Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I know you are worried,” Jane said calmly.
She was forty-eight and swollen like a watermelon, so “worried” was a mild description of how he felt about her decision to keep the pregnancy. They had been happy without a kid; he had thought they had been happy. Apparently not. “Yeah. Sure. ‘Everything will be fine.’ Whatever.”
“No,” she cut in sharply. “Wilbur, look at me.”
He held back something, maybe just an irritated huff, but met her eyes. She ran her hand across his neck and pressed down against the base, craning her head up to look at him and pulling his head down to meet her eyes.
“You cannot let him have a bad childhood.” Her steady brown eyes. “Whatever generational curse is present, it stops with you.”
He studied the window blinds and how there was dust collected on top rather than how her eyes were pressing into him.
“The abuse stops with you. It has to.”
She leaned up on her tiptoes, and his hands went to her waist to steady her, kept her from teetering backwards. He raised his eyebrows at her determined face as she tried to pull him closer. She smiled, self-conscious of her own weakness in his arms before becoming determined again.
She repeated- challenged, “You are strong enough to break it. Give him a better childhood than you received. Than I had.”
He frowned slightly at her insistence, but the reminder welled up again of being small and the things that happened to him without a protective parent around. Her being a girl child and defenseless. The things that happened to her make him angrier than anything that happened to him. Sure, he got the rage, but she got the depression. Between the two, she scarred; he learned to bite back, hard enough to draw blood. Then harder for the both of them. Shit happened to him, and maybe it was deserved. She deserved none of what happened to her.
She was waiting. Her and her pregnancy. Her unborn child that he felt uncomfortable assigning his, yet.
He sighed, closing his eyes to shut up his father’s voice griping about women and their emotions. He opened his eyes to see Jane, still waiting. Still hopeful he would be able to change.
“Okay,” he agreed for her. Her expression opened. He kissed the bridge of her nose. “I’ll go to therapy, for the anger problems. And whatever else the quack wants to throw at me. But only for you.”
She smiled, already relieved and hopeful, and his chest definitely did not ache at seeing her optimism in him. He deflected, “A boy though? Really.”
“Maternal instinct.”
“Uh huh.”
He had four years of feeling smug that her prediction was wrong. He had navigated the psychiatric system in the meantime until finding a therapist he could tolerate and settled on shoveling through how to handle anger. Then the kid declared his interest in manhood one day when he picked him up from pre-school, so Jane earned the right to be smug back and Willy found himself buying children's pants to Ron’s overwhelming joy.

“Where are you right now?” Christine yelled through the phone.
Bill tilted the speaker away from his ear. He tried to sound convincing. “Running an errand?”
“My water broke! Get to the hospital! You are not making me do this alone.”
Bill started blankly at the empty racetrack, processing the idea that it was finally happening. Like panic that had yet to hit him, he wasn’t ready, but it had happened despite him. It was like their eventual divorce. One day they would finally fall out of the other’s life, run out of love. Run out of patience for the other to change.
But not yet. Her water broke. They were about to have a baby together.
He blurted, “It’s going to be alright, Chris.”
The other end of the phone was quiet, but in the quiet, he could hear her breaths slightly labored. From pain or fear, he wasn’t sure, but they could support each other a little longer. They could love and cover the other’s weaknesses a bit longer.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. Then she returned to certainty again. “Don’t be late.” The phone clicked off.
Bill smiled at Christine’s pragmatism before reality caught up with him and he scrambled out of the plastic seating to withdraw his bet and race Chris to the hospital.
Fifteen hours later, the sky was streaked with reds of sunset and Bill found himself balancing a baby carrier in one hand and partially supporting Christine in the other. He frowned on the walk to the car at the bizarre suddenness of his life’s direction.
“This feels...” He glanced to see if Chris understood, but she only gave him a flat look. He wet his lips and tried. “I don’t feel qualified for this.”
“You aren’t,” she answered. He wrinkled his nose, a comment forming about how that’s classy, Chris. Sorry you couldn’t have found a better guy to knock you up. She watched the sky over the hospital parking lot instead of him, “but no one is. Everyone is underprepared for raising another person.”
Bill blinked and studied the lines along her face, falling a little bit more in love with her. “You’ll be great.” It came out softer than he meant, too much emotion being shown. He averted his eyes under the excuse to spot the car. He could feel her looking at him. She said after a few seconds, “You have to stay sober for him.”
He winced and there was already an argument being developed.
“Bill.” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t pleading.
“You have to take care of him sober, or he is going to die when you aren’t watching.”
He slowed with the baby carrier in his hand, not looking at her or their newborn. There was the start of something that felt long in front of him- sobriety.
He glanced down at the bootied foot underneath the blanket, and the ants in his brain calmed. The thoughts slowed into a manageable focus.
“Sure,” he answered. He looked up at Christine and her cautious relief. He hated himself for the honesty when he said, “I can be clean and stay at home until he starts school.” because he was setting the end date of their marriage.
Seeing the tightness of her eyes, he knew she hated him too, but she nodded in acceptance of their deal.
He gave the excuse about needing a goal, but it was an excuse they both knew.
Still, Bill had five years successfully clean taking care of Glenn as an infant and toddler before his son began kindergarten while Christine worked her high-profile job. By the end of his term, Bill found a small amount of weed and alcohol enough to satisfy the urge to shut his brain off. But by then, Christine had cut him from her life and the divorce was finalized.

Something between them had been degrading out of sight for the last six years. The world Barry inhabited consisted of himself in the forefront with his son and wife, in that order, within his sights every day.
His own parents had done well, worked daily and stored savings that multiplied. (Who knew technology stock and the first editions of Batman comics would do so well?) All so that he might send each day stimulating Henry’s development, developing his prodigy protégé—of what? Who knows, but his little Hen was destined for greatness of some form. How could he not with all of the attention and resources Barry fueled into him?
“I’m leaving you,” Autumn said. Barry looked up from the physics textbook he was attempting to explain to a less than focused Henry. If he had missed her hatred of him the past six years, he saw it now, “and I am taking Henry with me.”
Several replies surfaced, questions of her capabilities, denial of her threat. She was serious though, he could see. It was a statement.
“Don’t take Henry,” said Barry, and he hated how his voice carried the desperation he felt. Autumn knew him better than he preferred anyone knowing him. She possibly understood what taking Henry would mean to him, what Henry meant to him.
She studied Barry’s expression with apathy. “I am going to resume traveling, like I used to. CNN is sending me to Southeast Asia for news coverage.”
“Not CNN,” he whispered aloud. What if Henry returned a liberal?
A small fear suddenly pinged in his head. “You will be returning with him by the end of the month, I presume correctly?”
“It’s a ten year assignment.”
Barry’s mind stalled into stillness. Very slowly, he became aware of Henry tearing a page out of the textbook with glee next to him. Autumn continued staring without sympathy.
He swallowed. “You’re taking him… away for ten years? He’ll be… sixteen the next time I see him.”
Autumn shifted her feet underneath her in the kitchen chair and exhaled quietly. “If you see him again, it will be when he is an adult.” The fruit sagged in the rot, and the guts spilled out-- that relationship he never maintained. “I never want to see you again, Barry. I am not coming back and over my dead body are you keeping Henry.”
“Please,” he whispered.
Some part of his mind wanted to fight, wanted to threaten with divorce, to sweep his precious Henry up and leave the house. That part she was prepared for, perhaps. He wasn’t sure. His mind was still stalling at the suddenness.
She wanted to take Henry from him forever?
“Please. Not forever. If you need-” He couldn’t think what to offer apart from time. He didn’t want to give time away from Henry. So much of himself rode on Henry’s success. “Not forever.”
Autumn averted her eyes for the first time, and Barry found himself able to move, able to see that Henry was eating the thermal dynamics chapter. He tutted, tugging the paper out of Henry’s grubby hands, and the boy laughed spitefully at him. His small son.
Barry swept Henry onto his crossed legs and hugged him underneath his chin, his blonde sprite. His mother’s words echoed about how he had an obsessive personality—”You need to let others make their own choices, Bear." Not yet. Not this.
Henry craned his head to look at him, saw his tears, and shifted to wipe his face, singing comforting words that must have come from Autumn. Barry never said them.
“What will it take?” he asked before he risked seeing her. He found her frowning at his display.
“For me to stay?” There was judgement in the tone. What a nonsense idea staying would be, them repairing what was long broken.
“For Henry to not be taken with you.” Their relationship was dead. Had been dead for a while. It was nothing to mourn. He could see the small pull of her lips, and he had hope. Maybe she would leave without Henry. She stood. “Nothing.” and left him holding his son in his arms as she retrieved the bags she had already packed, having decided before the conversation had begun how she wanted it to end.
Barry held Henry, dreams of raising a prodigy dashed. Now he only had the fear of losing his son forever.

Frank stepped out into the backyard where Darryl was sitting in the grass in his small red football jersey and cleats, pulling grass. His small face was grubby and red with tears shed from, his wife reported, him missing Darryl's first football practice.
"Bud!" He loosened his tie and swept Darryl up into his arms where the boy ran to meet him. "Hey, boy. How was the game? I got this for you."
He held up the football, and Darryl's face brightened as he sniffled. "Do you want to practice with me?"
Darryl nodded, and Frank set him down. Until the sky was streaked with orange with the setting sun, Frank and Darryl tossed the football to each other, saying without speaking back and forth, "I love you. I love you."

Chapter Text

The head of the neighborhood’s Homeowners Association cleared her throat, more to cut off conversation than for her own benefit. Her hair was a rich chestnut brown despite having retired from something office related several years ago. She now ruled the neighborhood, gathering gossip and sniping any deviation in her twice daily patrol.
“Over the past few months, there have been serious concerns with the security of this neighborhood, and I have had enough waiting for the worst to happen, godforbid, before I say anything.” She breathed, trying to collect herself, maybe. Maybe for dramatic effect. The frustration that had been hovering at the edges boiled over. She snapped, “There are teenage boys in this neighborhood who must be stopped!”
“Your son,” pointing an accusing finger at Bill, still feeling the pre-meeting blunt and enjoying the woman’s dramatics, “smokes pot! In the front of your yard!”
“Hell yeah, he does!” Bill called, only to annoy her.
“Your son,” she snapped at Barry, Bill having incensed her further, “sunbathes in the nude on your rooftop!”
Barry did not react. He only continued plotting how he might dethrone her as head of the HOA.
“Your son,” she pointed an accusing finger at Willy, and he perked up slightly with interest. Ron may have actually done something, even minor. Possibly a misdemeanor, “runs in the street like a hooligan and steals traffic cones!”
Willy deflated, and his anger began to simmer.
“And your son!” She pointed at Frank. Frank froze, potato chip half-raised to his mouth, and eyes wide. She stalled, and the potato chip lowered as he waited for what Darryl could have possibly done with confusion.
She finished primly, “I just don’t like teenage boys, your son included.”
Frank frowned, offended on his sweet son’s behalf but confused what exactly to do or say without sounding uncothed.
“Well, that’s several minutes of my life I’ll never get back,” Willy concluded shortly and stood from the metal folding chair, screeching its legs against the floor. He leveled disgust towards her. “Also, it’s called track and field, you cantankerous bitch.”
Bill and Bear stood as well amongst her renewed vigor of telling Willy where to shove it-- Barry silent but with a cutting side eye she didn’t notice and Bill grinning, loose and false and unbothered by anything she threatened them with.
“You coming?” Willy prompted to Frank, slowing his exit fractionally. It was expectant but also a judgement. Frank weighed the offer and stood to leave as well on the virtue of not remaining in the same room as the woman who bad-mouthed his son.
Before he exited, he gathered his thoughts and set a hand on the doorway to offer her, “If you want to live somewhere without teenagers, try a sixty plus community. My son has as much of a right to be here as you.”
The short Asian man laughed, and Frank appreciated the acknowledgment of the remark before remembering this was the man whose son allegedly smoked pot. He frowned to himself slightly at the company he found himself in.
Bill prompted as the door to the amenities building closed, “Post-meeting drinks? Anyone?”
“Is it not your week with your son?” Barry commented with something like judgement, but Willy tossed his work jacket over his shoulder and answered, “Ron and his kid are together, doing something. We have about an hour.”
His focus rested on Frank, nearly his height except more sturdy. Not by much. A part of Willy’s brain wondered if they were to fight which of them would win. Instead, he prodded verbally. “Haven’t seen you at these meetings before.”
Frank did not entirely hide the slight distaste of being addressed but said, “My wife usually attends.” He remembered something and stuck out his hand. “Frank Wilson.”
“Willy Stampler.” He met it, and both squeezed tightly, testing the other’s strength a moment before releasing. They were fairly even, but Willy found himself justifying why his was weaker. He gestured, maintaining neutrality at Frank’s slight smile. “Bill Close. Barry Oak.”
“Sup,” Close greeted cool but friendly. Oak only nodded, attention ahead of him.
“We’re getting drinks,” Stampler said in what Frank couldn’t tell was a repeated explanation or invitation until the man looked at him similar to how he had leaving the HOA meeting— that there was some judgement to be made if he didn’t follow.
Frank frowned slightly and opened his mouth to decline entirely from the expectation alone, but Stampler half-rolled his eyes and made a noise between a disappointed exhale and scoff as he focused ahead. “Suit yourself.”
Close had stuck his hands in his jacket’s pockets and tried to persuade with an almost self-mocking smile, “It’s an hour tops. We all have kids to get home to anyway. Heh, as you heard, I guess.”
Frank considered a cold beer, a brief break from work and home, and the opportunity to figure out the three men. The possibility of Darryl running into their troublemaking sons—God forbid, entering the men’s houses without his knowledge— was the final motivation to follow like he accepted them, thought himself one of them. “One beer.”
Close gave a small, dry whoo like this was a victory of persuasion instead of a low amount of effort. Frank half-expected Stampler to react, but the man ignored his presence trailing the group until requesting seating for four and ordered their drinks at the local bar on the outskirts of the neighborhood.
Stampler’s focus returned to him. “Why are you attending the meeting rather than your wife?”
Frank tried to convey with his expression how little of the man’s business was as politely as he could.
“I don’t know if you can be more abrasive,” Close weighed in between them. He grinned cheekily at Stampler's side eye.
The expression lessened, and Stampler- Willy tilted his head like he was acknowledging the point. “Alright. What do you do for work then?” Despite the question being directed at him, Willy propped an elbow on the table and said to Close, “He hasn’t shown up to any previous meetings. Which why would you?”, suddenly including him with a glance in his direction before returning to the other man, “but neighborhood of fifty or so houses, and it is only now coming up that another teenager our sons’ ages lives here?”
Frank sat, not sure what the question was, if there was a question in there. He was being spoken about in third person by the goon.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” Close said to Frank with his hand cupped like a gossiping woman. “He doesn’t know how to talk to other men. Catty bitch, he is.”
Willy jerked Bill’s leather jacket backwards, nearly knocking him off the stool.
“Hey!” Bill caught his foot against the table leg to keep himself from falling as other patrons glanced over at the sound and sight of someone almost falling onto the floor before gradually glancing away. He corrected and glared. The table lapsed into silence as they both frowned at the other.
“Branch office administrator for San Dimas General Electric,” Frank answered drily. He could visually see Close- Bill trying to connect the statement to something and the moment he remembered the last question.
“Oh! Solid.” The man smiled, fake again. The surface-level pleasantry was becoming as thin as the justification to stay in Frank’s mind. “I tutor music lessons nowadays. Guitar, bass, some banjo and mandolin— strings mostly. Private instruction tutoring stuff.”
“Uh huh.” Frank barely added any interest. He directed his focus on the other two men. The blonde one— Barry was watching the room with a dispassionate gaze to his right. Willy was typing on his phone now, across from him. Frank frowned slightly, stuck his tongue against his cheek a bit to weigh his words before deciding to ignore the two men as well. He asked Bill directly, “Does your son smoke weed?”
For a second, Frank could see surprise and then an averted glance of possible shame. Bill craned his head away, looking behind himself, and the side of his lip quirked up.
“Oh look, the drinks are here,” Bill deflected so obviously it was a joke, but he focused on teasing Barry for ordering bottled water as the drinks were set out and then on his own glass of pale ale. Frank took a sip of his Guinness and took the silence as a yes. Frank swallowed his drink and continued, “And your son steals traffic cones and,” Frank tried not to openly grimace at the blonde man still doggedly ignoring him, “your son sunbathes… inappropriately.”
Willy was watching him with the assessing look again, like his asking was immature, but took another drain on his beer. Barry was continuing to ignore them, and Bill was giving him a slightly confused look amongst his quick consumption of the drink.
Willy sighed and set down the glass when several seconds had passed. He said with a flat expression, “He’s a menace to society, I know. Godforbid, he ever quits the track team. Then, his proclivity for violence would grow out of control. I know I should stop him, but he is just too much for me, a lonely single father, to handle.”
“That traffic cone to carjacking pipeline,” Bill added solemnly with a slight shake of his head.
Willy’s lips pressed together like he was trying not to laugh or smile at the joke. He propped his elbows up on the table and laced his fingers, speaking to Bill. “But you know, our friend Frank here has a point.” Bill followed his gaze to Barry and his Fuji water when Willy turned to the man looking past them. “What the fuck is going on with your kid?”
Barry continued holding his reserved expression. “It is a common form of sunbathing.”
“Oh, is it now? On the roof?” Willy said brightly. “The most private of places to be butt naked?”
“That’s something not good,” Bill weighed in, sounding like he was actually concerned a bit. “Child something.”
“Indecent exposure.”
“Yeah. Not good.”
Barry frowned and finally looked at Willy to argue. “He is wearing swim trunks and choosing to do so himself.”
“Okay, sure. Glad he’s not exposing himself to the neighborhood. You’re scared of losing him by being over-controlling, yada yada," Willy countered drily and Barry tensed slightly at the last part, "but it’s a bad idea in general to be on the roof."
Barry glared at him amongst Bill’s advice of, “You don’t have to, like, be a dick about it. Just say, ‘Hey, don’t be on the roof. Karen keeps losing her shit seeing you.’”
“It is our private roof.”
Bill suppressed laughter at the haute tone. Willy quipped, “Rooftop privacy is an oxymoron.”
Barry turned away, attempting to end the conversation.
“How’s the divorce?” Willy lobbed as if a throwaway thought.
Barry gave a critical side eye to Willy, who innocently took a sip of beer. Barry returned to studying the details of the chalkboard across the room. “She wants 75%, including the lake house.”
“Not the lake house,” Bill said, sounding genuinely concerned. Certainly more than when his son was accused of smoking weed, Frank thought, already forgotten again by the group.
“Awful,” Willy concluded. “She deserves 70% at most for dealing with your bullshit.”
Bill cracked up laughing as Barry steeped his fingers and tilted his head, Willy finally striking a nerve. “It is easy to be married when your wife isn’t present, I suppose.”
The mood dropped violently. Bill stopped laughing and shot Barry a furrowed look. Willy slowly smiled and squinted his eyes. “I am trusted with my own child.”
“After a continuous engagement with a therapist. ” Barry smiled back, politeness feigned. “How many sessions are typical to see changes again? Most people see results eventually, correct?”
Willy silently watched him, the only movement coming from him digging the edge of a fingernail into an adjacent finger.
Bill glanced between the two trying to find something to say or an out before Willy lost his self-control. He reached his hand out for Willy’s beer, and a forearm snapped down onto his wrist.
After a few seconds, Willy released it and exhaled a huff in annoyance. He looked at Bill who was rubbing his arm with a wince, and his shoulders lowered before stretched the muscles, accepting the distraction of him. He patted Bill’s hand mildly. Mind still too full to say anything but, “Bad boy.”
“Bad boy?” Bill gave him a raised his eyebrows before laughing. “Sounds suggestive, a little.”
Willy scoff-laughed but stretched his shoulder blades to arms to release the lingering demand to slug Barry’s condescending face.
Bill looked to Barry, focusing ahead with a faint unhappiness in his expression. He pursed his lips, playing up disapproving. “Are you two going to make up, or do I need to call negotiations?”
“Negotiations,” Willy repeated quietly with disbelief underneath Barry’s scornful, “Calling our sons on us is not effective communication, Bill.” There was a tone of slight pleading though in his voice that made Bill smile like the cat that caught the canary.
He played up his angle to get Willy to cool off first, “It is when one is a suave businessman and the other is a communist.”
“Hen is not a communist!” Barry screeched as Willy grinned ruefully and rubbed his forehead like he had a headache. Bill could see him mouthing, ”Suave.”
Bill repeated like he was speaking to children and got a sharp smile from Willy for it, “Are you both going to say you’re sorry?”
Barry sniffed in offense. Willy snorted a laugh but said with insincerity, “I’m sorry for making fun of your divorce proceedings, Barry. It was mean even though it was also really funny.”
Barry said back as insincerely, “I’m sorry I mentioned your sick wife, Willy. Jane is a good person even though you’re a fucking asshole.”
Willy smiled, all teeth, and Barry gave a small smile with his nose wrinkled in disgust back.
"Well," Bill concluded, imagining himself a great mediator. "Glad peace has been restored."
“You three are dregs of society and shouldn’t have children,” Frank concluded and stood from the table to leave.
Bill and Barry blinked, remembering he was there, before frowning unhappily at the insult.
Willy, though, laughed. “There we go. I was wondering when you would step out of your glass castle, Mr. Perfect.”
“Something funny?” Frank growled.
“You mainly." Willy tilted his head slightly, and Frank could see the same slight competitive streak from the meeting to the handshake to the invasive questions rearing its head again as the man said, "It must be hard having such a perfect kid and a perfect wife. Bet they feel no pressure to meet your expectations at all.”
Frank glared at the paranoia the man was attempting to sow. “And I expect your son is as much of a bastard as you.”
“I wish,” and there was genuine regret in Willy’s tone. The ugliness dampened into a ruefulness again that looked genuine.
Frank glared in disgust at the three before exiting the building. The three mediocre dads watched him leave.
“Bummer,” Bill concluded while Willy snorted a laugh. As Bill took another drink, Barry prompted, “And you find the confrontation fun due to…? Besides you’re unbalanced personality.”
With a small smile, Willy flicked condensation off the glass at Barry, who blustered. “I find it funny because of how insecure he is in himself.”
Bill and Barry perked up at the juicy analysis. Barry put condescension into the tone, but his eyes shown with his interest and amusement. “Really?”
“He couldn’t believe he was grouped in with us— his son must be a model citizen, etcetera, for no material to be pulled by HOA queen— but he still felt compelled to find out for himself if he had something in common with us and the laundry list Karen brought up.”
“He was mean-mugging me a bit,” Bill reflected with thought, “but I thought it was the whole weed thing though.”
“No, I got underneath his skin,” Willy said with a smile starting to fade. He drained his drink and stood to shoulder on his jacket. “Anyway, I don’t think he is returning to future HOA meetings or joining our sewing circle, ladies.”
Bill snorted a laugh but stood as well.
Willy paused as Barry rose, leaving his glass of water nearly full, to follow. At his glance in his direction, Willy added, “I do think you should talk to him.” Barry's eyes narrowed, waiting for the trap. “I think there is a reason your kid came back.”
“Because Autumn is reporting in a war zone,” Barry said quietly.
“Then there is a reason he isn’t in a boarding school or on a spiritual retreat. Wherever kids like him go.”
Barry did not reply immediately, and Bill was too distracted to not ask, “Sorry- she’s in a war zone? Like, ‘might die’ kind of war zone?”
“She’s fine,” Barry dismissed without concern.
“Autumn is wild,” Willy said with an undercurrent of awed respect. “I still remember her trying to teach Jane… something.”
“How to gut a pig,” Barry reminded simply.
“Right.” Willy stood for a moment before smiling slightly. “Pretty sure Autumn is fine.”
Barry hovered a moment, almost asking directly as he focused on their exit from the bar. He commented instead as the cooler air of fall met them, “I hope Jane is well?”
Willy shrugged. “As well as can be expected. Do you want a ride?”
Barry shook his head and began his walk. “I need the air.”
“Vegan,” Willy said mildly derogatory at his friend.
“Ass,” Barry replied without looking back.
Bill smiled, eyes squinting with amusement. “Such a beautiful trio we make. Too bad we couldn’t have grabbed a fourth for the club.”
“Shame,” Willy commented drily but began the walk back towards where he had parked his car coming from work. They had their sons waiting for them at home, regardless of what anyone thought and regardless of whether there was a better parent or not.

Frank thought through the conversations and interaction again and drew the same conclusion: the men were terrible fathers.
Horrible, irresponsible, uninvolved— all of them had some personal problem. Bill clearly had some apathy disorder. Barry had no social skills. Willy—
Frank glared ahead as he followed the sidewalk. Willy took amusement in cruelty, clearly. Likely was raising an exact copy of himself.
He conjured the images of smaller versions of the men in his mind and committed to memory their appearance. If any little punk tried to befriend Darryl or, God forbid, chat up Cassie, there would be words had between the punk and his respective father, especially that bastard.
Frank reached his front door and sighed, dropping frustration before bringing anything negative home to his children. He opened his front door with relief to see his son and daughter again and called, “I’m home!”
Four teenagers sat on the floor of his living room, crowding a board game. Darryl was in the middle of saying loud, “-selling him properties!” while a tanned boy with platinum blonde hair was saying with emphasis to him, “-originally made as an argument against capitalism. Ron and Glenn are capturing the spirit-“
An Asian boy in a graphic t-shirt, his hair shoulder-length and unkempt, was laughing at Darryl’s frustration. A fourth, fairly small boy with wild curly hair past his ears had his tongue sticking out slightly and was sorting a large stack of Monopoly money in his hand.
Darryl looked up, and the frustration vanished beneath joy at seeing him. “Hi, Dad!”
The three instantly chorused, “Hi, Darryl’s dad.” before looking up at him curiously.
Frank took in the three new teenagers in his home. Blonde hair to blonde hair, Asian man to Asian boy— but Barry’s son was smiling politely as he sat up from his lean close to Darryl and was brushing the wrinkles out his long shirt. He looked like a very polite young man. The Asian boy had his father’s unkept appearance and amused smirk, but he held up the bag of chips to Cassie on the sofa behind him before leaning back and looking to Darryl, comfortable and smiling with empathy at seeing how clearly Darryl loved him.
The smallest boy was watching him with an owlish, blank look. Frank felt like he was forcing a puzzle piece into place trying to make Willy’s bald head and callousness fit the child. The boy looked back at him, equally uncertain.
Frank looked to Darryl and hesitantly smiled at seeing him clearly having a good time despite whatever drama had been taking place. “Hey, boy, who’re your…” Please don’t say friends. But, they did not look like bad kids. “-these fellas?”
“This is Henry, Glenn, and Ron,” Darryl answered going counterclockwise. Frank recognized the look of him seeking approval when he looked up again.
Frank smiled, accepting, and set down his briefcase. “Well.” He fumbled, trying to think how to ask directly if they were actually the three men’s sons. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe it was a coincidence for three boys around Darryl’s age to appear when he had an unpleasant encounter with three similar men. He hovered, feigning needing to take off his shoes at the entrance of the house. He tried, however bluntly, “Do they live around here?”
“Yeah,” the Asian boy said easily, resting his chin against his palm propped up by a bent knee. “Ron has lived in the neighborhood since he was in, like, kindergarten or whatever. Henry got here…”
He looked to who must be Henry,--he had been slightly distracted at Darryl's introductions-- and Frank involuntarily winced at the thought that he knew the boy smoked weed though he appeared clean now. The blonde boy said breathy— sunbathed nearly nude. His hair was past shoulder-length, “Oh, geesh. Uh, about five months ago?”
The boy was looking at him with something like polite approval-seeking, like Darryl. He knew Frank could kick him and his group out of the house, that this was an important first meeting, and was trying very hard to receive his approval.
Frank relaxed a bit at the social mindedness of him. The boy added, “I really like Darryl. He is a really nice person who helped me figure out the high school and where all of my classes are. I'm very grateful he is friends with me.”
“Thank you,” Frank said genuine and saw Darryl flushing with his friend’s praise. “I think he is a really great son too.”
Darryl’s buried his head in his hands and groaned, “Daaad!”
The blonde one- Henry smiled, and the Asian one- Bill’s son, Frank thought with slow acceptance, elbowed Darryl and sang like he was teasing him, “Ooo, your dad loves you.”
He clearly said it in good natured teasing, so Frank chuckled as he approached and sat to Cassie on the couch, the Asian boy moved next to the smallest boy and faced to include him in the group. Frank ruffled Cassie’s hair before stealing the bag from her.
He directed the question with friendliness to the smallest boy who was watching him almost shyly, “Was it Glenn or Ron?”
“Glenn Close. Ron Stampler,” the- Glenn said with a gesture. He looped an arm around Ron’s shoulders, which seemed to spur the boy to sit up straight from counting a questionably high stack of money. Thief, Frank suddenly remembered, trying to cram the puzzle piece matching the two Stamplers together. Willy looked like the type of unethical to commit fraud; his son likely stole toy money as well as traffic cones. The boy still did not fit Willy's frame in his mind.
Ron puffed up and stuck his hand out, “Ron F.- Oh, Glenn said my- Hi, I’m Ron.”
His face was pinched into a serious expression, but his voice was uncertain. Frank took his hand for the handshake. The boy squeezed softly.
“I don’t want to shake too hard,” Ron said before Frank could comment, “because I don’t want to hurt your hand.”
Frank avoided saying that it was the least concern he had. The puzzle piece refused to fit again at Ron’s hazel eyes meeting his before averting and taking his hand back. The boy smiled to himself staring at his lap, and Frank concluded that two families in the neighborhood must have the last name of Stampler. This boy was too quiet, too small to be related to someone so crude and angry.
Frank looked to Darryl who had recovered from his mild embarrassment. “Are you winnin’, son?”
Darryl looked down at his modest stack of money and made a face. “Not really.”
He looked at Glenn and Ron unhappily, and Glenn interjected, “Ron and I have an understanding.”
“You can’t form partnerships in Monopoly.”
“Actually, Monopoly was made to show how unethical capitalism inherently is,” Henry started quietly underneath Glenn’s, “And yet, here we are in our joint venture, kicking your ass. You could have partnered with Henry.”
“I don’t want to partner…” Darryl’s face flushed. He glanced down at the board.
Frank furrowed his brow, caught between wanting to keep Glenn from cursing under his roof and trying to figure out why Darryl was flushing. Was the room too warm?
The cell phone next to the smallest one- Ron rang, and Frank could see the contact name of “Dad”.
Ron answered and immediately tapped the speaker button. “Hi Daddy!”
“Hey, Ron.” Willy Stampler’s voice came from the speaker, not as harsh as the bar, but it was his voice and had a slight edge to the tone. “Where are you and Glenn right now because you’re not at Bill’s.”
“Uh.” Ron looked to Glenn. Glenn answered sharply, “We’re at Darryl’s house, you old fart. Don’t be suspicious.”
“Darryl better be under eighteen,” Willy growled.
Ron looked to Darryl with slight concern and whispered, “How old are you?” underneath Glenn challenging, “Or what?”
“Fifteen.”
“He’s fifteen,” Ron repeated with some relief.
“Alright,” Willy dismissed. “Bill and I are headed over to pick you up. Meeting ended early. What’s the address?”
“Don’t-“ Frank started to say, but Ron had handed the phone to Darryl who dutifully repeated their home address to the man Frank called scum roughly fifteen minutes ago.
“Alright. On way over now then. I suppose you’re Darryl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right. You being decent to Ron?”
Darryl looked at Ron with a question, and Willy's son called to the phone, “Yeah!”
“Better be.” Before Frank could successfully retrieve the phone from Darryl, Willy said distracted, “I’m passing phone to Bill, Glenn’s dad, while I drive. If Ron didn't put this on speaker already, just pass it over to Glenn.” Bill’s son snatched it.
“Yo,” Bill’s voice echoed from the speaker, and Glenn said immediately back, “Sup, old man.”
“Hey, Glenny,” Bill’s voice brightened and softened, suddenly livening. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much.” Glenn leaned back, propping himself up with legs stretched. Frank frowned at wanting to speak to Darryl but not while the phone was on speaker. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Bill’s voice was warm, and Frank tried to fit the flat voice directed at him to the voice directed to the teenager before the idea hesitantly arose that the men would possibly not treat their sons how they treated other people. Frank was left still frowning slightly though, trying to connect the pieces of the men- or at least Bill Close and Willy Stampler together. Glenn had mentioned that Ron and he had known each other since kindergarten, which meant what?
“Ron and I should probably get ready to head out,” Glenn said, looking at the scattered Monopoly board in front of him, “but I’ll see ya in a bit.”
“Yeah, I’ll see ya,” Bill said easily, and Glenn set down the phone.
“But I was winning,” Ron argued softly.
Darryl looked unhappy as well but said reluctantly, “We can hang out later.” He remembered suddenly to look to him with the question.
Frank was caught, uncertain again about the boys around his son. Darryl’s expression lessened until it was almost pleading, and the other boys— the sons of the men Frank detested— would likely notice when they weren’t caught up discussing Monopoly. Henry behind Darryl was watch him though with something akin to his father’s expression, that cold analysis.
“Are your fathers good parents?” Frank asked the three. He already knew they weren’t good people. Darryl had enough mental and spiritual strength to not replicate them. Whether Darryl would be later mistreated by the men or their sons was the question.
Bill and Willy’s sons paused in their sorting of Monopoly money to give confused looks at him. Barry’s son said immediately, “Yes. Darryl will be safe with us and them.”
Frank felt surprise and the immediate urge to cover how blatantly his concerns had been read.
Bill’s son spoke over him, “Yeah, my dad’s cool. I mean, he’s lame too sometimes, and Ron’s dad is old as balls, but they’re whatever, you know? It’s like old guy shit and not like… anything bad.”
Frank said, more sharp than he maybe meant at Bill’s son’s dismissiveness, continuation of cursing, and lack of manners, “He isn’t going to give my son weed then?”
The boy’s face shifted into surprise and slight fear into the start of defensiveness.
“If you don’t want us around your house,” Barry’s son said hotly, “you can say so without personal attacks.”
Silence lapsed a moment before softly Darryl said, “Dad.”
Bill’s and Henry’s son looked at him with anger. Willy’s son and Darryl looked hurt.
A knock came from the door, and Willy’s son was on his feet as Willy opened the unlocked door. Willy saw him, and he developed a shit-eating grin at the overall irony. Then Ron crashed into his stomach. The man tensed half a second before the amusement disappeared. He looked down at the boy with his forehead pressed against his stomach and his hand rose to rest on the boy’s head.
“Hey, kid.” His voice sounded purposely softer.
“Hey, Dad,” Ron said muffled into his shirt.
Willy’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the shortened title. He looked up at Glenn standing and shoving his arms through the sleeves of his jacket and the mood of the other two boys. Willy met Frank’s eyes, and his lips quirked, clearly tasting a comment.
His eyes flickered back at Glenn shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked over, and Willy ruffled his son’s hair. “So, Karen wants you four’s heads.”
Glenn’s frustration faded immediately, and he slowed to cock his head up with a grin. “Heh, she has to catch us first.”
“Uh huh,” Willy said unimpressed. “I think I’m going to have to explain to Bill how on top of the fridgerator only worked when you were eight.”
“Including me?” Darryl asked, aghast. Glenn scoffed, “It didn’t work when I was eight either.”
“Mm-hmm, I’m going to have to chew Bill out for that later then.” Willy shifted to speaking to Darryl over Glenn’s snap comment of, “What are you- my mom?”
“Yep, assigned menace by HOA.” He returned his focus to Glenn and delivered the line with an evil smile, “No, I’m Dad.”
Glenn groaned, and Darryl asked stunned, “What did I do?”
Willy said at Henry over the two boys, “Come on, giving you a ride too.”
“I will be walking,” Henry said primly from where he was organizing the board into place quickly.
“Yeah, no. No walking alone after dark. Come on, hooligans!” Willy called as he slowly maneuvered Ron towards the door until the boy let go but continued holding onto his shirt.
Henry looked no happier but quickly pecked a kiss against Darryl’s cheek. “Bye, Darryl.”
“Bye, Darryl! See you at school, dude,” Glenn called to his dissolving friend as Henry stepped past him, the loose fabric of his pants swishing by his ankles.
“Bye, Frank!" Willy cast a wicked smile over his shoulder with the group of three boys heading out the door. His son continued holding onto his shirt under his armpit, and Frank saw him set a hand against the boy’s head as he closed the door with the other hand.
Frank sat in the silence, considering the mess of the situation. Darryl continued holding his flushed cheeks, the heat maybe turned up too high.
Cassie stretched her legs out over him on the couch and took back the bag of chips. Frank sighed and stood to begin figuring out how to cook dinner for his two kids, leaving the answer to come as he worked.