Chapter Text
The weekend was a rainy one, and while most kids would have slept in Murdoc took it upon himself to wake up and head to the kitchen to eat. Well, if he could find something, that is. He exited his room in his ratty-tatty pajamas and crept to his father's room, the door was wide open. He peeked in and saw his father, stomach down, on the bed with the arms of someone wrapped around him. The young boy could smell the alcohol on him from where he stood.
Murdoc knew he had gotten home not too long ago, the noise he and the giggling bimbo made coming up the stairs had been enough to wake him. And the maybe fifteen minutes before they passed out were noisy enough as well. That had been about 4:00. But the heavy snores signaled that he would be able to take it easy until at least two in the afternoon.
Murdoc quietly pulled the door closed and head towards the stairs. He tiptoed down, maneuvering around the creakiest steps to avoid waking his older brother who slept a tad lighter than their brick of an alcoholic father. Hannibal's room was the one closest to the stairs, and the young boy preferred not to get his ass whooped this early. He hugged the wall until he made it to the bottom and a wave of relief washed over him as he walked towards the kitchen.
It was a fucking mess, as per usual. Murdoc sighed as he looked to the counter, there was a half loaf of bread, it had been dropped off nearly a week ago by those church people who enjoyed helping the less fortunate. That sure was Murdoc, but he couldn't fathom why anyone would like helping him, or his family.
But before the possibility of bread could be addressed, tea was in order. If there was anything that was in abundance in the kitchen besides alcohol, it was tea. But of course, the teapot on the stove was empty, those sodding gits he lived with couldn't be bothered to fill it after they'd been the ones who emptied it. Not that he fancied using the stove right now anyways. He took a cup that smelled clean and ran the tap as hot as he could. He chucked a teabag in the cup and filled it with hot water. After turning off the tap he placed his hot tap tea on the table.
Turning back to the counter Murdoc opened the plastic bread bag and pulled out two slices. He looked at them and frowned. The crust on top was moldy, how fucking typical. This could be remedied, not that it was hygienic, but he didn't care. Food was food. He grabbed a knife from a drawer and cut off the moldy bits. “Lovely.” He said to himself.
Murdoc promised himself that when he was older and famous, he would never have to cut the mold off bread again. He tossed it on a plate he had cleaned last night and brought it to the table. The fridge wasn't much better than the rest of the kitchen, it was kinda gross in there. Many beer bottles, a gallon of milk that was more than a few days past the date, and oh? A jar of jam? “Don't mind if I do,” Murdoc said softly as he took the jar.
The young boy brought the jam to the table and using the knife he had used to cut the bread, spread a good amount of jam onto the slices. It was red and the jar had no label. Strawberry or raspberry? It didn't matter, not right now. Jam sandwich for breakfast. Boom. Done. Murdoc put away the jam and checked on his tea. It appeared to be done so he removed the bag and chucked it in the bin, it just sadly thumped against the inside of the container and slid down on top of some other garbage.
Mornings were a favorite for Murdoc. He didn't need to race his brother for a portion of food and didn't have his father rushing him to get his “ responsibilities ” out of the way so he could drink. The boy saw a pack of cigarettes on the table and grabbed it. They were his now. Any cigarettes left unattended made its way into his stash. Not that his father or brother cared, but he liked to pretend they did. Scratch that, they did care! They cared that he stole it from them, but that was about it. He gave the small rectangular pack a shake, just over half a pack? Score.
Murdoc took a big bite of his jam sandwich, the jam was raspberry, how disgusting. But he needed to eat, and this may be his only chance today so down his throat it went. He wolfed it down and turned his attention to his tea. Could you call it tea if you didn't boil the water? Probably not. He took a gulp to wash away the taste of raspberry from his mouth. It was pretty weak, but he drank it all up anyway.
With breakfast done Murdoc abandoned his dishes where they were since nobody cared, and stashed the cigarettes in the pocket of his pajama pants as he made his way to the front room. The young boy pulled the curtains open and sat in his father's chair, pulling a book out of a pile next to it. It was peaceful in the Niccals household for once.
When Hannibal was finally roused, around oh, 10:30? He straight up ignored Murdoc, he just left the house, to be a hooligan with his skinhead buddies, no doubt. He was old enough to do as he pleased, and what he pleased was not babysitting his little shit of a brother. Murdoc was able to relax with his father's books, a few cigarettes, and complete silence until the clock struck two.
Yelling was heard from upstairs, and that was Murdoc's queue to abandon his spot in the chair. The woman from his father's bed came down the stairs hastily and scoffed upon seeing him. “Disgusting like your father.” She said.
“You slept with him, tart!” Murdoc retorted as he headed up the stairs to change his clothes. It was time to make himself scarce and go sit under a bridge for a few hours or something. He didn't want to be here with how his father practically woke up screaming at a prostitute at 2 pm. It wasn't his scene, man. There were better things than this in store for Murdoc Niccals, but as they say, all in good time.