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Max squints at the light peeking through the curtains, soft and omnipresent throughout the house. He’s been through Cape before, but this is different from just passing by. Griff was here—and Max is here now. And there’s something a little unsteady about that.
Eiji is still crashed out on the couch—cheek roughly squished against the armrest. Little Aslan had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders earlier in the night—when he thought nobody was looking.
I should tease him for that.
Speaking of, it’s barely five in the morning—and Ash is gone.
The floorboards creak and give a gentle way beneath any semblance of weight, the house having been through almost as much as the boys that it raised. Or the boys that raised each other. Max makes out a tuft of blonde hair peeking up from the window outside, and can see Ash and his little shoulder hunch, looking out into the wind.
Max pulls the door open, weak on its hinges, and steps outside. It’s nice and cool, the slow sunrise killing any chill that’s left, and making Ash’s hair stand out like gold in front of the straw yellow grass below him.
“Max.” Ash murmurs, drawing his hand up to his face. He hasn’t even turned around yet, and already knows who it is. Max doesn’t know if he should be flattered or scared.
Ash turns a bit, blinking up at him all wide eyed—and he couldn’t be scared if he wanted to.
“Good morning!” He sighs, standing next to the younger boy. Ash curls his wrist beneath the wooden pillar, a soft trail of smoke flowing up from between his fingers.
Oh shit.
“Nope. Put that out.” Max scolds, reaching down and snatching the cigarette from his grasp. “You’re too little. Gonna fuck up your lungs.”
Ash doesn’t even stop him, just numbly lets him take it away, a little curious if anything. The interested expression only lasts a few heartbeats, before Ash scowls, and crosses his arms.
“Too little to be doing a lot of things, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” Max deadpans, tossing de-lit smoke onto the patio behind him. “I do think.”
Ash wrinkles his nose, slipping the mask right back on. “Stupid.”
Max laughs, and pinches his shoulder. Regret hits him like a brick, the blonde making a strangled noise and—“Ah—“
Ash flinches back so viscerally, that Max bets he can hear rushing wind in his ears.
“Shit—sorry, Ash.”
Looking at him now—Max notices his demeanor. He’s shaken up and wide eyed on the porch, arms wrapped around himself.
“No. No—that’s me. Sorry, Max.”
Ash fidgets, bites one of his nails, a little similar to the way Michael rolls onto the heels of his feet when he’s antsy. Ash is a little boy. Maybe not in his own eyes—but shit. Seventeen feels so far away now. Max was a kid in his twenties.
He clears his throat.
“Are you okay? Nightmare or something?”
That’s it.
Ash’s eyes dart around nervously all of a sudden, scanning Max’s face for something, before he scratches his cheek, a soft patch of flush rising with each passing second.
“Uh—I don’t know.”
Max softens, it’s better than a flat leave me alone.
Ash is treading carefully—probably trying to find the safest route towards comfort. The same way Michael grabs his hand when he’s nervous.
Except Ash has only been swatted away.
“You can tell me if you did.” Max starts, turning towards him. “You can tell me anything.”
Ash keeps his eyes trained on the ground, biting his lip. He’s trying. This isn’t easy for him. This isn’t safe, in his mind.
“I don’t even know why I have them.” Ash breathes, twining his hands together, pulling at his knuckles nervously. Max tries to make eye contact, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.
“I mean—it happened—so long ago, and—just coming back here, it’s all I can think about.”
Jim’s voice echoes through his mind, memories of the diner. Little Ash being hurt—being sent right back. Being laughed at, blamed. And he still has the strength to show up back here, in the hometown that did nothing but turn on him.
Max aches—and the words come pouring out before he can even condone them.
“Oh, honey— what happened to you?”
He doesn’t even know why he asks—he’s at a point where Ash’s entire backstory is pretty much pieced together in his mind. But the way Ash turns his head—eyes wide, lip trembling—
Nobody’s ever asked you that before, huh?
“I don’t know.” Ash shudders, burying his face in his hands. His voice is ten pitches higher than normal, and wet with unshed tears. “I don’t know? I just—sorry, I want to leave so badly.” He sniffs, and he’s crying, wiping tear tracks with his wrists, but doing a shitty job of it. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
When Jim called him a whore—Ash laughed it off, the tiniest bit of blood hiding behind his amusement.
I can’t even imagine how badly that must’ve hurt.
Seventeen seems further and further away with each sob that bubbles past Ash’s throat.
“No—don’t apologize.” Max soothes, tentatively reaching out towards the kid for a second time. He moves slowly, Ash watching his arm like a hawk, and cups the back of his head, rubbing his thumb along the nape of his neck, scratching his hair. Ash’s eyes are huge—not in fear, but rather disbelief, when Max pulls him to his chest.
He’s so small, and something about that thought makes Max want to throw up. He pushes the thought away violently, along with the picture of eight year old Aslan in a baseball uniform, and squeezes Ash to his chest.
“Shhh…. I don’t blame you for being upset. Let it out.”
Ash is a quiet crier, but shyly hugs him back, calloused and wounded little kid hands clawing at the back of his shirt. A year ago Ash would barely be getting his permit. He’d be applying to colleges right now. Getting his first job. Instead, he’s stood on his old front porch, sobbing about the long list of things he lost in his hometown. The fury of his childhood.
Max shuts his eyes, and rocks him.
“I know, Ash. I know.”
You don’t know. You have no idea. You’ll probably never experience this much hurt.
“Max—“
“I know, honey.”
Ash buries himself further into his arms, gasping, and mumbling incoherently. Max draws a hand between his shoulders, and runs it up and down his back. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
“Please—“
Ash melts into him, every gentle touch wearing him down. He must be exhausted—not even sleep can offer him a break. Max kisses his hair subconsciously, and scolds himself when Ash freezes.
He’s not your son.
Ash only stays still for a split second, before tucking his head under Max’s chin comfortably. Shutting his eyes against his neck for a second, before finally pulling back.
Max let’s him go, dropping his hands to his sides, peering down at Ash’s face with care, a finger light under his chin.
“You all done?”
Ash nods, and Max cups his long sleeve over his hand, and starts wiping the mess on the kid’s face. Blotchy with tear tracks—and other things Ash is probably going to flush and kick himself over later today. Even if this is long overdue. Even if anyone deserves to cry into someone’s chest, it’s him.
Ash is numbly letting himself get fussed over—which is a win in the very least. About a minute in, there’s a tap on the back door, and Ash whips his head around.
“Ash?” Eiji peeps, turning the handle. Ash looks up at Max helplessly, hiding his face behind his hand.
“One second Eiji.” Max calls, blocking Ash from view. “We’ll be right in.”
“Oh.” Eiji yawns, and they can both make out a little bit of shuffling. “Okay.”
Max turns to Ash giving him an exasperated look.
“C’mon kid. You can afford to show Eiji a bit of weakness every once and awhile.”
Ash just shrugs, looking almost shy. “I—I don’t know. I’m supposed to protect him.”
Oh, sweet boy.
“All the more reason to ask him for help. It’s important to talk about these things you’re going through.”
Max sighs when Ash doesn’t reply.
“Shit, I’m sure Eiji wants to support you.”
Ash hesitates, and Max reaches up again to clean his face a little better. He doesn’t flinch this time.
“I don’t know. I've already dragged him in too far.”
Max pinches his cheek, soft beneath the pads of his fingers. So much for a gang leader. Why’s everyone so scared of this guy? He’s got the threat level of a house cat.
“Hmm. Eiji can leave whenever he wants, and he chooses to stay with you. You aren’t dragging anyone into anything.”
Ash hesitates again— the sensitive little thing, and shrugs.
“Come on.” Max grins, nudging his shoulder. “Listen to your dad, yeah?”
A flicker of emotion passes over Ash’s features, almost another trace of disbelief. Ash looks up at him, although still a little uncertain, and nods.
“Okay.” He replies, composure regained, before turning towards the door.
“Thank you.”