Dark_illusion

Jack Abbot was no stranger to the dark. As cliché as it may sound. He knew the way thoughts stewed in your mind. Twisting in the dark, creating paths you’d rather leave unwalked.

Robby wasn’t a stranger to the dark either. But instead of wallowing in it the tv would play, casting light over the furniture of their apartment. Sounds that stopped his mind from wandering. Stopped his mind from creating the paths he tried to ignore despite every turn he took leading to the same road.

Even if they both talked to each other about their struggles, more often than not they didn’t verbally voice it until the thoughts had gone too far. Until the cracks in the foundation were seeping through and they had to talk about it. Had to form jagged words that left their lips in cracked voices and wet lashes. They learned each other's triggers. They spoke each other's language fluently whether it be with words or the silence of their bed as they anchored themselves into a bubble of warmth where nothing could get to them. They knew the tells in each other’s body language that made the conversations inevitable. Maybe that’s why they’d learned to speak your language so quickly.

You were like them in a different font.

Your edges were sharp in a different way. The prodding thoughts tangled together in confusing paths that had no clear direction. More often than not it felt like being stuck in a spider-web where the silk immobilised you. Kept you from moving, from screaming for help. Maybe that’s why you shut down when things got bad. You didn’t want to bother them. Didn’t want them wasting time in untangling you from the web when they had their own problems to sort through.

But maybe the real reason was because you depended on them. Your parents had abandoned you when you were three. With no other living relatives that could take you, the foster system was the only solution. It wasn’t unpleasant but it wasn’t pleasant either. You’d been too young to see the way the system had shaped you. But Jack and Robby saw. They always saw, noticed, they’d raised you after all.

They’d applied as foster parents two years before they got you. You’d been six when you started living with them. A few years younger than Robby had been when he was abandoned by his mom.

It hadn’t been that hard for them to get accepted as foster parents. Stable jobs, as doctors nonetheless, a big house with a backyard for multiple kids to play in. Since Jack was free on days and Robby on nights it meant someone would always be there if an adult was needed.

They’d had some kids stay for a day or two as emergency care but never longer than a week. And then, two years later the guest bedroom had a makeover. A confirmation of a kid staying for at the very least a year. They’d gotten a rundown by your social worker on what you liked. The bedroom had been decorated with a toy box with toys they hoped you’d appreciate. Walls painted in your favorite color and a plushie of your favorite animal rested on the pillows. Jack had made sure to make food that most kids liked, food that looked familiar and simple. Robby had moved the knives and alcohol to places you couldn’t reach. They’d even restocked the first aid kit they kept in the bathroom.

You were their first and only long term foster kid. They adopted you a year after you came into their care.

The first night had been… uneventful. Not a single sound had come from you all day. Barely touched the food, though that had been expected. It was always weird eating someone else’s food the first time. It always tasted different, unfamiliar recipes even to the most basic foods. Neither of them had been worried about it when you opted to eat the offered crackers instead. Although Jack's ego about his cooking skills had been slightly knocked down a notch when you refused to eat his food for a week, somehow Robby’s grilled cheese cut diagonally was perfection, that part stung a bit.

In the beginning they worried when you’d barely speak. They had chalked you down as shy, it was a new place, new family, new school. You were bound to be nervous, bound to be somewhat shy to your new surroundings, you’d only been six after all. But then the notes started coming. Notes from school that you refused to do assignments. Grades dropping. And you never once said a word. They always found the note by looking through your backpack and finding it peaking out of the teacher parent communication folder. On parent teachers meetings the teachers always voiced their concern for you doing group projects alone, not talking to other classmates. Playing alone on breaks. Jack had gotten a call from school once to come and get you. Only to see you kicking your feet back and forth as you sat on the stiff chair outside the principals office. A kid who apparently had been causing you trouble before had pushed you off the swing. He doubted that was everything that had happened since the scraps on your legs and palms were not the scraps you’d get from being pushed off a swing and landing on sand. So when he’d asked you about it you’d just shrugged and went to play in your room. It’d taken Robby and Jack a week to coax you into telling them what had happened. In which they had switched schools because the principal hadn’t even told them the truth in favor of the mean kid’s parents.

You never uttered a word if you wanted a hug or if you needed a new shirt. Didn’t speak to them about things that happened in school that you needed their help to sort through. Didn’t mention the bullying when you were eleven, or the time a kid had cut a piece of your hair during winter arts and crafts when you were seven.

So Robby and Jack learned to speak your language of silence. Knew to see the way your hand would twitch when nervous. The way your leg bounced when doing homework. Every micro expression and movements of your limbs was catalogued into their minds in a special folder. A folder assigned to know what your needs were, even when you couldn’t tell them what it was. A way of knowing what to do when you couldn’t express what you needed of them.

Despite the silent treatment you’d give them at times they knew you were frustrated from how much you depended on them. The system had failed you in many ways. Whether it be emotionally, mentally or physically.

One of the things you depended on them with, was basic things. Jumping from foster home to foster home had meant you never got the one on one help to learn things. The first week they’d had you in their house they’d notice that your motor skills were… lacking to say the least. So they’d taught you how to do things six years old should already know at the time.

You’d worn those velcro shoes far longer than most kids. Until you shut down one morning before school and wouldn’t tell them what was wrong as you stared at said shoes. You’d kicked the shoes away every time Jack tried giving them to you. To which he’d raised a brow and told you to put the shoes on or there’d be no zoo on your birthday. Eventually you’d told him what the problem was and the very next day they’d taken you to get new shoes. Between many tantrums and many deep breaths from Robby’s part you’d eventually learned how to tie your shoes. Lopsided as the laces were, but nonetheless tied.

Even as you got older you depended on them for basic things you hadn’t caught up on. And maybe they enabled it somewhat by not making you do chores but they still wanted you to be a teenager in between school and homework. And even if you didn’t so much depend on them with catching up on things to learn anymore you still depended on them emotionally.

You depended on them to be there and help you through your different moods.

They were your safe space. They’d shown you kindness since day one and your mind had unconsciously latched onto them. They were patient and knew what you needed before you even did. You clinged to them. They kept you from drowning. It was the knowing. Knowing they were there if you were to make a mistake or if you needed a shoulder to cry on.

You didn’t deal with emotions the way they did. You didn’t put your mind at work, didn’t drown out the noise by the tv. Instead of letting it fester in your head or in your actions you just shut down. Instead of telling your dads what you needed your lips were sealed with super glue. If something was really wrong you wouldn’t speak at all for days.

That’s why they analysed you. Learned your triggers like they’d learnt each other's way back. Learned to see what you needed. When you needed it. From hugs to space to the offer to talk if you ever felt ready to. They’d offered therapy but you hadn’t liked it, therapists were too pushy, the ones you’d gone to twisted your words into words that wasn’t at all what you’d meant. But Jack and Robby? They never pushed you, not to continue with therapy or to talk to them. But they always made small gestures to show you they were there.

So maybe that’s why Jack was stood outside your room one day. Troubled expression on his face. He’d picked you up from school. It’d been quiet like usual. The quiet sound from the radio of your favorite music filling the void of the car.

He’d watched you drop your bag and jacket besides your kicked off shoes before you’d moved straight to your room. Usually you’d ask if he could make you a snack while you finished your homework before you went off to do whatever teenagers do nowadays. Either that or you’d talk his ear off on your current hyper fixation.

It didn’t help that you’d always been a good kid, never leaving your shoes out of place or your jacket on the floor. So seeing this sent alarms to him. Something was wrong.

Something was really wrong for you to lock yourself in your room. Usually on bad days you’d be in whatever room he or Robby was in, not making a sound.

So here he was outside your door contemplating on knocking or not.

“Kid?” No answer, as expected. “Y/N?” He nudged the door slightly with his non prosthetic leg, you never shut it completely. Jack chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched you on the bed. Just staring out in space. A lost look in your eyes.

With slightly uneven steps he walked over to the bed, sitting at the edge of the soft blanket.

“School okay today?” He made sure to ask his questions in a way that you could answer nonverbally too. You’d all learned sign language for situations like this but it was still rare you used it.

A relieved? He didn’t know if he was relieved, sigh escaped him as you nodded. Okay so it wasn’t school it was something else. Which could be anything really.

The two of you coexisted in silence for a while. Jack’s hand hesitated before he laid it on your arm. Caressing it softly for comfort like he did in the first year you’d lived with them and would hiccup as tears ran down your face as you’d tried to explain what was wrong. “I’m gonna make dinner before Robby comes home, you’ll be alright in here?”

He watched you nod as he stood up with a quiet groan, any other day you’d teased him for it, saying he was getting into grandpa age. “If you’re ready you can sit by the counter while I cook… maybe do your homework too if you got any” he searches your eyes for a second before he lets himself close your door behind him.

Jack steps into the kitchen and lets his eyes travel towards the window. The tapping of the rain against the outer windowsill gave away the bad weather that had conveniently appeared after they got home. Go figure, bad weather for a bad day.

A deep exhausted sigh escaped him. He hated days like these. Where he didn’t know how to help. When he had to let you decide what to do. He couldn’t just force you into a conversation that he inevitably did with Robby when Robby’s mental health took a bad turn.

Going into Robby’s contact he hovered over his number before he settled for a text instead.

JACK:

You home soon? Kid’s having a bad day.

It was short, but not much else needed to be said. He waited maybe four minutes before his screen lit up with a notification.

MICHAEL:

Just heading out, I’ll get their favorite snack on the way

Ever since they’d gotten you into their lives they were forever grateful that they were able to shift their hours so that they could have dinner in between when Robby got off work and before Jack had to head in.

Glancing out the window again he started to get the ingredients out for your favorite food. It was something he did on muscle memory now. Bad days equals comfort food.

Neither you nor Jack said anything when an hour later you’d made your way out of your room and into the kitchen. Hanging by the cased opening between the kitchen and living room for a few minutes before you sat down by the counter. Placing the book you had to read for English class on the white countertop. Both working in silence. Jack's eyes ever so often glanced at you to make sure you were alright.

When he heard Robby’s motorcycle (he swears he’s gonna puncture the tires one day) he was already moving to the door to greet him. The stove already turned off as the food cooled a bit. Robby was just in time.

Giving Robby a kiss while mumbling a soft hello against his lips he grabbed Robby’s bag from him. Letting his husband take off his outer clothes.

“You made their favorite food?”

Jack nodded at Robby’s words, keeping his voice quiet so you wouldn’t hear them. “Kid hasn’t talked since I picked them up, locked themselves in their room too, I’m worried”

Robby’s eyes drifted towards the kitchen where he could see you by the counter. Head propped on your arm that laid on the white surface as you stared at the wall. “Let’s just see how dinner goes” he knew Jack hated worrying. “It’ll probably get better by tomorrow” but they both knew the chances of that were slim. Last time you’d locked yourself in the room or been as silent as this just staring at a wall had been when your parents magically decided they wanted contact again. Which when your parents took it to court was ruled out, much to Jack and Robby’s happiness, and yours.

The dinner had been quiet, only Jack and Robby making small talk, trying to include you. Even if your responses were half shrugs or a shake or nod of your head. By the time you retreated back to your room after putting your dishes away it was safe to say Robby was worried too.

They stayed in the kitchen after. Cleaning up and watching as you went back and forth from being in your room and in their presence. Even when they moved into the living room you’d occasionally sit in the armchair beside Jack. Being present but at the same time keeping a distance, as if not allowing yourself to depend on them, to let them help you.

It was as if you wanted to talk to them and wanted to tell them what was wrong but somehow the words couldn’t make it out so instead you’d sat quietly in their presence. Maybe it’s why they never forced you to speak either. Your pace was the one they went for. It’d been important the first year you’d been with them, to set a pace that worked for everyone. Even with tantrums when you were a kid and now as a teenager when you’d shut down they let you come to them at your own pace, (for the most part).

They let you open up to them when you were ready. Even if it took you more than a week to do so sometimes.

But maybe that was the hard part. How were you supposed to open up when your mind just shut down because it became too much. How could you open up when your mind was at a standstill, when no concrete thoughts formed or any reason as to why you’d shut down. You wanted to tell them. Saw their worried looks but worry didn’t help you speak, time did.

Eventually Jack needed to head out. His shift starting. He gave Robby a goodbye kiss before turning to you to give you a kiss on the top of your head telling you he’d be back by morning with your favorite breakfast from the breakfast place not far from the hospital.

As soon as the door had closed behind Jack you’d carefully moved to sit beside Robby. Silently leaning your head against him. To which he responded by looking down at you softly and shifting to give you a more comfortable pillow that was his shoulder.

When night fell and you moved into his and Jack’s bedroom and nuzzled into Jack’s pillow he didn’t say a word. It wasn’t the first time and certainly not the last. You’d done it a lot when you were younger. The first month they had you they’d taken a month long vacation off work to help you settle in. So when Jack started being gone on nights you’d usually climb into their bed after they’d tucked you in and the lights were out. Plushie in hand as you nuzzled into Jack’s pillow. You still did it on bad days. They were your safe place after all. Your comfort. But usually you’d just steal one of their pillows into your room, but their deduction of something being really wrong was right since you opted to sleep on Jack's side of the bed.

At least you wanted the company.

When morning came around and you were still soundlessly asleep Robby hadn’t had the heart to wake you. Locking the door behind him before he walked this time to work. You were old enough to be home alone until Jack would arrive anyway.

Jack’s shift had dragged on too slow in his opinion. Besides the normal drunken regulars, some idiot had thought it good to try and see how long he could breath under water in the middle of the night. A kid at a sleepover tried to impress their friend by jumping from the top bunk bed, ending in a broken wrist. Parents overreacting to the regular cold in their kids. The girls night that ended in a broken ankle by the overly drunk woman with way too much glitter in her makeup. Between the patients and Shen’s obnoxiously loud slurping as he finished his second and third Dunkin’ Donut drink Jack's mind had been elsewhere. While he was good enough to not let it affect his work he couldn’t help but to worry. He didn’t know how to help, didn’t know how to get you to speak to them, he hoped it at least wouldn’t last a week like last time. The emails from teachers had been far from fun to read.

He’d been staring at the room with a teenager in it for the past five minutes thinking of you.

“Go home Jack” his eyes glanced over at Lena who had been standing beside him for the last ten minutes, he’d confided in her after she’d clocked him thirty minutes into shift thinking about other things. If Jack was honest almost everyone had clocked it, it wasn’t hard to notice when he wasn’t fully present. “We can manage until Robby comes, Shen can handle shift change”

“Or not, here he comes, say hi to the kid for me, we miss them, you should bring them by sometime again”

Jack didn’t answer as he met Robby halfway on his way to the nurses station. He wasted no time voicing what was on his mind. “Kid still not talking?”

Robby shook his head slightly with a barely there grimace. “Nah” he glanced around the mess that was the Pitt as he so fondly called it. Usually it looked better at shift change which meant Jack was really worried this time around. “Still asleep when I left, slept on your side of the bed, didn’t have the heart to wake them, but you head home, called the school, sick day” It was Friday anyway, your school never had important things on Fridays.

And that’s exactly what Jack did. Stopping by your favorite breakfast place before he unlocked the front door. You were still asleep on the bed. Limbs splayed out like a starfish over Robby’s covers, Jack's covers had somehow ended up on the bed. He couldn’t help the amused scoff that left him. You used to sleep like that during thunderstorms when you got scared and climbed into the bed in between the two. Robby and Jack always ended up halfway outside of the bed, but they never complained.

It all came down to two days later. Both Robby and Jack weren't about to let it run like this for a week or longer. They didn’t want a repeat of last time. They both took the day off. 24 hours committed to getting you to tell them in some way what was wrong. Whether it be you writing it on a note or speaking or signing.

The day had started normal, it was a Sunday so you didn’t have school. Of course you knew they had something planned when they let you sleep in and didn’t yell at you to come out multiple times when the breakfast was ready. Your favorite breakfast.

It was when you finished and was about to walk back to your room when you froze.

“Y/N” it was Jack. His voice, softer than usual but still serious enough to make you stop in your tracks. Turning slowly around you watched them both on the other side of the kitchen aisle. Robby was leaning against it with his forearms on the table. He still had his reading glasses on from when he’d read the instructions on Jack’s new coffee machine. Jack was leaning with his palms against the counter, keeping all his weight on his non prosthetic leg.

“We need to talk” Robby raised a hand as he saw your face scrunch up. “We know it’s hard for you but we’re worried, we just want to help”

“You can write it down on a note if you want, sign, speak if you’re ready… just let us help you kid” you hated how Jack’s eyes always found yours when speaking about serious things. As if eye contact could engrave the words into your brain.

“We know it’s hard, we just want you to let us help you” Robby continued.

Your hands lifted before they formed the words “I’m trying” and “I’m sorry” in sign language. Trying to let you know what’s wrong, it’s just hard, too hard to articulate the words, too hard to explain. You didn’t say any of it but you knew they understood they always did.

“We know you are kiddo” Robby stared at you softly as he shifted to move around the aisle.

“Just tell us what you need to start feeling okay again, even if it’s just as simple as a hug” Jack rounded the aisle. His arm reached out to you before he stopped. “Do you want a hug?”

As he watched you nod, Robby rounded the aisle too. Both their arms wrapping around you. Cocooning you in their warmth and safe space for you to let out your emotions in.

Your face buried unconsciously into Jack. Arms wrapping around the both of them the best you could.

“Y/N?” Your head tilted slightly back to look up at Jack. “Can you tell us what’s wrong?” When you shook your head and buried your face into them again the hug tightened somewhat.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” At the shake of your head their arms tightened.

Being nonverbal at times had never been the problem. It was not knowing what was wrong. You knew they worried. Knew they’d do anything in their power to make you happy.

Your arms tightened around them.

Even if you didn’t tell them what you needed, tell them what was wrong. They were still there. Arms around you, soothing words and patience. Keeping you upright and cocooning you in a safe space.

And maybe that was okay too. Maybe that was enough for the hard days.

Everything didn’t need to be perfect, and everything didn’t need to be said with words. Sometimes silence worked better.