[ The conversation continues in hushed tones as Henry moves through the kitchen. An argument is clearly brewing, though like the storm outside, it hasn't broken yet.
Nearing the hallway will reveal... Alec. He's not like Henry knows him, of course. Scant weeks away from his eighteenth birthday, Alec is tall like his father - like he is in the present - but not near as broad, and lacking in his usual layer of scruff. His clothes are dirty and torn, a dull splash of dried blood standing stark on his grimy white t-shirt. There are dark bruises mottling his face, a fresh gash on one cheek and a swollen and split lower lip that he can't quite help but prod at with his tongue. This is the norm for him, more often than not. Picking fights with anyone who so much as looks at him wrong, coming home from school bloodied and bruised and entirely to blame for his own sorry state.
And then he turns right around and picks more fights with his father. His dad has never laid a hand on him in all these years, but voices are often raised, things are thrown and then later put back together with a careful application of magic. But all the magic in the world can't fix the bitter resentment that sits heavy over this house like a fog, and Thomas Brennan has finally reached his breaking point.
Like Henry, Alec listens to the half of the phone call that he can hear, anger burning bright in his eyes. ]
Fuck the deal. [ Thomas snaps suddenly, raising his voice briefly before he remembers himself and quiets down again. His voice has taken on an angry edge. ] I bet that fancy new fiance of yours would just love to know you got a kid. Your old man, too. How's that for a fucking deal?
[ Angry words fly from the phone into Thomas' ear. He slams the phone down in response, hanging up. He stomps downstairs back into the garage. Behind him, Alec's whole body has gone tense, fists curling so tightly that his nails bite into his palms.
The whole world feels like it's tilted. Like this is the beginning of the end.
Henry will feel something tugging him to go back downstairs. ]
no subject
Nearing the hallway will reveal... Alec. He's not like Henry knows him, of course. Scant weeks away from his eighteenth birthday, Alec is tall like his father - like he is in the present - but not near as broad, and lacking in his usual layer of scruff. His clothes are dirty and torn, a dull splash of dried blood standing stark on his grimy white t-shirt. There are dark bruises mottling his face, a fresh gash on one cheek and a swollen and split lower lip that he can't quite help but prod at with his tongue. This is the norm for him, more often than not. Picking fights with anyone who so much as looks at him wrong, coming home from school bloodied and bruised and entirely to blame for his own sorry state.
And then he turns right around and picks more fights with his father. His dad has never laid a hand on him in all these years, but voices are often raised, things are thrown and then later put back together with a careful application of magic. But all the magic in the world can't fix the bitter resentment that sits heavy over this house like a fog, and Thomas Brennan has finally reached his breaking point.
Like Henry, Alec listens to the half of the phone call that he can hear, anger burning bright in his eyes. ]
Fuck the deal. [ Thomas snaps suddenly, raising his voice briefly before he remembers himself and quiets down again. His voice has taken on an angry edge. ] I bet that fancy new fiance of yours would just love to know you got a kid. Your old man, too. How's that for a fucking deal?
[ Angry words fly from the phone into Thomas' ear. He slams the phone down in response, hanging up. He stomps downstairs back into the garage. Behind him, Alec's whole body has gone tense, fists curling so tightly that his nails bite into his palms.
The whole world feels like it's tilted. Like this is the beginning of the end.
Henry will feel something tugging him to go back downstairs. ]