Work Text:
“Take care of him-“
The day was surprisingly sunny for winter, or what was supposed to resemble it.
Kenny held a bag in each calloused hand. With every step he took, they cluttered and sang with the mess of teabags, books, and random trinkets in them. The sound an anchoring companion in the silence, alongside the crunching of snow underneath his feet.
Ever since Tian-Chen died, he couldn’t focus on anything but the dead silence. The goddamn silence.
There wasn’t any more sizzling of cooking anymore, no soft shuffling and squeaking from well-worn slippers, no scoldings if he stayed up too late helping Boyd.
Before she died, it became harder and harder for her to convince Kenny to take the breaks that he so desperately needed — one tremble of Boyd’s diseased hand or a stifled yawn from Kristi, and he was already out the door, searching for another burden he could carry.
She didn’t begrudge him for accepting the job as Boyd’s deputy, far from it, but she did dearly miss spending time with him. She missed him, who he was before the weight of the world settled on his shoulders, the shadow of it over him.
She missed him. Especially in those final moments.
He didn’t understand. He didn’t get it. And, God, does he hate himself for it.
A human, always a learner, must understand lessons the first time they happen. When someone’s father dies, they ought to spend time with their mother now lest it becomes her turn. Kenny didn’t understand that. Kenny didn’t grieve his father, no, he hid from it.
He escaped it by burying himself in his work and etching his pain into blood-stained wood; calling it a way to honour his father, but no, it was just pure dissociation and he knew it.
He only accepted the badge just so he could sit behind that damn desk and open the cabinet to stare at the gun every time he feels like it’s too much. But God, he could never do it. There were too many responsibilities and he can’t leave Boyd on his own to deal with them. No matter how many times Boyd leaves him in the dark, he just can’t do the same to him. He can’t do it.
His father died, he ran away.
His mother died, and now he was doing the exact same thing.
Kenny always honoured his genius as it was a gift from his father — but he was being an idiot now, and he knew it, leaving the place he called home just because she wasn’t there anymore.
He just couldn’t take it. He couldn’t live with the fucking silence of the kitchen; because every time he woke up in that bed, he expected her to greet him with a roll of her eyes and a plate of fresh pancakes. He could never accept the silence that followed after.
Now, he understood why some believe that home is the people and not the place.
But he had no one left. The realisation suddenly struck as he walked to the Colony House, and it made tears bubble up like soda pop in his eyes. His eyelashes unconsciously fluttered into a long blink.
The blood. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, avoid remembering it, it was still there. He could still see it every time he closed his eyes. He could feel it underneath his fingernails, a sickening mix of both Bing-Qian’s and Tian-chen’s. Both tortured to death, both alive and screaming as skin gets ripped off them, leaving them naked. Raw.
“-He’ll be alone now.”
A quiet sob broke through for just a second before he instinctively stifled it, he can’t meet Donna with puffed eyes and a sniffling nose. That’d make her ask questions, and he knows how relentless Donna is, that’d mean he can’t run away.
As if he ever could, in a place like this, with a badge like that. Even though he threw it on the ground, the weight of it on his chest was still felt. A reminder of the endless responsibilities, of the people counting on him out of everyone.
He let out a shaky sigh, opening his eyes again and wiping any residue of tears with his sleeve, bag still in his hand. They sagged in his grip, motionless. Even the clutter inside had gone quiet.
The silence had crept into that, too.
His hands trembled before they clenched the bags tighter, another deep sigh leaving him, he looked across the yard to the Colony House’s path.
Overlapping footprints have mashed the snow to a greyish slush.
Kenny stared halfheartedly, trying to distinguish the fresh tracks from those trampled beneath as he walked. He pretended the bitter prickle at his eyes was only the cold, gripping his bags harder and shaking them a little, as if willing any sound to return to them.
“Kenny!”
A loud call made the bubble around him burst, and he jumped a little before forcing a chuckle out to play it off. “Ah, Donna.. Hey.”
Donna stood on the Colony House’s porch with her arms crossed, the faint smile on her face unwavering. It always stayed when Kenny was around. “Hi, honey. What took ya so long?” She asked, her accent giving each word a familiar edge.
Kenny let out another of those chuckles, the ones humourless, only meant to fill the silence. “You know.” He faltered. “It’s just.. Cold. I took my time.”
The words were mumbled, barely believable, but Donna nodded anyway; he felt grateful for her silent understanding.
He shifted his weight from one foot to another unconsciously, a frown slowly replacing his polite, barely-there smile.
Donna raised an eyebrow at the sight of him frowning, “Well, you’re not gonna stand there in the snow all day, will ya? Come here.”
The smell of marijuana being smoked on the porch by a few others suddenly hit him, and he swiftly followed her lead. That was something he’d have to get used to if he wanted to live here: the weed, the sex parties. His mom had raised him in a strict household — no recklessness, ever. He wasn’t going to just let her will die with her, he won’t drown himself in liquor or resort to hurting others as grief.
His feet shuffled through the snow as he walked, running his thumb up and down the strap of his bag absentmindedly.
He doubted it’d be a place he would later consider home. Not without her in it.