Work Text:
Sandy blinked at the picture that came up on his social media timeline, an ad from Pigsy’s Noodles.
A little boy with wild brown hair tamed only by a headband, holding up a painting of the noodle shop with a first place medal stuck on it. The caption read ‘ Couldn’t be more proud to call this talented kid my own! I’ll be holding a one night only event to showcase his prize-winning art, so feel free to come on by!’
The orc quickly put down his phone, taking a few deep breaths. Sensing his owner’s distress, Mo hopped down from the cat tower and walked into his lap. Sandy smiled down at him, scratching behind his ears, “Sorry to worry you Momo,” he sighed, “I guess I just… never imagined Pigsy as the fatherly type.”
Sandy wished he could say it had been a wake up call when his best friends packed their bags and walked out of their shared apartment, fed up with the other’s outbursts. The final straw had been another one of Tang’s glasses, picked up and thrown across the room in a fit of rage triggered by who knows what for the umpteenth time.
But even after that it was still some time before Sandy could look in the mirror shattered by his own fists and recognize he had a problem.
It had been eight years since that last argument, and life had gone on. Pigsy seemed to be running the shop pretty successfully, and Tang presumably graduated from college. And Sandy lived in his houseboat with his cats, doing cargo runs in the harbor to make ends meet.
His therapist had warned him about ‘what-if’ spirals, but Sandy couldn’t help but wonder…
What if he sent a message to Pigsy and Tang’s old numbers, explained that he had sought out therapy and was in a much better place than he had been after they came back from the war? Perhaps they’d be happy to see him. Hesitant most likely, but happy. They could begin repairing their broken bonds, recalling good memories and making new ones. And one day, when he had earned it, he could meet the kid. Take him out fishing and let the boy call him ‘Uncle Sandy’ as he carried him on his shoulders.
But just when he went to pick up his phone to text them, another series of scenarios ran through his head.
What if they both told him never to talk to them again? What if it triggered another bad episode and undid years of progress? What if they hated him for what he’d been when they last saw him, even years later?
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Sandy put his phone back down and let his head fall back against the couch, tears running down his cheeks as he continued petting Mo to soothe himself.
Maybe he was better off forgetting about the whole thing…