Chapter Text

Prologue - The Case of Lucas

Lucas POV

Bright flashes from the TV screen lit up the dim living room, casting light over the two figures on the couch. The voice from the news channel blurred into something unintelligible while the radiator’s hum throbbed in Lucas’ mind. On the edge of the couch, he rubbed and knotted his clammy fingers together until his knuckles turned white. Beside him loomed his father, Gerald. They looked the same; tall, black hair, tan skin. But Lucas bore a gift from his late mother; a pair of startling blue eyes that set him apart from his father.

He won’t hurt me if I stay invisible.

Low grumbling escaped his father’s lips, eyes glued to the flickering screen. He’d been drinking again. His father, beer in hand, raised his arm due to something the news anchor said on the TV and shouted angrily. Lucas didn’t know what had been said, the words had melted into white noise long ago. Then, with a sudden lurch, Gerald sprang up and hurled the half-finished beer bottle across the room. Shards spread across the floor, and Lucas’ whole body locked up. Teeth clenched together like he was bracing for impact. To avoid ending up like the bottle, Lucas attempted to stand up, to get away, but before he could take a single step, his father’s gaze turned toward him at record speed.

“Sit down!” his father roared, standing up in a drunken stance. Lucas immediately obeyed, sitting right back down just as quickly as he had gotten up. “God, do you hate me that much?”

“No,” Lucas muttered back, his gaze avoidant.

“Look at me when I speak.”

Lucas’ eyes slowly rose from the floor, his icy blues meeting his father’s brown. Something flickered across Gerald’s face, sadness maybe.

“I’m just the worst father, aren’t I?” Gerald said, words slurred. He was launching into the usual monologue. Scoffing, his lips formed into a horrible, crooked smile as he sat down again. “You’re not making it easy for me, kid… Smoking that fucking grass, skipping school. They keep fucking calling me, your teachers,” he continued. Lucas knew where this was headed. Gerald would spit insults at him, ramble and rant about how hard it was to be his father, and that Lucas should be sorry.

“I’m sorry.” Lucas knew it was wise not to talk back. Sometimes he’d get away with a slap if he just apologized. But the kid had a feeling he wouldn’t get away with it this time.

“You just had to be caught with weed again, didn’t you? They’ve been calling me non-stop.” It was true. Earlier that day, some teacher was going on about some weed smell in the boys’ bathroom. Lucas’ so-called friend snitched on him after they were suspected, and they found the stash in Lucas’ backpack.

If you only knew what my dad will do to me because of you, fucker.

Gerald’s face suddenly darkened, his hand jolting toward the boy’s throat. Gasping, Lucas reached up to helplessly claw at the iron grip.

“Answer me! Why are you so set on ruining my life?” Gerald yelled, standing up and pulling his son along with him by the throat. Lucas choked out a pained moan. Before the kid could steady his feet, Gerald had already shoved him, sending the boy crashing over the coffee table. Lucas toppled over it and landed on the cold, hard-wood floor with a force so great it knocked the wind out of him.

“Dad, please,” Lucas begged after having taken a deep breath. He quickly attempted to stand up, but he was given no chance by the dark figure looming over him.

“You’re the one making me do this,” Gerald spat, seizing hold of Lucas’ gray hoodie. His fist whipped across the boy’s face.

Then again.

And again.

Blind rage fueled the man, a rage that gripped him so tightly he spent no time to stop and think.

By the time Gerald had stopped and stumbled into the hallway, Lucas found himself glued to the floor, head too heavy to be picked up. The shards from the shattered beer bottle laid sprawled a couple of inches from his face. He was lucky he didn’t land on them. Lucas closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather whatever thoughts he had left in his mind. Normally, after a beating like this, he'd go to his room and seek the familiar refuge of a joint or a couple of opioids swallowed dry. If it didn’t tame the pain, at least it would lull him to sleep.

As the minutes passed, and he still found it hard to move, Lucas knew this was more serious than usual. His ribs hurt so bad; every shallow breath sent a sharp, searing pain through his chest.

Yeah, this is worse than usual…

He feared substances couldn’t heal him this time. A knot formed in his stomach. Lucas had always kept his father’s outbursts a secret. Why? He told himself he didn’t know, but maybe he did, deep down. Years of this suffocating and oppressive home had warped his sense of what was normal. Maybe it was loyalty, the hope of a family, a father. Gerald used to be someone. Someone great. But that old Gerald died the same day his mother did. They both died that day. Whatever hope he had for his old father to return would be torn from him if he was to seek help. He’d be arrested, wouldn’t he? But the truth beneath this excuse was much darker.

I deserve this.

It was shameful, all of it. How could he admit he’d endured for so long? Maybe if he had been stronger, better, less defiant, things wouldn’t escalate. What if he didn’t smoke, didn’t skip school, had been the son his father wanted? Maybe then Gerald would finally say the words Lucas longed to hear.

Leaving didn’t feel like an option.

And yet, the way he felt his breathing coming shorter told him enough. As Lucas heard his father retreat upstairs, he knew what he had to do. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright. He couldn’t stay. He needed help. Gerald wouldn’t give it to him. Lucas grabbed his phone off the table, his mind racing.

He was really doing it.

The boy didn’t waste any time and limped through the hallway, catching a glance of himself in the mirror by the front door. He looked… horrible. Hurt. His tousled black hair stuck to the mix of sweat and blood on his forehead, and his lips were so bloodied it was hard to tell where they met each other. Lucas tore his gaze away from the mirror and placed a hand on the doorknob. Knowing his intentions, it felt illegal. But he slowly and quietly opened the front door, feeling the crisp November air piercing his skin. It was a welcome feeling.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 – Something New

Simon POV

Fog draped across the humble brick house that rested between the pine trees. Above it, gray clouds threatened rain but withheld their content for now. A soft, yellow light leaked out of one of the windows, a warm contrast to the grim outdoors.

The windowpanes rattled as the wind picked up. Inside, a tired veteran sat reading in his brown leather chair which after years had contoured to his shape. Simon’s brown eyes lifted from his book and glanced at the window, a sigh escaping his lips before he returned to the comfort of some well-written pages.  Reading wasn’t something he’d always done; his past self would most likely scoff at escapist fiction books, but years of quiet had changed him into a person he no longer recognized.

The strong winds and the rattling had pulled him out of the world of All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. He no longer saw broad plains and cowboys, but words on a page. Letting out another sigh, he placed a receipt between the pages and closed the book, laying it down on the coffee table in front of him. There, on the table, he noticed his ceramic mug filled with chamomile tea. After reaching for it, he angled it slightly to avoid the chipped edge as he drank. It was cold. He’d been reading for who knows how long. Frowning, Simon put it back down and straightened in his chair. His leg protested at the movement, a reminder of why he retired. It always ached faintly, but sometimes movement would trigger a sharp sting. On bad days, he could be reduced to his bed, but on good days, like today, it was manageable. He’d even gone for a walk earlier this morning. Simon glanced over at the cane that rested against the wall. It wasn’t needed today, so it stood in peace. He rubbed at his thigh absently, a habit he’d picked up over the years of chronic pain. The silence stretched, like usual. It was always quiet in his house. Only the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen filled the space, sometimes accompanied by that rattling of the windowpanes.

Then…

Simon’s phone rang.

Its buzzing disturbed the deep quiet of the room. It was odd; he wasn’t expecting a call. He rarely did. A bit reluctantly, he picked up.

“Simon Weller,” he answered, voice gravelly from disuse. Even after years of living with his new name, it still didn’t feel natural as it rolled off his tongue. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, Simon. This is Diane Carson from CPS,” the woman’s voice replied, flat but not unkind. “Do you have a moment?” There was a layer of urgency to her question. Simon’s grip on the phone tightened. He hadn’t heard from Diane since he was approved as an emergency foster parent six months ago. At this point, he’d almost given up on getting ‘the call’.

“Diane. Of course. What’s goin' on?”

“We’ve got a situation,” Diane began. There was a pause, the kind that paved the way for weighty words. “A boy named Lucas Acierno; he’s sixteen. He’s been through, well, a lot. Years of abuse that went under the radar. He’s in the hospital currently from an incident but is being dispatched tomorrow. He needs a home urgently and our usual placements are full. If you’re willing, he could be at your place tomorrow morning.”

A knot formed in Simon’s chest. This was very, very sudden and it sounded serious. He glanced over at the hallway, his gaze falling upon the door to the unused spare bedroom. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her corporate voice softening into something more human. “I know it’s sudden, and that it’s a tough case, but we’re out of options. I’ll be there every step; he just needs a home.” Her words sounded like a plea.

Silence stretched across the room. The decision weighed heavily on Simon’s shoulders as he thought about what it would mean for him. Did he even have enough groceries for the next few days? What about bedding? Clothing? He only now realized that his heart had picked up speed.

“All right. I’ll take him.”

“Thank you, Simon. Honestly, I needed some good news today. This boy wouldn’t do well in an institution,” Diane replied, her voice wavering by the end and breathless with relief.

Some rustling in the background grew louder as a voice fell in and out of focus. Diane answered some muffled words before returning to the call. It sounded like there was a lot going on at CPS. “Sorry, I’m going to have to call you back later tonight. I’ll send over some documents in the meantime. Again, sorry, it’s a busy day,” she sighed.

“I understand. I’ll be waitin',” Simon replied, at this point rubbing his temple.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Simon lowered his phone and stared at it for a moment. The screen went black. This was it. After a grounding, deep breath he put his phone away in his pocket before standing up from his armchair. The air felt different already, like something was stirring beneath the surface of the house. That something was change. But it was so soon. The reality of the situation hadn’t quite dawned on him yet. Had he made too big of a choice on a whim?

No, I want this.

It was sudden. But Simon felt oddly calm; he was secure in this decision. Walking toward the spare room, he moved with a purpose he hadn’t felt in a long time. Placing a hand on the handle, he took a deep breath before opening the door. It creaked open; the wood letting him know it had been a while. The guest room was empty aside from the various boxes scattered around. His mind wandered, thinking about what Diane said, the few words at least. What kind of person was Lucas? He felt a deep sadness as he reminded himself of what Diane said. Years of abuse that went under the radar.

Years…

Simon’s brows furrowed as he let that thought sink in. His gaze fell to the empty bed. Lucas’ bed, he reminded himself; it was Lucas’ now. This wouldn’t be easy, but had anything in his life ever been? On the wall above the dresser, he met the eyes of a familiar face. It was a framed photograph from the field, probably ten years ago now. Price, Gaz, himself, and…

Johnny.

He’d been gone for years now. Just thinking about him made a subtle chuckle escape Simon’s lips. His calloused fingers grazed the photograph. Johnny would tease him relentlessly if he knew that the “Ghost” was about to foster a teenage boy in northern California. Grabbing the photo, Simon carefully unhooked it from the wall. This was Lucas’ room now. And he wasn’t quite ready for the questions it’d bring. Ghost was dead. Laswell had made sure of it. She was the only person on this earth that knew he was still alive. She’d helped him disappear, be reborn as a “Weller”. That was six years ago. Six years since Ghost was shot and cursed with a wound that would never heal. Simon was forced out of a life he felt at home with. And now he was here. A ghost of his former self, softening into something unrecognizable.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – The Arrival

Lucas POV

The car ride had been crushingly tense. No music, no talking, only the sound of tires on asphalt that eventually turned into gravel. At one point, the environment switched from populated neighborhoods to rural fields. Lucas slouched, ribs aching as the seatbelt dug into his side, his shoulder pressed to the cool glass of the window. He was avoiding Diane’s watchful eye as much as possible. Lucas hated Diane; he had a feeling, no, he knew she only saw him as another number in the system. Something about the way her nose wrinkled when she smiled like it took great effort from her to look sympathetic. In return, Lucas had kept quiet the entire time, only replying yes or no to simple questions. He could tell it made Diane uncomfortable, which to him was a win.

Only when Diane pulled off the road, driving into a forest, did Lucas uncurl from his slouched form. They arrived at their destination too quickly. Staying in the car, however awkward it was, felt easier than whatever was to come. Diane had told him about him, this Simon Weller, but it didn’t really make him any less of a stranger. Lucas frowned as he thought about being dropped off in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t even run away and take a bus; there weren’t any.

Fuck.

He really was stuck.

“There it is,” Diane broke the silence. Lucas didn’t reply, but he looked out the windshield to see an emerging house between the trees. He furrowed his brows. It was a small one-story house. No, a cottage. A cottage with a wraparound porch, dark green siding, red brick foundation, and a sizable garage that matched the main house. The driveway was big, and an old red Toyota pickup stood in front of the garage, some rust creeping up along the doors. Lucas’ shoulders stiffened. This was too different from what he was used to. It was strange. Too strange. There were flowers surrounding the porch, even.

Diane stopped the car and pressed the hand break before switching off the engine. She turned to face him, and only then did Lucas meet her gaze again. “All right, Lucas. How are you feeling?”

Ugh.

“Okay, I guess,” Lucas replied, struggling to keep eye contact with her.

“That’s good,” she replied. Her mouth opened and closed for a moment as she searched for the right words to say. “Let’s go meet Simon. Remember, he’s here to help you, okay? You’ll be in good hands.” Lucas narrowed his eyes as he studied her for a short moment. Her lips were tense, forming into a thin line that only her lipstick saved from disappearing completely. He wasn’t sure she believed in what she said herself.

“Whatever,” Lucas mumbled before he turned around and quickly left the car, slamming the door shut just because. The fresh wind swept across his face, shortly lifting his tousled hair from his forehead. It was quiet. Only the trees could be heard creaking in the wind. Lucas looked around for a moment. There were so, so many trees. His eyes fell upon the old pickup truck, lips curling into disgust at the sight. Simon probably wore cowboy boots, or worse, listened to country music.

“Here.” Diane’s voice from behind him pulled Lucas out of his thoughts. He turned around to see her handing him his duffel bag. Sighing, Lucas grabbed it out of her hands. But they had both forgotten about his state. A sharp sting shot across his lower ribs, and he whined in pain involuntarily. Diane shot a worried glance at him.

“Does it hurt? Do you want me to take it?” she asked, reaching out.

“No, I’m fine,” Lucas answered quickly, turning away from her. He bit his lip to distract himself.

“All right…” Diane replied before straightening her shirt, now walking toward Simon’s house. Lucas’ heart picked up its pace.

I don’t want to go.

But he had to, and he knew that well. His dad was definitely going to jail, and until he turned 18, he’d just have to deal with this shit.

Diane walked up to the door, stepping onto the porch. Lucas stood behind her, shuffling the duffel bag to hang more comfortably over his shoulder. She turned to look at him for a moment, a subtle smile tugging at her lips, before she pressed the old doorbell. Footsteps stirred inside. They were heavy, and they were coming closer.

Closer.

And closer.

His heart pounded. Fists clenched. And as soon as the door opened, Lucas flinched. He didn’t want to look. He looked anyway. And his eyes widened at the sight that stood in front of him, he couldn’t help it.

That’s… Simon?

He was huge. At least 6’3 with broad shoulders that filled the door frame. Whatever Lucas had expected, it wasn’t this. He looked so rough; a prominent scar across his nose, deep set eyes with tired eyebags. His flannel shirt was just short enough to reveal the beginning of forearm tattoos, too. They looked old, like him.

“Good morning, Simon,” Diane greeted with that familiar smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It really was him. Simon’s deep brown eyes glanced over at Lucas for a moment. His gaze was so intense Lucas had to look away.  

“Mornin’,” Simon’s surprisingly deep voice replied as he looked back at Diane. He ran a hand through his hair, which was either light brown or blonde, somewhere in that gray zone… Wait, was that an accent?

“This is Lucas,” Diane said, attempting to place a hand on Lucas’ shoulder, but he shirked away, avoiding her like the plague. She sighed audibly, making Lucas frown at her. Simon’s eyes narrowed slightly as it unfolded.

“Good to t'meet you, Lucas. Come on in then, kettle’s on,” Simon said, opening the door further to invite them inside. It was then Lucas realized.

He’s British.

Lucas’ curiosity piqued, but he stayed low, avoiding the two adults’ gazes. After thanking Simon, Diane followed him inside, and Lucas trailed behind.

“Shoes off,” Simon said casually while gesturing toward a shoe rack.

British… Right.

At least there were no signs of any cowboy boots by the shoes. Lucas dragged off his nearly-falling-apart sneakers and tossed them next to Diane’s black heels, which toppled over at the impact. She gave him a look.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Not that he was. He looked around for a bit. It smelled like old wood and leather. Clean and soapy, too. No cigarettes, no beer. That was new.

Simon asked Diane how the trip had been, or something like that, Lucas didn’t really track their conversation. It was a lot to take in. They entered the hallway and walked further into the house, which was small. Only a couple of steps were needed until they had entered the living room. It was cluttered with books and plants like the flowers outside. This guy really loved his greenery, apparently. Lucas’ eyes then fell on a large bookcase sitting next to the nothing-to-brag-about TV. One more book and it would collapse, it seemed.

“Lucas, would you like some tea?” Simon’s deep voice cut through. The boy flinched slightly, quickly turning his head toward him.

“I’m good,” Lucas replied, watching as Diane sat down in the couch. He joined, wincing as he sat as far away from her as possible. Simon poured hot water into Diane’s mug, then his own, before he sat down. It was then Lucas noticed the cane leaning on the armchair. The teen narrowed his eyes. Was that his? He was old but not that old, right?

“Firstly,” Diane began, crossing one leg over another. “I apologize for the short heads up, both of you. I know it’s not ideal. But we can work it through. Lucas has been really strong through all of this.” Diane glanced over at him, but he was already looking away, cringing.

“No worries, I get there's pressure on your lot,” Simon replied, taking a sip of his scorching tea. “I’m glad to be able to help.”

After a few more empty pleasantries, the conversation faded into talk about paperwork. Lucas wasn’t really paying attention. He was looking at a dry patch of skin on his thumb, mindlessly picking on it until it nearly started to bleed. Then he moved on to a different finger, repeating the same process. Everything around him, the faint wind against the window, Diane’s mention of therapy, blurred into muffled noise.

Fuck. He was bleeding. Putting pressure on his ripped cuticle, he pulled down the long sleeves of his black hoodie to hide his hand. He glanced at the two adults to see if they noticed, but none of them did. Except Simon, maybe. Their eyes met. Lucas looked away quickly.

“You’ll find a medical report along with this form here,” Diane said, dropping another file on the coffee table. “He’s dealing with a concussion and a fractured rib. No complications, but you can call this number here if you have any concerns,” she added, pointing at a document. “He’s supposed to rest as much as he can this week. No strenuous activities.”

You could tell me instead. I’m right here.

Lucas didn’t move. He just continued to stare at the pile of documents while picking at the strings of his hoodie.

“Noted,” Simon replied, taking another sip of his mug.

“As for the next steps,” Diane started, shifting in her seat, “We have talked with the local school about re-enrollment. Ideally, he’ll start on Monday, exactly a week from now. It’s a bit of a—"

Lucas’ head jerked up. “What?”

Diane glanced at him, surprised he’d spoken. “School. You don’t want to fall too far behind, Lucas.” Her voice turned strict.

“I’m not going back there,” Lucas said sharply. No way in hell.

“We can’t leave you out of school forever. There’s no way around it,” she insisted. Lucas tensed, feeling heat building in his chest.

“Why? I don’t—” He started, but his voice caught.

Bitch!

Pain bloomed in Lucas’ ribs, sharp and electric. Simon cleared his throat, drawing the attention of them both. “No need to go over everythin' now,” he said, giving Diane a pointed look.  

…Huh

Diane pressed her lips together. “You’re right. We’ve covered the most important things. I’m stopping by again on Friday, so we can go over the rest then.” She pulled out a pen. It looked expensive. “I just need your signatures here,” Diane said, tapping the bottom of the page with her pen.

Simon signed first, a quick and practiced motion. “There you go,” Simon said as he handed over the piece of paper, a subtle smile on his face. At least he didn’t force it like Diane.

Lucas’ hand hovered over the page and looked at Simon’s signature. It wasn’t fancy. Simon Weller. Simple as that. The boy didn’t want to sign, not really. It felt like signing meant agreeing to everything. But he signed anyway. Just a scrawl, nothing too neat. He didn’t care.

“All right, then. I’ll see you two on Friday,” Diane said while putting on her coat. She glanced over at Lucas who stood behind Simon in the doorway. “Take care of yourself, okay? Try to settle in,” she added. Lucas didn’t reply.

“Drive safe,” Simon said. Diane smiled and nodded, hesitating for half a second before she stepped outside. The fresh air swept inside for a moment before the door shut behind her.

Silence lingered.

But then Simon turned toward Lucas, slipping his hands into the pocket of his dark blue jeans. “She’s a bit stern, yeah?”

Lucas blinked. It took a second for the words to register, even longer to realize Simon was being understanding.

“Yeah…” the teen muttered almost inaudibly before looking away. It was just the two of them now. Lucas swallowed nervously and backed further away into the hallway, allowing for some distance between them. Simon didn’t push.

“You hungry?” He asked, leaning on the doorframe. “Made some chicken and rice. Can reheat it for you,” Simon offered. Lucas’ stomach growled, but not loud enough for Simon to hear.

“Nah…I’m good,” Lucas lied. He didn’t want anything but to be alone, even if that meant going hungry.

“Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind,” Simon replied. Lucas nodded subtly.

Silence stretched again.

Lucas shifted uncomfortably, but Simon sensed the awkwardness before it got too bad. With a deep exhale, Simon untangled his arms and stood straighter “Right. I’ll show you your room then,” he said as he walked into the hallway. There were a bunch of doors, all closed but one. Simon approached it. Lucas grabbed his duffel bag before he followed, wincing at first but quickly wiping any sign of struggle off his face.

“This one's yours,” he said as he opened the door wider. It was very sparse. White walls, a simple wooden dresser, a bed made up with dark gray bedding. At least there was a navy-blue carpet on the floor adding some color. Lucas’ face carried judgement. “Looks a bit bare right now,” Simon added, “but you can make it your own. Do what you want with it.” He looked at Lucas as if to find a reaction.

‘Do what you want with it’?

Like he’d be staying long enough to care. Simon would probably be sick of him within a week. Everyone who tried to help him eventually gave up. “Whatever,” Lucas muttered. “It’s fine.” He didn’t look at Simon.

And Simon didn’t push. He just gave a slow nod. “All right. Bathroom’s down the hall. Cleared out the left cabinet for your things.” A moment passed. Lucas didn’t reply. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anythin'.”

Just like that, Simon gave him the space he needed. Adults usually didn’t do that. It threw him off. Lucas reached for the door and closed it, the soft click echoing throughout the room. He tossed his bag to the floor, then stood there.

Taking a shaky breath, he felt his heart pounding like it was trying to break out of his chest. He hadn’t noticed until now. Almost automatically, Lucas moved to the window and yanked the blinds shut. He turned on the lamp by the bed next. Soft, yellow light filled the room.

What the fuck am I doing here?

His throat tightened. Fingers knotted in between each other. He sat on the edge of the bed. It was too soft.

Too wrong.

He was shaking now. Lucas quickly pulled out his phone, seeking its familiarity. There were two new notifications, so he tapped them.

                7.46 pm

                bryyce 👅 : still got those pills?

                bryyce 👅 : ????

What the hell?

Lucas had been out of school for days, and that was the first message anyone sent him? “Fuck you,” Lucas muttered, then hit block with no hesitation. He tossed the phone hard onto the nightstand. It clattered against the wood, loud in the quiet room. He then dragged a hand down his face, pressing into his eyes until stars bloomed behind them. This couldn’t possibly be worse. He was, quite literally, all alone. Simon didn’t count. Because people like him didn’t stay. He’d be out of Lucas’ life just as fast as he appeared.

Eventually, the boy settled into his new bed, the dark gray bedding enveloped him.

Lucas stared at the ceiling, ribs aching faintly.

The room smelled weird, and he could hear the fridge humming even through the wall. Hours passed in fragments; stare at the ceiling, scroll on the phone, stare at the ceiling again. His heart never calmed. It kept kicking around his chest until, finally, exhaustion lulled him to sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – First Steps

Simon POV

Sizzling bacon. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Simon poured himself a hot cup, the second already; it was needed today. Yesterday had been intense. He’d been through war, but balancing a conversation between a traumatized teenager and an exhausted CPS worker was something else. Diane was strict, bureaucratic, but Simon knew she cared. Her job was just hard on her.

He’d woken up around six, which was early even by his standards. But the time had passed ten when he began to make breakfast. Perhaps the smell of toast and bacon would lure the new addition to the household out of his room. That was the idea, anyway.

And it worked, somehow. Simon heard the click of the bathroom door closing and locking. Lucas was up. He pulled the pan of bacon aside and put some bread in the toaster. Simon took a deep breath before taking a sip of his black coffee. Its familiarity grounded him.

About ten minutes later, as Simon was setting up the plates, a thought hit him.

Two plates. Not one.

A subtle smile tugged on his lips. It had been a while since he’d gotten any use out of the second chair. Then, he heard the bathroom door creaking open further down the hallway. Simon looked up from the plates, eyes glancing in the direction of careful footsteps.

There he was. Sleep still in his eyes, hair sticking out in all places. Simon had already thought about how he was going to handle this. He’d decided not to try too hard; a teenager didn’t take well to being coddled. But Simon couldn’t help treating him a little bit.

“Good mornin’,” Simon greeted, then gestured toward the made table. “There’s bacon an’ toast if you’re hungry.” He assumed he was. Lucas didn’t eat anything last night. A flicker of uncertainty swept across the kid’s face. He eyed Simon, then the food.

“Okay,” Lucas replied, voice low. “Sounds good.” He avoided eye contact.

“Go on, sit. I’ll grab somethin’ to drink.” He opened the fridge, scanning its contents. “Water or juice?”

“Juice,” Lucas answered as he slowly sat down by the table. Simon joined him, carton of orange juice in his hand. The chair creaked under his weight. Between them rested a plate of bacon, a basket of bread, and a bowl of hardboiled eggs.

“Tuck in, before it gets cold,” Simon said, pouring himself some juice. He didn’t stare, didn’t push too much. But he did quietly watch him in the corner of his eye, just to see if he’d eat. Sure enough, after a few seconds, Lucas grabbed a piece of toast from the basket.

A moment of silence passed. “Sleep all right?” Simon asked, not looking up from the egg he was peeling. Lucas stopped just before he was about to take a bite.

“No.” Honest. He resumed eating.

“Didn’t expect you to,” Simon said, taking a sip of juice. “Let me know if somethin’s off. I’ll sort what I can.” Lucas didn’t reply, so Simon stopped trying to make conversation. Figured the kid wasn’t much of a talker.

Yeah. Same, kid.

Simon was a man of few words himself, although, with the right person, that could be subject to change. The last time he met such a person; he’d been somewhere quite different. Before his mind wandered too far, to thoughts about Johnny, Simon focused on something else.

He looked over at Lucas’ plate. He’d finished his toast, and it seemed like that was enough food for now. He didn’t eat much, but Simon let it slide. He could bring it up later if it was consistent, but he figured it was just stress for now. And perhaps he could order something irresistible later. Like pizza.

A motion caught Simon’s attention. Lucas ran his fingers through his hair, a restless gesture. It lifted his messy hair just enough to reveal a scar cutting through his left eyebrow, pale and splotchy. Simon had enough marks of his own to understand that scars like that never came from anything kind.

Fucking hell. His dad?

“What’s the Wi-Fi password?” Lucas’ question pulled him back to reality.

Simon looked up. “It’s on the fridge,” he said. “Yellow post it note.”

After Lucas had gotten hold of the Wi-Fi password, he all but disappeared. Not physically. He was right there, curled up on the couch in the living room. Simon could see him from where he was standing behind the counter. The combined living room and kitchen made for a nice, open space, but did not account for much privacy. With his phone in hand, Lucas was scrolling away, mind somewhere else entirely while Simon washed up by the sink, dishes clinking and water running. At least the kid had the courtesy to keep the phone on mute. Small mercies.

Just after he’d dried off his hands, Simon attempted to close one of the upper cabinets, but the hinge gave out with a sharp snap.

“Hm,” he muttered, looking over it with furrowed brows. He held the door in place. If he let go now, it’d probably fall off entirely. Simon glanced over at Lucas, still oblivious to the small situation in the kitchen.

“Lucas?”

The kid jumped. Eyes wide, like he’d been startled awake from his trance.

He’s skittish. Like a stray.

Simon cleared his throat. “Could you help me for a moment?”

“Why?” Lucas’ tone was sharp, immediate.

Hm. Okay. Tread carefully.

“Cabinet’s loose. Gotta grab a screwdriver, but if I let go, it’ll fall off. Can you hold it?”

Lucas’ lips curled into a sneer at the request, like Simon had disturbed something very important. “I guess,” he replied, surprisingly, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he got up.

Success.

He came over carefully. Simon gestured toward the cabinet.

“Hold it here.”

Lucas eyed him for a second longer than necessary, then reached out with one hand, thin fingers, trembling more than Simon expected.

He noticed.

Didn’t say anything.

Simon wasn’t surprised, but it hit him unexpectedly. He’d seen soldiers struggle with their mental health countless times, hell, he’d gone through enough himself. But this was just a kid.

“All right,” Simon muttered, stepping away while Lucas held the door. Returning a moment later with a rusty screwdriver, Simon leaned in, fastened the hinge, tested it, then stepped back with a content nod. Lips curled into a subtle smile.

“Thanks, kid. Works like a charm now, aye?”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “I guess. Can I go now?”

Simon bit back a chuckle. Teenagers.  “’Course. But I was thinkin’… How do you feel about pizza for dinner?”

For a fleeting moment Lucas looked up at him. Maybe the word struck a chord.

“I don’t really care.”

Or not. Or he didn’t want to show it. Lucas turned and walked off, not just to the couch, but all the way down the hall to his room.

Silence returned.

Simon exhaled a quiet laugh, barely audible. That actually went… all right. All things considered.

Time passed, how much, Simon couldn’t say. He hadn’t really noticed while he read. All the pretty horses was a classic, so of course he’d read it before. But he always returned to it.

He turned to the next page, calloused fingers swiping across the paper.

It was quiet as he read. Occasionally, he’d hear Lucas moving around his room. Other than that, the house felt like normal, especially when he had a book in hand. He turned another page.

“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real,” he read. Not out loud, but it echoed inside his mind.

God. That stuck.

Lucas’ scar came to mind; it wasn’t thin like a scrape, it was splotchy, thick. Simon was dealing with someone with a lot of baggage. It had been clear from the start, but seeing his scar, seeing him tremble while holding the cabinet; it really put things into perspective.

Hopefully, his stay with Simon would help. They’d both gone through hell, but they were here now. They were here and they had time.

The sun dipped low, catching the glass of a framed photograph on the wall and flashing into Simon’s golden-brown eyes. That meant the afternoon was coming to an end.

He closed the book with a sigh. It was about time he ordered pizza. Nobody could say no to melted cheese and grease, right?

When the doorbell finally rang and he’d paid the delivery driver, he stood in the hallway for a moment, the warm box in his hand. The scent of crust, grease and melted cheese drifted through the house. With his free hand, he knocked on Lucas’ door. Lightly, not urgently.

“Pizza’s here,” he said.

No answer.

“Come out if you want. I’ll be in the living room.” Simon didn’t hover. Just walked into the living room, propped down the pizza on the coffee table, and grabbed some soda from the fridge. Then, just as he’d settled on the couch, Simon heard light footsteps. Lucas emerged from the hallway.

“What’d you get?” Lucas asked, carefully.

“Pepperoni. That all right?”

“Yeah. It’s good.”

The teenager crossed the room and sank into the couch next to Simon. He opened the pizza box and grabbed a slice. He had to lift it high just to break the string of cheese.

“Wanna watch somethin’?” Simon asked as he grabbed the remote. Something to lift the tension.

“I guess,” Lucas replied. Simon had come to learn that meant yes.

He turned on the TV, scrolled through the list of channels and ended up on a rerun of this Saturday’s SNL episode. Light, funny, didn’t force them to speak to each other. Snazzy music and laughter from the TV filled their space. It was… nice.

“’Barely recognize these celebrities anymore,” Simon commented after having watched for a while.

Lucas turned to look at him, surprise etched on his face. “You haven’t heard of Billie Eilish?”

Simon had, in fact, not heard of Billie Eilish. “I’m old, Lucas.”

A small, surprising smile tugged on Lucas’ lips as he turned his gaze back to the screen.

He smiled.

It was mostly silent after that little moment of theirs. Small comments here and there, nothing that required effort. This Billie Eilish person wasn’t too bad either, even though she had lime-green hair.

When the pizza box was empty, and the show had faded into credits, Lucas slowly got to his feet and grabbed his plate.

“I’ll just…” he trailed off, gesturing toward the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about rinsing it,” Simon said, stretching his legs out a little.

Lucas’ lips formed into a thin line as he nodded and walked off into the kitchen. Simon heard him put his plate down before he retreated to his room. The soft click of his door closing could be heard from the hallway. The kid didn’t linger any more than necessary, but again, Simon understood why. It was all right.

Tomorrow would bring more time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – Painkillers

Lucas POV

Lucas was feeling on edge. The morning had been fine, but his body refused to stop shaking. Fingers wouldn’t stop picking at his cuticles. During breakfast, he dropped an egg twice trying to peel it. Simon hadn’t commented, thank god, but Lucas knew he watched. Even if it was only in the corner of his eye.

He sat on the couch now, twelve o’ clock sun coloring his eyelashes light brown. Across from him, Simon lounged in his leather armchair, reading. The cane was closer to him today, always within reach. Lucas didn’t know why he’d stayed this morning; the silence was deafening. While he pretended to scroll on his phone, all he could think about was how much his body ached for relief.

Weed.

Pills.

Anything that would take the edge off his fried nerves and aching ribs. He wanted a hit so badly his teeth tingled. But his contacts were hours away, and he doubted Simon had anything stronger than what Diane had brought for him.

In a desperate attempt, he formed a mental image of a joint in his hand. A flick of the metal lighter. The first drag and the sensation of holy smoke filling his lungs. He closed his eyes and drew a breath as if it was real, then exhaled slowly. It almost calmed him.

Then came a soft thud. Simon had closed his book. Lucas opened his eyes and looked up, seeing the man reach for his cane as he stood. Narrowing his eyes, Lucas couldn’t help but wonder why he used it. Shit, he was staring.

Just as he looked away, Simon spoke with that low, gravelly voice. “Yard needs seein' to. You comin'?” An open invitation, a choice. Lucas’ gaze slowly returned, watching as Simon, cane in hand, began walking toward the hallway with an unreadable expression. Didn’t even wait for an answer, like he knew that Lucas would cave in.

And he was right.

Lucas got up, following him into the hallway. “What’re you doing?”

Simon put his cane down by the front door before lowering onto a stool by the shoe rack. “Sun’s out. Lawn needs a drink.”

What? You want me to help coddle your grass?

“And,” Simon paused while lacing up his boots, “since you helped me with the cabinet yesterday, ‘thought you could help me with the shed.”

Lucas raised a brow. “What’s up with the shed?”

“’Bout to fall apart,” he admitted as he rose again. “You gonna put your shoes on or go barefoot?” Simon gestured at Lucas’ feet. Hurry up, basically.

“Ah—” Lucas quickly shifted and pulled on his battered sneakers. The laces were barely tied but he saw no point in redoing them.

When Simon opened the door, a single gust of dry wind flooded the hallway. Fresh November air. But the California sun was kind; Lucas’ hoodie was enough to keep him warm.

Pine trees hugged Simon’s property, tall and proud. Lucas hadn’t stepped outside since he arrived. The rusty pickup by the garage looked a little less sad now that the clouds had cleared.

He trailed behind Simon.

Droplets clung to the newly watered grass, and an artificial smell of petrichor rose from the garden. The pair now stood facing the old excuse of a shed. It was tucked away in the far corner of Simon’s garden. Green paint chipped off the old wood, a few holes in the roof let in rays of sunshine. One singular hinge was all that held the crooked door in place.

Lucas gave it a dirty look. “You think that’s salvageable?”

Simon stepped closer to it. “Oi. ‘Just needs some love.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. Sure it does.

Simon crouched down to look at the hinge. Lucas stood there awkwardly, arms crossed, foot tapping the wet grass. This was boring. He should’ve stayed inside, at least he could doomscroll then. Keep his dopamine levels up somewhat. But he was stuck now, so might as well fish for answers.

“I’m stopping by again on Friday, so we can go over the rest then,” Diane had said when they sat by the worn coffee table. Lucas’ jaw ticked from tension. To him, she could as well be the antichrist.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh… When Diane was here,” a pause, “she said she’d be back Friday.”

Simon straightened, turned. The sun caught his face, lit up his hair so bright it almost looked bleach blonde.

“Mhm.”

“Why?” Lucas’ tone was sharp.

Simon’s jaw flexed, just barely. But Lucas saw it. “School stuff. Therapy.”

A heavy weight settled in Lucas’ chest. It clawed at his lungs. Sharp. And inevitable.

Not school…

Not the teachers constantly breathing down his neck, asking too many questions.

“Why haven’t you done your homework?”

“Can you explain why you smell like a joint?”

“Where were you during gym?”

Vision tunneled. His body strung tight like a tie pulled too far. Anything but school. Anything but Diane. He could snap just thinking about it.

A gentle voice pulled him out of it.

“I know she’s… difficult,” Simon admitted, voice softer than expected.

Lucas’ eyes shot up. You think so too?

Simon’s lip twitched, not quite a smile. “Let me deal with her. You just nod along.”

Lucas looked at him for a long moment, then slowly exhaled through his nose.

“…Can’t she just send an email or something?”

Simon sighed. “Sorry, kid. We have to meet with her.”

They had to. It was always like that. Adults forcing him into situations he didn’t want to be in. He kicked a patch of grass absently. He hated all of this.

But Simon was… okay at least.

He looked over at him. Really looked. The man stood bracing against his cane, old tattoos all over his forearms. Scars too; on his hands, arms, even one that cut clean over his nose. Lucas had noticed how he carried a limp, the way Simon moved like something hurt.

“…Can I ask you something?” The question spilled out before Lucas could regret being too direct.

Simon glanced at him; eyebrows slightly raised. “Sure.”

“What happened to your leg?”

There was a pause. Simon looked like he was gathering his thoughts. “Served in the army. Op didn’t go too well.” He pointed at his thigh. “I was shot; bullet sliced through. Didn’t walk for a while.”

“Damn… That sounds…” Lucas didn’t know what to say. He’d never been in a situation like this before.

“Yeah. Wasn’t great.” Simon didn’t elaborate.

“Does it hurt a lot? Like still?”

“Sometimes.” Simon rolled his shoulders back. “Got some nerve damage. Some days are worse than others,” he added.

Lucas nodded awkwardly, lowering his gaze again. Nerve damage sounded awful. Painful. Then, a thought crossed his mind. Brows furrowed.

If he’s in pain…

He probably had something in the house. Prescription stuff. Stronger than anything Diane had brought for him.

Something to take the edge off.

The phone screen cast a blue light across Lucas’ face. 2:08 AM. He put it back down on the nightstand with a frustrated sigh. Sleep wouldn’t claim him. Anxiety already had. It had started that morning and followed him the whole day. Not a single break. Not even when Simon had talked about cool military shit during dinner.  

“Fuck this,” Lucas muttered as he aggressively threw the sheets off his body. Officially giving up sleep, he stood, only wearing an oversized T-shirt that he’d borrowed from Simon.

He crossed the bedroom in three strides, pausing by the door. With a feather light touch, he pushed down the handle and opened the door completely soundlessly. Light taps of bare feet against hardwood could be heard as he stepped into the dark hallway. Only the hum of the fridge, a clock, and faint snoring could be heard.

Lucas wasn’t doing anything illegal; he was just headed to the bathroom, but years of living with his father had taught him to move quietly. It was his expertise.

He didn’t close the bathroom door after he’d stepped inside. The hinge on that door was really creaky, and Simon’s bedroom was right next to it. Turning on the light above the sink, he winced.

He shouldn’t have done that.

Lucas stared at himself in the mirror. His black hair stuck out in every direction, and bloodshot eyes were ringed by dark circles. Lips curled in disgust as he judged himself harder than anyone else ever could.

Then… Something caught the corner of his eye. A flicker of something red. His unfocused vision sharpened. Just beyond his shoulder in the reflection, a small key with a red label dangling off it stuck out from a white cabinet on the wall.

That key wasn’t there yesterday.

He turned quickly, leaving his reflection behind. Realization struck him as he faced it. That had to be Simon’s medicine cabinet, why would there be a lock, if not? Most importantly, the key was right there. Forgotten.

He shouldn’t.

But he did. Turning the key, he opened the cabinet quietly, even with shaky fingers. Bottles of pills appeared in front of him.

Fucking jackpot.

He reached for one, careful not to rattle the content. A relieved half smile appeared on his lips as he read the label. Tramadol. Clear as day. A quick glance behind him confirmed the dark hallway was still empty. Simon wouldn’t notice a couple of pills missing, so he dug in.

His shaky fingers slipped.

A gasp.

The bottle fell to the floor, dramatically jumping twice before it rolled under the sink.

Shit. Fuck.

Fuck!

He stood still, listening to signs of life behind Simon’s door. Silence. New plan: take the pills and run. Trembling, Lucas quickly crouched down and grabbed it back. Heart throbbing in his ears as he unscrewed the lid and very, very carefully tilted the bottle to let the pills quietly spill into his hand.

Then…

“Lucas.”

He froze. Simon’s voice hit like a knife in his chest. His breath was stuck in his throat. He couldn’t even look at him.

“What are you doing?” Simon’s tone wasn’t gentle. It was stern.

Slowly, Lucas forced himself to look up, finding the towering man’s eyes already on him. Something visceral churned inside him. He’d been caught a million times before, why was he reacting like this?

“I—” His voice caught. “I wasn’t—”

Lying was of no use with tramadol in his hands. Simon’s tramadol. He squeezed the bottle so hard it dug into his palm.

“Hand it over,” Simon ordered. His voice was low but laced with authority.

Lucas drew a sharp breath as he looked away. His body was betraying him fast; the quickly forming lump in his throat threatening to choke him.

Run.

Every instinct screamed. But his legs wouldn’t listen.

Another sharp breath forced itself through him.

“Look at me,” Simon’s now quieter voice cut through the panic. Lucas’ icy blues met his warm brown. “I’m not mad. You’re alright.”

Lucas hesitated, a choked hum escaping his throat.

“You hear me? Not gonna hurt you,” Simon added, raising his arms halfway, palms out.

Lucas’ gaze flicked between Simon and the pills. Then, after he’d made a choice, Lucas handed him the bottle with shaky hands.

“Appreciate it,” Simon said gently as he took it out of his hands. He screwed the lid shut and placed the bottle into the cabinet. “Were you in pain?”

“No, I…” Lucas should’ve lied. Should’ve told him his ribs hurt like hell. But they both knew that was not the right answer.

“You shouldn’t touch my stuff, Lucas,” he said as he closed the cabinet.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas muttered, gaze falling to the floor again.

Simon sighed. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.”

Lucas nodded, carefully stepping into the hallway. He watched Simon lock the cabinet, this time taking the key with him. There went the chance of ever touching those pills ever again.

He’d fucked up.