Work Text:
It's dark in the apartment when Jason gets home from school.
He sighs. That means it's a bad day again, if Mom actually worked up the ambition to get off the couch and pull the curtains closed.
Closing the door quietly, he toes his shoes off, trying to absolutely silent. It's always a crapshoot, what kind of mood Mom will be in when she has a bad day, if she'll be sad and depressed, or angry and snappy.
So he's careful as he proceeds down the hallway into the living room, practically tiptoeing as he goes, dodging wrappers and beer bottles, newspapers and laundry. He's got homework to do, and if he can get to his room without waking Mom up -or her noticing he's back yet -maybe he can get it done before he has to make her dinner.
Not that he minds making her dinner, obviously. It's just he's gonna have to go to the store, and he's got a whole page book report he has to do, and if she wants it dark… he wants to try and get it done before it gets dark.
He's halfway into the kitchen, when he hears shuffling, then a low groan. And it's definitely not Mom's groan.
"Jason? That you, boy?"
Jason stops dead in his tracks, blinking. "I… Dad?"
He hears a click, and a second later the little desk lamp on the end table clicks on, illuminating Willis' face, the lampshade casting eerie shadows across his jaw and under his eyes.
"Yeah, boy," Willis slurs, and that's… definitely not a good sign. "Got out this mornin', get back home, you're gone, and your fuckin' mother's passed out in the bedroom. Quite the fuckin' home comin'. You missin', and puke all over my goddamn bed."
"I… I had school, Dad," Jason manages to stammer out around the lump in his throat. "And you weren't… Last letter we got said you weren't gonna be released until next month. April 13th," Jason adds, to show that he does know, and he does pay attention.
Willis snorts, before taking a long swig of the beer in his hand. "Yeah, well, they let me out this month. And it wouldda been nice to not come home to a goddamn trash heap. Or maybe some fuckin' food. What the fuck've you been doin' while I was gone, huh?"
"I… I run jobs for Mickey, but he was the only one who would gimme work," Jason says, staring at the ground. He knows it's pointless; it doesn't matter what he says. Dad being in a mood is worse than Mom being in a mood.
Mom in a mood either cries about everything, or starts yelling. Dad in a mood starts throwing fists and kicks around. Best case scenario is that he throws 'em at the walls, or the furniture. Worst case is Jason drags himself to school tomorrow with bruises.
It's not fair though. Jason did try. He's been trying. And he's managed to keep the bills paid enough to keep from losing the apartment, or having the power shut off. And he's kept mom fed, and from O.D.'ing.
He knows it's not enough, but he tried. He's barely been sleeping, between school during the day, taking care of Mom after school, and running jobs for Mickey half the night, but he's done his best.
"Few hundred assholes 'round here runnin' shady shit, and you only found one that would let you run for 'em? And fuckin' Mickey at that? Mickey don't pay for shit, boy, you know that. What'd he have you do, runnin' his granny to church?" Willis demands, pulling himself to his feet.
Jason closes his eyes, just for a second. Lets himself drift into that place where things don't hurt as much, before he opens his eyes again. "He… I was runnin' car parts for him. Deliveries," he says, already bracing for what comes next.
And sure enough, Willis' hand reaches out, fast as a snake, and smacks him upside the end, his cupped palm connecting with Jason's ear in a way that makes it pop.
"Deliveries. What, you think you're too good to do real work? Too scared?"
Jason shakes his head slowly, mostly because the ringing in his ears only gets worse if he moves too fast. He's had a lot of experience with that. "No, it's just… with you… Bein' in the pen, a lot of 'em… they said you were too deep for 'em to trust me. Only one who didn't was Donny, and he…"
His voice trails off, embarrassment, fear, and humiliation all vying for top dog in the emotional knot sitting in his throat, keeping him from saying more.
He can't help his gasp, when Willis grabs him by the jaw, jerking his head up, forcing Jason to look him in the eye.
"What'd he do?" Willis hisses, his voice low and dangerous. "He touch you?"
Jason tries to shake his head. He can't really, not with how Willis is holding his jaw, fingers digging in painfully. It takes him two tries to swallow, before he can speak.
"I… nothin'. He wanted… He said I'd… I'd have to audition, and… He… He told me to um… to take off my clothes. But I didn't! I didn't do it, I told him 'no', Dad! I ain't that dumb! I told him I wouldn't, and he… he laughed, and said I'd be back when I got hungry," he finishes quietly, trying like hell to keep the tears he can feel building from slipping free.
Willis holds his gaze for what feels like forever, as Jason tries to still the rabbit-paced beating of his heart. Finally though, Willis nods.
"Good. That's good, boy. You ain't nobody's whore. Not now, not ever, you hear me? You don't ever do that shit," Willis says gruffly, finally, finally letting go of Jason's face, and then ruffling his hair. "Ain't your fault, I guess. People got no loyalty no more. All the shit I've done 'round here for those fuckers, and that's how they treat my kid? That's bullshit. Don't you worry 'bout it none, I'll take care of it. Go on in, get your mama cleaned up."
Jason nods quickly, taking a few steps back, before turning towards the bedroom.
"Hey."
He quickly turns back around. "Yessir."
"Here," Willis says, throwing a crumpled up wad of bills at him, and Jason scrambles to pick it up from the ground. "When you're done, go get me some beer, and somethin' to eat for when I get back."
"Yessir," Jason says quickly, not letting himself look at the bills clenched in his fist yet. "I will."
"Good. I'll be back in a few hours. Make sure I got a fuckin' clean bed to sleep in."
Jason doesn't say anything, just watches as Willis stomps out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. Only then does he let himself look down at at the bills.
A ten, a five, and six… no, seven ones. Twenty-two dollars. Plus the little bit he has stashed away in his room, he can… He'll have enough for the laundry machine downstairs, Willis' PBR, a six pack of hotdogs, and a thing of bread.
Then he can… make mom dinner, and do up the dishes.
He can just do his book report tomorrow during lunch.