Apr 16, 2023 13:31:00 GMT
It was late as Shaun did the rounds on his sons, making sure everyone who was home was accounted for, before he wandered out to the garage, shutting the door behind him so that Danny and Henry didn't wander out. Flicking on the light, he began to tinker around with the truck. It was in dire need of attention and sleep was not something he was going to get any time soon. His mind too full, his heart too heavy. Carefully he pushed the roller door up, allowing the slight breeze to roll through.
Turning around and propping open the bonnet of the truck, he sighed, trying to figure out what was worth doing at this hour as he leaned on the edge with a heavy sigh. So many things were going wrong - Jace was getting worse, Keith was knocking on the door, Derek was angry, Stephen throwing away his education, Mav not listening, Nash's attitude was getting worse and he was almost certain that Creven was faking a smile for his sake. He hadn't spoken to anyone, not since the night one of the boys called Eli to help his drunk ass.
"Glad to know you know you're a shit show."
As if he wasn't down enough... He really was a shit show. The fact that Derek had said it... Shaun tried to swallow a lump forming in his throat as his eyes burned.
"You get up in the morning, you get dressed, and you do go through the motions because they need you. It's not always about you."
No fucking shit. But he hurting too. The boys didn't seem to understand his grief - they'd lost their mother, he'd lost his sun and moon, the very being his life had centered around. And now there was nothing; nothing by stale perfume, old photos and the very real reminder of his children - their children.
”I know you are dad. . just sucks when we see you passed out on the couch. . you know?”
He felt the tears fall.
"I HATE YOU SO MUCH!"
“Hello...father.”
"I worked. Someone needs to pay the bills around here."
It's not always about you... He was fucking trying and every time he turned around, two more things were falling down. It was so hard to breath anymore, and nothing wanted to make sense. He felt his legs buckle under him, catching his bad arm in the front bull bar. He wanted to scream, instead just struggled to pull his arm free and cradled his shoulder as the electric fire ran through his shoulder. Why was it so hard to breathe? What had he done to deserve this? Shaun curled into himself on the garage floor, covering his mouth so the boys didn't have to hear him whimper and cry like a fucking wounded animal. Everything hurt. Everything hurt and he wasn't sure what to do about it anymore.
