Work Text:
Evan comes home from school on a bleak Thursday in the middle of December. He makes his way to his bedroom at a sedate pace, trudging through the undecorated house. He huffs and puffs his way through the house, gasping as he goes up the stairs. The young boy collapses into bed, shivering as he fights with his blanket. He stirs only to the sound of his mother’s yelling.
He tries to get up, to follow her instruction, knowing if he doesn’t, the consequences will be severe. But he can’t.
His mother, tired of his ‘disobedience,’ goes to his room. She barges in, takes in her youngest child, “Dinner’s ready.”
He blearily looks at her. “Mom. I don’t feel good.”
“You’re just tired. Come eat.”
He just stares more, trying to put her words together. “Moooommmmmmm.” He almost whines.
“Shut up! Stop whining. You’re fine. Get downstairs.” She orders. Despite not fully understanding her words, he knows that tone. He heaves himself off the bed, stumbling after his mother.
Dinner is always a trepid affair at the Buckley household. His parents make small talk, only acknowledging him to berate him for some perceived slight. He only stares at his food, a tasteless meatloaf, trying to figure out if he should try to eat or if he’ll only end up sicker.
“You need to eat.” Margaret orders.
He pauses for a moment, forcing his mouth to work. “Not hungry.”
“Not hungry? The same boy who eats me out of house and home every night suddenly isn’t hungry!?!?!?!?!”
“Margaret, let him be. He can eat later if needed.”
“No! You know how I feel about leftovers.”
“He’s a growing boy. Maybe he had a big lunch.” Phillip tries to reason.
“I don’t care. Either he eats now or waits until tomorrow.” She insists.
“Why do you hate leftovers so much?” Phillip argues. “I don’t get it. He can wash the plate later.”
“Dinner is a family affair. And he should want to be with family.”
“Yes but Margaret. He obviously isn’t well. Let’s just send him to bed.”
“Fine!” She concedes unwillingly, tired of arguing.
Evan slinks off to his bedroom.
His father finds him glassy eyed the next morning. He bundles up Evan, taking him to the car. He can explain to his boss why he was late later. Phillip pulls up to their local hospital ED enterance, parking the car haphazardly. He won’t be long anyways. “Evan.” He calls out, the first time he’s spoken to his son all morning. “You need to walk through those doors.” He instructs, pointing to the big ER doors. “They will help you feel better, ok?” Evan barely nods. His father undoes the seat belt, and pushes open the door from his side of the car. Evan stands up after a few attempts, still bundled in his blanket. Phillip points to the door again. “Go in.” Evan makes it a few steps in that direction when Phillip drives off, hopeful to not be late to work due to this.