Work Text:
Jason was sitting on the floor in the room at the end of the hall, his voice was flowing slowly, nearly drowning in the muffled sounds of the streets below them, as he read the story to their daughter. It was another night of those, the same routine kept up for the last three years. Each night, as Jason would read Lian a story, Roy would sneak into their bathroom to scrub his hands until the blood coating them was his own.
It was silly, really, the way it all started. Jason finished his degree and as he graduated, COVID started and as much as he loved his daughter, living in a small apartment with a four-year-old was a nightmare and a half. At first, it was a silly joke that happened somewhere between Lian’s nap and Jay’s groan of “How the hell do I kill this character?” where Roy proposed he’ll kill a guy and tell him how he did it; it was just an absurd way of breaking the lockdown rules. They laughed at the time but the thought came back two weeks later.
It was late at night, sometime before sunrise when the moon had started to set, they didn’t close the curtains so the dim lights of stars were surprisingly visible, the sky cleaner than ever due to the cancellation of air travel. The question was quiet, unsure and embarrassed.
“Would you really kill someone to help me write?” Jay’s voice was rough, exhaustion settled on his vocal cords like a thick blanket.
“I’d do a lot of things if you asked me.” He didn’t think of the answer, it was clear to him, the most obvious fact on his mind. “Just don’t let them lock me up, Jaybird.”
“I’d rather die than let you rot.”
“I just broke both of his hands. His kids were right- they were right there, unconscious on the floor. I wanted to throw up, the smell was awful like he never opened a window just drank and drank, and drank until he couldn’t. I-“ His voice caught up in his throat, his hands were shaking as he pulled on his shirt. He wanted to grab for something but the only thing nearby was Jason and the thought of bruising one of the most precious people in his life was unbearable.
“Maybe we should stop. Stop the whole thing.” It wasn’t a question. It was a whisper of uncertainty and worry, worry so great it made the usually smooth tone break in a plea. “This is breaking you. Let’s stop this whole damn thing.”
“Yesterday Lian asked me why my hands are red. I just told her it’s a dye. I had to lie to our own child.”
He choked out a sob as he was gathered into a hug. It was pitiful, the way he just couldn’t stop crying. He felt weak, weaker than ever and so, so dirty. He spent hours scrubbing the blood of off his hands and yet he felt it all the same.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” He felt the words more than heard, mumbled into his hair. There was nothing to forgive.