first_in_time | The Half Happy Family [For iselldrugstothecommunity]

The Half Happy Family [For iselldrugstothecommunity]

A seven year old John Chesterton shared the task of setting the table with his father. Unfortunately, a child with a love of games should probably not be given any kind of responsibility which involved sharp objects. And neither should their father.

"Avarst! Ye matey!" Ian Chesterton cried at his son, brandishing a butter knife like a sword.

"Arrrr!!" John replied with one eye closed as though he were wearing an eye patch.

"Submit to me, matey, or I'll gut yer through!"

"NEVAAR!!"

The butter knives clinked once before Barbara managed to catch them at it; "boys!" she called from the doorway into the dining room. "That's quite enough. One of you will literally skin the other and I am not in the mood to drive over to the emergency ward."

Unfortunately, neither boy was paying much attention. To begin with they looked suitably shamed, but all it took was a quick exchange of looks and they lunged at Barbara, who screamed. And then giggled as the tickling fingers of John and Ian found her most ticklish spots. She managed to wriggle away, and ran for the kitchen, the hall and finally the lounge where they tackled her onto the sofa and tickled her until she managed to cry for mercy between fits of laughter.

Now breathing heavy, all three Chestertons sat on the sofa a moment, contemplating who to tickle next when the doorbell rung.

"I'll get it," Barbara said and pushed herself up to walk to the front door. Her hand reflexively went to her hair, double checking that everything was still in place. When she opened the door, flushed in the face from the giggling, hair didn't matter. Even dinner didn't matter. Nor sword fighting, or anything else.

"...Howard," she gasped.

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"I dunno. Maybe." Howard shrugs. "Hey, you want to know a secret?"

John looked cautiously up at Howard. Hopefully the secret wouldn't be a dangerous one and making him have more nightmares. Or make his face melt off.

"I want to know a secret," he replied and stopped everything to look at Howard properly.

Howard presses a finger to his lips. "You have to promise not to tell your mom. She might kick me out."

John nodded and put a finger to his lips. Almost as good as pinky promises.

"Close your eyes. Keep them closed until I tell you to open them, okay?"

John quickly screwed his eyes shut so tight that his lids crinkled.

Howard gets up and starts to collect things out of the pantry and fridge. There's the sound of metal clinking, and a wooden spoon against the inside of a bowl, and measuring cups being dumped into the sink.

After a few minutes Howard sits back down at the table and scoots a bowl of slapped-together cookie dough at John. "Open your eyes."

John wanted to peek so bad but kept his eyes shut because that would be cheating! And he wasn't a cheater. Not even a little bit. Well, there was that one time he knocked the cricket stumps over while no one was looking, but Simon had been batsman for ages and it was time for someone else to play that role.

He'd been lost in his thoughts when Howard next spoke and was delayed in opening his eyes. But when he saw that bowl....! He gasped and grinned. Biscuit mixture was the best and his Mum never let him eat it straight from the bowl.

"Can I eat this?" he asked quietly so that his parents weren't awoken.

"No, I want you to just look at it," Howard says, rolling his eyes. "Yes. You can eat that."

John looked hurt for a moment but brightened when he was told otherwise. He didn't even wait for a spoon but started by dipping his finger in and gobbling it up. It wasn't as good as Mum's, but it was still really good. The fact that it was the middle of the night and probably a little naughty made it taste twice as sweet.

"See. It cures nightmares, food." He leans back in the chair, scratching the side of his cheek. "You know what I have nightmares about?"

John shook his head. "What do you have nightmares about?"

"I have nightmares where I'm about to die. But that's not the worst part. The worst part is that I know, deep down, that no one really cares if I do. That no one will even really notice."

He reaches over and takes some of of John's cookie dough. He remembers that feeling well. He remembers when he realized even Orc didn't care about him, that if he died there would be no mourning, no loss. That there was no one to convince him to keep going, so he had to rely on himself, and that resolve was fragile and brittle and frayed.

"As long as you got your parents, and me, that's never going to be a reality for you."

He does care for the kid, in his own weird way. Mostly for Barbara and Ian's sake, but still.

John shook, scared for Howard. He'd never felt something like that before. John's teachers had told him that sometimes people feel sad, and that's okay, but it's a friend's job to make them feel better again. Howard was John's friend, so in his mind he thought that it was his job to make Howard feel better again.

The child got down from his seat to slowly walk toward Howard. His mother had explained to him that Uncle Howard was special and sometimes didn't want to be touched, but that didn't mean he didn't like John! He just liked his space. The only problem was that John thought hugs were the best way to feel better.

He reached out to climb up on Howard's lap and give him a hug.

Howard stiffens, stifling the urge to shove John away. Instead he just puts a hand up, quickly, between them. "No. Don't. It's okay."

"But you're sad," John replied. He stopped on the spot and eventually let his arms fall to his sides. "You should always make your friends feel better when they're sad."

Howard bites back the urge to say that he's not John's friend. An odd guardian, maybe, but not a friend. That's a term he reserves for people who no longer exist.

That thought reminds him of what a lonely life he lives.

"I don't like hugs. I just, I don't, okay. It's not you, it's me, and I'm not upset right now, I'm just telling you why you should be grateful and not scared."

John stood in front of Howard for a moment longer, looking a little lost as to what to do.

"But you're my friend, aren't you? We're friends?" he asked almost desperately. As far as John was concerned, everyone was his friend and if they weren't his friend? Well...that had never happened before. John was friends with everyone. He didn't know what he'd do if someone wasn't his friend.

"We're related. Sort of." Howard dances around the question, turning his attention back to his hot cocoa. "I don't have friends. I don't want them. Are you done drilling me with questions?"

John shied away and went back to his seat where he ate more cookie dough. He dipped in a finger and took out a little bit which he slowly sucked away.

"...how can you not want friends?"

"I don't have good experiences with friends." All of his body language screams that he wants to be left alone; his shoulders hunch and his gaze averts and he grits his teeth.

If John had a better awareness of body language and more complex communication skills, he'd be more aware of Howard's want for solitude. As it were, however, John was oblivious.

"But friends are good to have. Everyone has friends. They play with you and make you feel better when you're sad."

"Or they break your nose and ditch you when they get bored." Howard's well aware of how much he sounds like his teenage self right now. He doesn't care. "Are you ready to go back to bed?"

John looked at the cookie mixture (or what was left of it), then back up at Howard. And shook his head.

Howard wrinkles his nose. "What, does Your Majesty want a magic carpet to take him back to bed?"

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