Chapter Text
Sal was lying on his side, curled up in a fetal position. His face was pressed against his father’s middle, scarred side up, so it wouldn’t be aggravated by the fabric and pressure despite the fact his head was resting on a softest blanket they could get. He was missing his glass eye as well, the sunken, half-closed eyelid was disturbing in a way. Sal’s face was visibly flushed with fever, brows knitted in pain.
Henry was slowly and delicately stroking the tender, scarred skin, gently, in soothing circles, applied the lotion - It was nothing but placebo at this point.
Carefully, to not to disturb the sleeping teen, the father fished out his cell phone from his pocket. He wasn’t social person, a stark contrast to his son, and his contact list reflected it. Apart of few colleagues at work – contacts necessary for proper workflow – Henry’s phone-book had just handful of numbers.
He pressed few buttons and waited for connection.
“Hello?”
Henry smiled, hearing his girlfriend’s voice.
“Uh…” The blue haired man stalled “ I’m sorry, Lisa, but we have to cancel our date tonight.”
“Work?”
“Sal…”
“Oh, shit.” Henry could hear a worried gasp on the other side of the receiver.
“He is not sick or anything, don’t worry… It’s just…” Henry weighted the next part of the sentence “he has those... worse days, you know…”
He could hear her nodding on the other side of the connection.
“His face just... hurts. Not just the skin but muscles, nerves… his skull and jaw seem to itch him" Henry took a deep breath, his hand stroked his son’s blue hair absentmindedly “painkillers won’t work, compresses won’t work, any cream with or without steroids… nothing seemed to work. He has a fever and is in pain. I can’t-”
“Oh! No! I understand. You have to keep your baby boy safe-”
Henry worked his jaw. She didn’t... She might think she understood but not really, no. When Sal was younger it was worse, he had to hold his son’s hands for a whole night to prevent him from scratching his face raw in his sleep despite cutting his nails to the skin and covering them up with band-aids. He would walk with him in his arms around their house for hours as the boy bawled his eyes out, praying for his son to exhaust himself to sleep sooner rather than later. CPS were called on him numerous times by the neighbors, because Sal's crying just wouldn’t stop, Henry couldn’t make it stop.
“What about me coming over? We could just chat or watch a movie quietly and chill?”
Henry paled. That was a part of conversation he had too many times. It was the end.
“I’m sorry-” The blue haired man didn’t know why his throat couldn’t get those words out “Sal’s not wearing his prosthetic tonight-”
“Oh…”
“and you haven’t seen him without it yet…”
“You know I don’t care-!” She got a vague idea how Henry’s son looked like underneath the mask – it was mainly because of Larry, who had to explain his bloody nose he apparently got after getting hit by Sal’s prosthetic.
“He... cares. Sal says he doesn’t but he cares more than he lets on.”
He had this conversation way too many times. With people from work, with women when he tried dating after Diane died.
Sal always complicated things. More-so when he was a child. But also the teen’s condition was a great morale compass – it always revealed which people were genuine and who treated Sal as a prop to their own inflated egos.
“It’s not your fault…” his voice trembled “It’s not Sal’s fault either… it’s just… just…”
He didn’t want Lisa to abandon him like previous women did, he wanted her to understand. Fuck, he wished he had a bottle in his hand.
“Henry” Lisa cut the man off “It’s OK, I understand. I wish things were different. That Sal trusted me more-”
Suddenly, the handy-woman heard a painful sob. A guttural groan that was nothing but raw pain and misery.
“Sal… Sal… No-” Henry’s voice changed in an instant while his voice came out distorted, he must have pressed the device to his chest to muffle the conversation with his son “I know, it hurts, buddy.”
Lisa could hear Sal’s reply to his father words, but couldn’t make up what was said.
“You know I can’t give you anything” Henry’s voice was strained and apologetic “You just have to power through it.”
Power through it? It sounded so wrong! A person powers through a painful toothache knowing they have a dentist appointment at the end of the shift, not an endless phantom pain of the half of the head.
“Yeah… I did… I’m on the phone with her just now”
Another hard to decipher reply. Henry sucked in a breath.
“That’s not an option - We wouldn’t be able to enjoy it knowing you’re alone and hurting at home.”
Lisa felt sick. That’s the most insane thing she heard in the longest of time.
“Are you sure? You’re not quite yourself today. I don’t want you to regret it later.”
Sal must have made a hand gesture or movement of his head, because Lisa didn’t hear his reply.
Henry pressed the receiver to his ear again, as she heard him suck in a deep, calming breath.
“If you're still up to come over, Sal doesn't mind.”
Lisa looked at herself in the mirror - she was half ready for the date, nicer underwear, fancy dress, her make-up products were scattered on her desk. But she knew exactly where her sweats were.
It was a tricky invite.
She desperately wanted to come and ease Henry’s mental load - help them out even if just be there to get both of them something to drink or eat. But also she felt she’d overstep their welcome.
She could hear the tension and uneasiness in her lover’s voice. Her refusing the offer could be taken as chickening out of the commitment. Her agreeing to come could be taken as jumping the gun out of morbid curiosity.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Then she remembered when Sal and Henry were taking care of her and Larry when they both fell ill simultaneously. The blue-haired teen was fetching them never-ending supply of handkerchiefs, liters of hot tea and bowls of chicken soup. At some point Larry was so weak, Henry had to assist him to a bathroom while Sal changed the sweat-soked sheets. Not to mention, during the peak of their sickness, both Sal and Henry were basically bunking on a couch, with Henry being fully dressed just in case he had to drive them to hospital at night - apparently it was a habit he picked up after Sal sustained his injuries.
Yet the Fishers refused to reciprocate the kind gesture. What made her anxious the most was that she couldn’t help them, because they didn’t allow her to do so - they’re too jaded, too guarded, too hurt for far too long to consider getting outside help.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
She was there in three.