite its quietness, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. Erica hands him a cup of coffee in a travel mug and he takes a sip and the bitter juice burns his mouth and he almost spits it out. It’s too bitter. It’s missing his hazelnut crea--no. What the hell? He’s never once had hazelnut creamer in his life. Why is he suddenly craving it? The coffee is fine how it is. To prove the point to himself, he takes another large sip and forces it down. For some reason, the coffee is making his headache worse and all he wants to do is go back to bed.
“Ready, Dad?” Katie asks as she puts her dishes in the sink.
“Huh?” He scrunches his eyebrows together.
“School, Barry. You agreed to take them to school this week while I go help Jenny with her house project.” Erica says slowly.
Barry doesn’t remember this at all. The more he thinks about it, the more he doesn’t even remember going to bed last night either and he’s trying his hardest not to freak out. It’s just his shitty memory. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I remember.” He clears his throat.
Katie looks like she doesn’t buy it. “I mean, this all could be fixed if someone would’ve taken me to get my driver’s license last week but apparently was too busy at work.”
He blinks a few times before he realizes what’s being implied. “Oh! Right…” He doesn’t remember that either. “Work. It’s very, uh, important.”
“So you say.” Katie moves and grabs her backpack off her chair. “Jonathan’s already in the car.” She looks over to Erica. “Bye Mom!”
Erica smiles, “Bye, sweetie.” Once their daughter is out of the house, Erica gives him a harsh look. “You really forgot? What is with you?” She shakes her head, obviously disappointed.
“I’m a goldfish, what can I say?” Barry tries defusing the energy in the room.
“What does that even mean?” She looks at him concerned, but she quickly recovers and gives him another smile. “So, the kids have practice late tonight.”
Practice? Right. Jonathan has football and Katie has oboe practice. Barry feels like he’s getting more and more confused about his life at the moment. It sort of feels like he’s woken up in a life that isn’t his and he only knows the basics. “Okay?”
She moves a little closer to him and runs a hand up his arm. “I was thinking we could have some alone time.”
Barry’s head explodes in pain and he nearly drops the coffee cup. For a second, he thinks he hears someone call his name and he looks around wildly, searching for the soft echo. “What?”
“Jesus, B.” Erica mumbles as she drops her hand and that’s not right. She’s never called him that.
“What did you call me?” Barry asks, the pain clearing as the painkillers finally kick in.
“B.” She says slower.
He frowns. “You’ve never called me that before.” But it sounds so familiar despite the fact that Barry’s pretty sure no one has ever called him that.
Erica is about to say something else but the long honking of a horn outside causes both of them to jump. She sighs. “Just leave. We’ll talk tonight.”
Barry nods and it’s like his legs have a mind of their own and he walks out of the house. The horn is still blaring and he can see it’s Katie leaning over the center console and pushing the button. She glares at him and doesn’t let up on the horn until he’s opened the driver’s door and pushes her hand away. She relents and goes back to sitting fully on her side of the car with her arms crossed. Barry doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t really look like she wants to talk anyway, but she’s definitely mumbling something about being late under her breath.
He never even really wanted kids. It's something that sort of… happened. Erica always wanted them though and that’s how they’re here. He loves them now dearly and wouldn’t trade them for the world though. He does, however, miss the younger years when both kids looked at him with stars in their eyes and they loved being around their dad. Weirdly enough, they feel more real to him in memories than right now. He supposes that’s just what happens when children get older though, they slip through and all everyone wants is for them to be small again. Now that he’s thinking about it, Barry only really remembers Katie being ten and Jonathan being six. Huh, maybe he’s just been working too much if he can’t remember them growing up. Clearly they’re much older and the pictures on the hallway wall proves that he was there while they were aging, he just must not have been fully mentally present.
“Are we going or are you going to stare at us all day?” Katie asks in the perfect teenager tone. Jesus, Barry is going to be so glad when she grows out of it.
He climbs into the car and clicks the seatbelt into place before putting his hands on the steering wheel. It’s a stupid minivan--one that’s supposed to family safe or whatever--and he’s not sure of the brand but being behind the wheel has never felt better than it does right now. He grips it and there’s a strange surge of adrenaline that courses through his veins for a brief second. There’s a need to speed, which Barry never really has before, and he throws the car into reverse and peels out of the driveway. He sees Katie’s head swivel to stare at him and he can see Jonathan in the backseat sit up straighter. Without even thinking, Barry starts speeding down the street towards the school.
“Dad!” Katie screams as he goes well over the speed limit. “What are you doing!?”
He looks down and sees just how fast he’s going and slams on the brakes. “Fuck.” What is he doing?
“Dad said fuck!” Jonathan shouts.
“He almost just killed us and that’s what you’re worried about!?” Katie turns around and shouts at her brother.
“Calm down, I didn’t kill anyone!” Barry tries to calm them. “I just…”
“Said fuck.”
Barry glares at his son in the mirror. “Don’t tell your mother.”
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” Jonathan mouths off.
“TJ, I swear to fucking god.” Barry goes back to paying attention to the road.
Jonathan stops. “Who?”
“Who what?” Barry parrots back.
“You called him TJ.” Katie responds.
“Uh, no I didn’t.” Barry shakes his head. He doesn’t even fucking know a TJ, but the name does sound familiar.
Jonathan sinks in his chair. “Keep telling yourself that, Pops.”
This is the moment that makes Barry consider that his life isn’t as great as he’s been trying to convince himself it is. He thinks maybe if he admits it to himself that maybe things would change, but nothing happens. He’s still driving in a van with two children that are disrespectful and he doesn’t know what the fuck he did. It’s such a sharp turn of emotions from what he felt what he’s pretty sure he felt yesterday and he almost feels like a different man. His head is killing him. He doesn’t want to go to work. And he doesn’t want to go home to his wife tonight. He feels like he didn’t dodge a bullet when it came to this life and now he’s stuck. Left to imagine a life where maybe Erica somehow dies and Barry moves somewhere far away, maybe to a beach. There’s suddenly such a crystal clear image of a yellow house on a beach that he almost has to pull over due to the nostalgia that wraps around his heart and pulls. Something weird is going on today and it’s just getting worse as the sun makes its way across the sky. Barry’s never once seen such a house in his life, but why the hell can he imagine it so well? It’s a big house though and he’d have to share with somebody?
As if on cue, he hears his name being called. It’s the same voice from earlier and Barry thinks that it’s a man calling for him, but he’s not sure. Whatever or whoever it is pulls him from his thoughts though and he realizes that they’re near the school. Barry is actually pretty shocked that he drove them there safely, he must’ve gone on autopilot; he didn’t even know he knew where the school was! Jonathan and Katie both get out with the briefest of goodbyes and Barry watches them go. He’s going to be in huge shit later tonight with Erica; he knows his kids are snitches. He hates snitches too, bad sadly family isn’t blood in and blood out like… like… fuck. He doesn’t know. He’s having some extreme memory loss today.
It doesn’t matter though because he for sure knows where his office is. He’s been working there since he and Erica got married. It’s not terribly far from the school, but it’s still far enough away to get swept up in his thoughts and he doesn’t need that right now. He needs to be completely focused on work; it’ll make the day go by faster and then he’ll be able to get to bed and sleep quicker. A blissful few hours before starting the routine all over tomorrow. But maybe tomorrow his head wouldn’t be killing him like it still is right now despite the medication taken earlier. He reaches down to turn on the car’s radio, hoping for some smooth music that might calm his head.
“--re the car proceeded to flip over. Witnesses near the scene claimed the sound of metal was so loud they could hear it from blocks away.” It’s a news channel reporting whatever the situation was that was on the television earlier. “After crashing, gun fire ra--”
Barry turns it off. He doesn’t really like the news anyway and something about the report today just makes his head feel worse. There’s also a pressure in his chest that causes him slight worry and he tries rubbing it away. It feels like he’s a kid again and needs his asthma inhaler, but he hasn’t had to deal with that for years. Even at the thought of that, his brain instantly flashes memories of walking down hospital hallways with someone screaming besi--no. His mum never screamed whenever they went to his asthma check ups? Jesus, he really is having an off day. He tries to take calming breaths to calm himself as he finishes the drive to the office and pulls into the parking lot. He’s fine. This is fine. Everything is fine. He’s starting to regret waking up today despite his constant words of affirmation.
He slams the car door behind him and makes his way towards the tall, grey building. Once upon a time, as a kid, he thought that this is what he wanted. His dream job. A dream wife. A dream house. But, now, reflecting back on it, he’s learning more and more that this isn’t what he needs. There’s something missing and he feels like a robot with no excitement. Maybe he should’ve gone a different route as a bartender or a mechanic. Both jobs wouldn’t give him such a cushioned life like the one he has now though and he’s curious to know if he’d be happier though. Perhaps it’s just another example of the grass being greener on the other side though. He imagines another life--back in the yellow house from before--where maybe he would be part of something greater. A smile sticks to his face and without even realizing it, he chuckles to himself as his head stops hurting for a moment. Something about that image in his mind settles something, but he finally gets shocked back to reality as he nears the doors to his building and there’s a man fully dressed in black standing at the entrance. The man is only there for a second, Barry barely blinks and he’s gone, but there’s now a churning anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach and all his senses tell him to run.
The headache returns full force again and it nearly makes him trip on the sidewalk. He glances wildly around to see if there’s any other signs of the man, but there’s nothing. It looks like a few other people heading into the building didn’t even notice him either. Barry goes to straighten his tie as a nervous gesture, but his fingers grasp at nothing. He stops at the cement stairs leading into the building and somebody pushes past him and makes their way up, opening the door and disappearing inside. The anxiety in Barry’s stomach grows and he can’t bring himself to even get closer to the door. Which is stupid, really, because how many times has he done this? It’s his job, for fucks sake! He shouldn’t be scared to go through the same doors that he has gone in through for years now. He has an odd feeling that if he walks into the building, then he’ll never walk out. Physically, that is, because there are some days that it feels like his brain is still at the office when he’s home, but today the threat feels real. Add in the odd man standing here just a minute before and anxiety changes into fear.
Barry takes a step back and then another, not taking his eyes off the door. It feels ominous; like it’s staring right at him and judging him. It’s completely irrational, but he’s absolutely convinced that there’s something wrong with the door. He’s not a spiritual man by all means, he’d only ever gone to church a handful of times as a kid, but there’s something almost supernatural about the door that sends shivers up his spine. There’s no question in his mind that there’s no way in hell that he’s going into work today. He won’t. He can’t. Fuck that noise. He turns on his heels and starts heading back to his parked car, ignoring the confused look from some of his coworkers. He just wants to be home--and not the boring white house with no curtains. He wants to feel at home in a place. And for some odd reason, that yellow house is the only place he can think of at the moment. There’s an odd echo in his ears again, similar to this morning at the house, and it sounds almost like someone is shouting the word “husband” and he doesn’t understand why he feels like he should be answering it.
As quickly as the echo comes though, it goes and it leaves Barry feeling like he’s missing someone. He shoves the feeling down though, he’s pretty sure he’s imagining it anyway. Once he’s back in the car, he sits for a moment, finding himself staring back towards the direction of the building again. The ominous feeling has faded now that he’s farther away, but it still has his teeth on edge and he clenches the wheel with both hands. He watches his knuckles turn white and only then does he let go in favor of starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. He’ll call his boss whenever he’s at the house, safe and away from the creepy ass door that seems to still be watching him. Maybe once he gets to the house, he can switch back into the jeans from earlier. He thinks maybe he even has a hoodie hanging up in the closet somewhere too, he just needs to find it. He’s thinking about what he could possibly do after he changes clothes and his mind wanders, forgetting for a second that he’s not speeding in a minivan. He’s so focused--or lacking focus--that he misses the fact that he wanders into the wrong lane of traffic. The only thing he can hear before everything crashes around him is a loud blaring horn.