Chapter Text
Barry leans on the bathroom sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look great; the last two days of stress about his dad coming into town have weighed down on him, giving his eyes a frazzled look and his hands a slight tremor.
Tongue pressing against the inside of his bottom lip, he opens the mirror cabinet, revealing his full container of antipsychotics. Jack had pulled him to the side and given him an earful about them after dropping Lucien back off at the house yesterday, voice strict but concerned throughout. Barry was afraid he’d be forced to take them, but Jack had ended his rant with a sigh, handing the container back to him and muttering something about trust.
Barry swallows, grabbing the container and listening to the slight rattle as the pills resettle when he holds it over the sink. Distantly, he hears whispers to flush today’s pills down the toilet and let Jack come to his own conclusions, but he ignores the urge.
Instead, he pushes his hair behind his ear and debates the merits of taking the medicine. On one hand, maybe his father will be more receptive to a medicated son, versus a tightly wound one that can’t keep a real conversation without stumbling idiotically over his own thoughts.
On the other hand, he tends to stay on the quieter side while medicated, and the thought of having to force the words out to respond to his father later makes his stomach turn.
He puts the pill container back in the cabinet, unopened. He doesn’t look at his reflection again when he closes the cabinet.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he ducks under his sign and sidesteps a dashing Arnold, only flinching slightly as the bathroom door slams behind his friend.
He heads towards the cabinet with the pans, licking his bottom lip as a craving for scrambled eggs sets in further with each step.
Just as he’s about to reach for the handle, though, Norman throws himself in front of him, effectively blocking him from the cookware.
“Barry!” the shorter man gasps, putting his hands out and shaking them. “I can’t wash any more eggs off pans! My fingers are killin’ me!”
Barry freezes, and for a brief second he feels a wave of guilt wash over him for making Norman do his chore the day before while he’d been making his sign.
The feeling passes, though, and an irritated frown dons his face. “I’ll wash the dishes after my father leaves, Norm. Don’t worry about it.” He goes to reach around Norman, but a hand smacks his forearm away. “Hey!”
“You was supposed t’ do the dishes yesterday, too, but I—I had to do ‘em and I didn’t like it, the plates are sticky and—and,” Norman scrunches his face up, and that guilt creeps up Barry’s spine again. “And I’m banning eggs! And steak sauce!” Norman finishes, frowning and scratching his cheek. “Yeah. That works.”
Barry stares at him for a second, then glances over at Lucien, who is peeling a banana and not paying them any mind. He turns back to Norman. “Norman, I promise you I’ll do the dishes tonight, alright? You don’t have to worry about sticky plates or steak sauce or anything else. And,” he sing-songs, turning to the fridge and opening it to peer at the full egg carton, grinning a bit as he does, “I’ll make you some eggs, too. Extra cheese on ‘em, too, if you want.”
Norman squints, processing the incentive. Barry waits patiently, not looking up as Arnold steps back into the room (despite the small insistence in the back of his mind to make sure it’s Arnold, just in case).
“Besides,” Barry adds, laying it on thick because he is growing hungrier by the second, “your girlfriend is coming over later. You wanna be fed before that so you’re not thinking about food the whole time she’s here, right?”
Norman’s expression is priceless. He nods his assent, ducking out of the way. Barry gets to work on the eggs, making sure to put a bit of oil on the pan this time around.
Arnold and Norman start an ecstatic conversation at the table about Norman’s gift for Sheila (Arnold’s janitorial keys, which Barry almost tells them is a bad idea, but in the end decides the comedy outweighs the consequences. Arnold isn’t going into work until Saturday, anyway).
Once the cheese-covered eggs are scrambled in the pan and simply waiting to cook, Barry grabs his timer from on top of the oven and turns it to five minutes. Nodding his satisfaction, he settles at the table next to Lucien, absentmindedly flicking the discarded banana peel back towards the other and then tapping his nails on the table. Lucien lets out a short laugh.
“And Sheila—I’ll give her the keys, and we can talk about keys, and donuts, and flowers, and—and we’ll be all alone so no one will hear us!” Norman grins, clenching and unclenching his fists in his excitement.
Barry cracks a grin of his own, mirroring Arnold’s own expression. “She’s lucky to have such a generous host, huh, Lucien?” the youngest of the group asks idly, nudging the man next to him.
Lucien grins and nods his head erratically. “Lucky Sheila,” he says quietly, and Barry’s grin grows.
There’s a knock on the living room door right as the egg timer goes off, causing them all to jump. Barry subconsciously flinches in Lucien’s direction. Lucien presses his hands to his ears even after the timer alarm turns off.
Norman recovers quickest, jumping up and scuttling towards the next room. “My name is Norman Bulansky, welcome to my home!”
“Hey, guys,” Jack greets as he keys open the door, narrowly avoiding hitting Norman with it.
That snaps Barry out of his stunned stupor, prompting him to stand and head to the stove, turning it off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Arnold reaches over and gently grasps Lucien’s arm, patiently waiting until his hands are off his ears.
“Hi, Jack! The job’s goin’ great, good to see ya again!” Norman shakes their friend’s hand. “We’re havin’ breakfast, and Barry’s makin’ me cheesy eggs, so I’m not hungry when Sheila’s over! And he said he’ll do the dishes, too, but only after his father’s gone tonight, because then—” He pauses to breathe. “Then he’ll have time to do his chores, and—”
“Do you want any eggs, Jack?” Barry cuts in, opening the cabinet with dishware. “I made extra for Norm, but I’ve got enough for you, too.”
Jack steps into the kitchen with Norman in tow, the latter heading back to his seat. “No, thanks, Rena made me some pancakes. Appreciate it, though.”
Barry jerks his head in a nod. “Lucien?”
“Huh?”
“Eggs?”
Lucien doesn’t look up from the table. “Eggs what?”
Arnold rolls his eyes, earning a light flick in the head from Jack. Barry taps his fingers on his hip and says patiently, “Would you like some eggs for breakfast?”
“No, thanks, I had a banana.” Lucien holds up the peel to emphasize his point. Jack grabs it from him and throws it in the trash.
Barry nods again, tucking his hair back behind his ear and grasping two plastic plates to serve the eggs.
Norman rubs his hands together, tongue poking out of his mouth when Barry puts a steaming plate in front of him. “Ouh, eggs. I haven’t had eggs in forever!”
“Didn’t you ban eggs yesterday?” Arnold deadpans, arms crossed in front of his chest and eyebrow raised.
“I’m un-banning them!” Norman says around a mouthful of food, some spilling out. Barry cringes in disgust as he sits down to have his own, shoveling the eggs into his mouth the second he puts the plate down.
“That’s good, since everyone likes Barry’s eggs.” Jack pats Barry on the shoulder as he passes, and Barry ducks his head to hide his blush. “And since he will be doing the dishes after his father leaves,” he says pointedly, ignoring how Barry still doesn’t look at him, “that means you don’t have to worry about banning any foods in the near future.”
Norman just nods, still happily chewing his cheesy eggs.
“Well, maybe we should ban rugs, instead,” Arnold mutters.
Jack rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he starts before Arnold can go on another rant, “once you guys are done with breakfast, we’re gonna load into the van and do our own activities so Norman and Sheila can get some privacy.”
“Oh!” Arnold jumps up, running over to Jack and grasping his shoulders. “Can you take me to my new friend’s house? We’re gonna watch her soaps and I’m gonna learn all about the people in them and how they all really really like each other, and she’s gonna give me jelly beans.”
Barry hums quietly. Mrs. Fremus likes soaps, too. Small world.
“Yeah, I’ll take you.” Jack gently removes Arnold’s claw-like grip from his shoulders. “Barry, golf range, right?”
“Yeah. Please,” he adds as an afterthought, standing to put his plate in the sink. He rinses it quickly. “Missed my lesson yesterday, don’t wanna disappoint again.”
“Alright. Lucien, you wanna head to the beach with me? We can take another walk.”
“A walk, a walk!” Lucien nods, hugging his stuffed puppy excitedly.
“Yep, just like the other day.” Jack pats Lucien’s shoulder. “We can leave in ten.”
Everyone nods their agreement.
“Get t’ see Sheila today,” Norman murmurs jovially, finishing off his eggs.
Barry blows out a billow of smoke that dissipates quickly in the wind. Jack had dropped him off about an hour ago now, and he’s waiting anxiously for his only student to arrive for her lesson.
He does feel bad for skipping yesterday, truly. He feels a breakthrough coming for Mrs. Fremus; any day now, she’ll be able to actually get the ball off the tee.
He checks his watch again, frowning at the 12:43 staring back up at him. Their hour of time is damn near over, at this point. And god knows how long it’ll be after that that he can actually go back to the house; Jack had been clear that none of them were allowed to disturb Norman and Sheila.
He sucks on his cigarette once more, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds and blowing out again as he stands up. He throws the mostly finished cigarette into a receptacle on his way to the trailer with equipment; he may as well polish his swing in case she does show up.
Just as he’s going to grab a club, though, he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns quickly, hands flying up to shield himself.
A petite teenage employee jumps back, eyes wide. “Whoa!”
Barry grimaces, biting the inside of his cheek and relaxing his defensive stance. “What do you need?” he asks wearily.
The teenager holds out a cordless phone, expression schooled back to that pubescent annoyance Barry can only vaguely recollect. “Someone named Norman Blueskee is askin’ for you,” she says, blowing a bubble with her gum.
“Bulansky,” Barry corrects half-heartedly, taking the phone and holding it up to his ear, nodding his thanks to the girl, already on her way back outside, away from him. “Norman?”
“Barry!” a shrill voice comes over the line. Barry moves the phone away from his ear with a grimace. “Hi, Barry, how’re you? Thanks for pickin’ up!”
“I’m fine,” Barry says curtly into the phone, swiping a golf club and fiddling with it. “Where’s Sheila? Did something happen?”
“Oh, Sheila! Oh, boy, she had’a go home, bus comes at four. Don’t wanna miss the bus, or she couldn’t get home!”
Don’t even ask. Barry pulls out another cigarette while he waits for Norman to get to the point, stepping back outside the trailer and slouching against it as he lights it.
“So she’s on the bus, but I went outside to see her go, and then, I, um,” Norman grows quieter, and Barry straightens up as concern creeps in. “I closed the door, and then I tried to open it again, and it’s—it’s locked. I can’t get into the house, Barry.”
“Oh.” Barry sighs out in relief, smoke pouring out from his lips. “Okay, so no one’s hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine, Sheila’s fine, I just, I can’t—I came to the gas station, on Woodlaw, y’know? Where we was gonna use the bathroom cuz your sign for your father covered the door? Because our phone, it’s in the house, and I’m locked outside the house, so I can’t get to it to call you to let me in the house. So they let me use their phone.”
Barry smirks slightly, glancing up as someone’s golf ball flies across the green. Nice shot. “You can’t use your keys to get into the house? Where are they? Sheila take them?”
Norman goes quiet on the other end. There’s the sound of shuffling, and a series of panicked gasps follows the shuffling becoming more frantic. “Oh, gosh, Barry! Barry, I must’ve left ‘em in the house! Oh, gosh, what if somethin’ happens to ‘em? I need my keys, Barry, to get into things! If I had ‘em, I could get into the house!”
“Norman. Norman!” Barry waits for his friend to quiet back down. “It’s alright! Just—Just stay there, Norman, alright? I have my key, I’ll take the bus back and be there in 20.”
“Oh, maybe you’ll see Sheila on the bus! Though, she’s goin’ away from the house, so she’ll prob’ly be on a different bus, so you probably won’t,” Norman rambles. Barry sighs, rubbing his eyes and trying to map out the direction to the bus stop in his head.
“Just stay where you are, Norm. If you have any money on you just get a hot dog or a slushie. Okay?”
“Oh, okay, Barry! Thank you, thanks, good idea, I’ll get you one, too!”
“You don’t have t—” The dial tone drones at him, and he stares at the phone in annoyance. With a groan, he puts his golf club back in the trailer, seeking out the employee from earlier to return the phone before he sets off in the direction of the bus stop.
Thankfully, Woodlaw is just 2 blocks away from the bus stop. Barry doesn’t run, or even jog, per se, but if he walks a little faster than his usual unbothered strut, no one is around to see it.
The bell rings as he opens the door to the convenience store attached to the gas station. One hand comes up towards his ear in a flinch from the sound even as he scans the small store.
Lo and behold, Norman is standing at the counter with the cashier, talking his ear off about Windy City Donuts and their wide variety of choices.
“The apple donuts, those are some’a the best ones,” Norman grins, sipping at his green slushie while the employee silently looks to Barry for help. Barry just raises his eyebrows in response. “And I’m an apple donut with raisins, y’know. When I’m dancin’ with Sheila. You gotta pretend to be a type’a flower when you’re dancin’, so you can dance real good. Did you know that?”
Barry steps forward to save the cashier, coming up behind Norman to put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey.”
Norman nearly gives himself whiplash to look up at the new arrival, eyes growing wide when he recognizes him. “Barry! Oh, boy, good t’ see ya! How’re you, the day’s goin’ just spectacular!”
Barry shoots the cashier a silent nod and gently pulls Norman away from the counter. “I’m fine. You couldn’t have left the employees alone while you waited?”
The shorter man just frowns up at him. In lieu of an answer, he hands over a cola slushie, Barry’s favorite.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He’d mentioned it offhandedly one time to Jack when the five of them had walked over here together, a few months back. He hadn’t even gotten the slushie at the time, opting to buy a candy bar instead. He takes the slushie with a hesitant nod of thanks, opening the exit door and letting Norman go out first.
“Buh-bye!” Norman waves to the cashier, who doesn’t look at him, on his way out. Barry furrows his brow in annoyance and slams the door behind them, hiding a grin when he hears the bell fall to the ground.
The walk to the house is filled with Norman’s excited recollection of the time he’d spent with Sheila. He details her enjoyment of the donuts he’d put out, and the shower curtain that Arnold had picked out last week after Lucien had accidentally torn the old one.
“And the keys, oh, she loved the keys like french fries, Barry, and she looks so beautiful when she’s so happy.” Norman sighs fondly at the memory while Barry sips his drink, tongue repeatedly pressing to his lip as he half listens. “And when four o’clock came, she had to hurry out, so she didn’t miss the bus, but she still gave me a kiss on the way out!”
Barry glances over in mild interest while Norman brings a hand up to his cheek, eyes distant. “Really.”
“She said it was the bestest present she ever got.”
A small smile graces Barry’s face at that. They head up the stairs to their front door, Barry fishing in his pocket for his key. A cigarette comes up first, and he absentmindedly puts it in his mouth and continues rummaging until he finds his key.
“Jack’ll probably be back with Arnold and Lucien, soon,” Norman ponders. Barry huffs an irritated sigh at his suddenly shaky hands trying to get the key into the lock. “I bet he knew that Sheila had to go by four, since he called Sheila’s sister to get her to come over.”
Barry finally keys open the door, and then he registers what Norman has been saying. “Four o’clock?”
“Yeah, ‘s when the bus gets here.” Norman steps around him into the house, making a beeline to the coffee table, where his keys lie in wait for their owner to return. He sits on the couch and inspects them for any damage.
“What makes you think it’s four?” Barry squints, pulling the door closed behind him.
“The timer!” Norman grins, grabbing Barry’s cooking timer from next to himself. “I set it to four so that Sheila wouldn’t be late! This timer’a yours, it really is somethin’. Like a butler, almost.”
Barry’s mouth opens minutely, his still unlit cigarette dropping to the floor, then closes. Norman just looks up at him as he brings both hands up to his face, running them down slowly while he collects himself. He doesn’t know Sheila very well, hasn’t interacted with her much outside of very brief greetings at a few of the dances at the center, but from what he’s collected she could very well get on the wrong bus and end up in a worse situation than necessary. “Stay here, I have to make a call.”
Norman nods, looking down to his keys so he can fiddle with them effectively.
Barry chews his lip as he shuffles to the kitchen, grabbing the long list of numbers off the fridge and mumbling to himself as he dials Sheila’s sister’s number, written in by Jack just a few weeks ago.
He has hushed, as to not alert Norman, and stilted conversation with the woman, who is audibly distressed but understanding; she goes as far as thanking him for letting her know the situation. Barry just stutters out another apology on his friend’s behalf and hangs up, resting his forehead against the wall. He hates speaking on the phone.
Collecting himself, he leaves a quick voicemail to Jack’s home number, hoping Rena is around soon and able to let her husband know the situation. He isn’t sure how long Jack and Lucien will be at the beach, but he’s sure Jack will be happy to bring their housemates back home a bit early.
“Barry, your slushie’s gettin’ warm!” Norman calls from the living room, startling him from his thoughts.
“I’ll take it upstairs with me,” he replies, strolling back into the living room after he sticks the list of numbers back to the fridge. “Want me to put on the TV for you? Or radio? I need to have a few smokes in my room before my dad arrives.”
“Oh,” Norman looks around the living room. “Uh, you don’t wanna watch Looney Toons with me?”
Barry shakes his head, already searching for his lighter.
“Or—I could help you do the dishes! So they can be done before your father comes, and you don’t have to worry about it after,” Norman tries again. Barry doesn’t even register the silent plea for company, all too obvious in the way Norman would volunteer to help with dishes despite his harrowing experience with them the day previous.
“I told you, doing them after is fine.” Barry starts up the stairs. “Maybe you can get Arnold to do them, if you’re worried about them being done now. No one will mind either way.”
“Oh. Okay.” Barry slows slightly at the hint of dejection in Norman’s voice, but still carries on up the stairs. “Thanks for lettin’ me back in the house, anyway, Barry. I bet you’ll have a great time with your dad!”
Barry swallows. He nods, despite knowing Norman can’t see him, and goes to his room. He locks the door behind himself, a cloud of smoke dissipating in the gust of air that follows.
He doesn’t end up doing the dishes after his father’s visit.