Chapter Text
Luke likes closets. Or really, he likes hiding in them. That’s what he’s doing now — hiding at the bottom of the sturdy oak closet in his bedroom and counting the minutes on his fingers until he knew it was safe enough to come out again.
During his mom’s quicker episodes, it usually takes around ten fingers before he can leave the closet. Ten fingers down, and he’s safe to be out in the house. Safe to be seen. The longer he hides, the calmer Luke usually feels.
Sometimes he stays in the closet for longer than he knows is necessary, just to hang on to feelings of secure-calm-quiet for as long as humanly possible.
This isn’t one of those times. So far, Luke has counted and recounted his fingers three times. Though it’s a fairly large house the walls are thin, and Luke can hear her wails coming from the room adjacent to his, can hear her hissing words in a language he can’t understand while beating the door broken with her fist.
Luke flinches when something glass-like shatters against the shared wall behind him. His mother sobs pitifully, and he hears her drop to her knees.
“Horrible…” She howls. Another crash. “So horrible…!”
Luke feels horrible. Sinking down as far as he can inside the tiny closet, he clutches trembling fingers close and wills himself not to cry.
He can’t afford to make any sudden noises. He isn’t sure if his mother can hear him through her delusion at the moment, but one can never be too careful. The last thing he wants is for her to come and find him. He still has bruises from the last time he failed to get away.
Fingers, cold and sharp, digging into his skin — green, smoke filled eyes staring at him unblinking — a voice so raspy and ancient it makes his skin crawl — wailing — deep and guttural.
Luke tries his hardest to keep his hands open. To keep the already counted fingers down and the uncounted ones up.
He needs to keep track. He needs to keep track of how long this episode is so he knows how long he’ll need to wait the next time his mom has one of these longer episodes, so he can be prepared, so he can be stronger, better —
The doorbell chimes from the entrance hall just outside his door. The wailing in the room next to him stops. A beat. Then the bell rings again, longer this time.
Sitting up on his knees, Luke peeks through the crack between the closed closet doors. Apart from the dim Peter Pan nightlight in the corner, his room is dark with the curtains drawn up tight, preventing any daylight from entering.
He doesn’t know what time it is, and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. They never have visitors, no matter the time.
The doorbell rings.
Poking his head out from inside the closet, Luke puts an unsteady foot forward. As if sensing the movement, the bell rings again, longer this time. In response to the noise, something heavy is pushed across the floor of the room next door.
Luke doesn’t have to see into it to know that his mom is planning on barring the door shut.
The last time she’d done something like this it had taken her two whole days to come out again. When she had, she’d smiled at Luke and offered to bake him chocolate chip cookies.
She let him help that day, and the two of them had sat side by side in front of her pink stand mixer smelling the air that came from the sugared butter as the machine beat it smooth. Instead of her usual ten trays, May Castellan had made only two.
Two, a normal amount of food for two people living in the same house together. Instead of Koolaid, his mom had poured him a glass of milk. It was the most normal she’d been in years, the most normal Luke had felt in years.
The next day she was back to her usual self, and Luke hated himself for hoping that things could be different.
When it becomes clear that the person at the door isn’t going to be leaving any time soon, Luke hops out of the dark closet, slipping out into the hall. Pattering to the door, he stands on his tippy toes to reach the lock. The bell rings once more just as the door opens.
Though the world outside is bright, the afternoon sun is blocked by the towering figure on the front porch, something Luke is immensely grateful for after spending nearly half an hour in the dark of his closet.
The man at the door frowns when he doesn’t immediately see anyone at the door. He peers down the hall a moment before lowering his eyes to meet Luke’s. The man pauses once he sees him, left hand still fixed firmly on the pull knob of the bell. He’s tall, tall enough that he has to crane his neck fully downwards to see Luke standing in the entrance way.
The first thing Luke notices about the man are his eyes, which are a strange green. Maybe blue?
The colors swirl together like watercolor, making them look a bit like sea glass. The second thing Luke notices are the scars. The man is covered in them. Some are long and thin, others are white and raised against warm colored skin. They stretch over his hands, over his arms — Luke can even see some on his neck, including one that trails directly onto his face, just below the jaw.
His hair looks dark, but with the sun framing him and casting a shadow over his front, it’s hard to be sure. Luke takes a step back. The man doesn’t look like anyone he knows, but with the way the man is staring at him, he has to wonder if he’s mistaken.
“Um… hello?”
The man straightens, finally letting his hand fall from the door bell. Luke startles when the man leans down, but the man doesn’t seem bothered. Instead, he smiles.
He smiles at Luke like he’s the one person in the world worth smiling for. It’s a nice smile, Luke decides. Dimpled, with just the right amount of warmth to be considered genuine. There’s something sad about the man’s smile, too. Something bitter that he just can’t mask.
It’s not the sort of smile you’d give to a stranger. Luke’s grip on the handle of the door tightens.
“Hi.” The man says, reaching out a hand. “You must be Luke. My name’s Percy.”
He knows his name. How does he know his name?
Shrinking away from the smiling man, Luke slams the door shut with all his might, latching the chain and turning the deadbolt. Heart thudding in his chest, Luke backs away from the door, watching the stranger’s shadow shift underneath the door.
“Luke?”
The stranger knocks on the wood of the door softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m um… an old friend of your mom’s. I just wanted to check in with her and see if everything’s alright.”
Lie.
Luke presses his back up against the side of the hall, wrapping his arms around his middle. He doesn’t know how he knows that the man is lying, but he is. This Percy guy, or whoever he is, is definitely not friends with his mom. His mom doesn’t talk to people.
Another knock.
“Is your mom home? I’d like to speak with her if I can. I won’t try to come in, if you’re not comfortable with that. I can wait here on the porch. Or, uh… I could come back tomorrow? If she’s not home.”
Luke doesn’t move from his spot on the wall. He doesn’t move until a thud coming from the room after his bedroom has him scrambling backwards.
He watches in horror as the door at the end of the hall creaks open and as his mother steps out. He expects glassy blue eyes and crazy hair, stained clothes and a fearfully pursed mouth, but what greets him instead is someone who is mildly put together.
His mom smoothes out the wrinkles in her dress, combing through her tangled blonde hair with her fingers as she stumbles to the door.
“His friend…” She mutters. “No, that’s not right. He’s not supposed to be here. No, not supposed to be…”
Luke barely manages to get out of the way before his mom takes his place in front of the door, undoing all of his hasty locks. She opens the door, and something sparks in her eyes at the sight of the strange man.
“You…You’re not supposed to be here.” She says, but reaches out to hug him anyways.
Percy stiffens, but returns the hug.
“You. You’re Luke’s f — ”
“Uncle.” Percy injects hurriedly. “I’m Luke’s Uncle, remember?”
Lie.
“Uncle” hadn’t sounded even remotely close to what his mom was going to say. Luke frowns, backing into his mother’s side. He doesn’t trust this man, or his very obvious lies. Why can’t his mother see that he’s lying?
“Remember…?” She shakes her head slowly. “No, I…”
“His dad. I’m related to his dad.”
Some clarity returns to her eyes and she nods. “You are. You are… and you’re here. Before — before you’re supposed to be here.”
She drops her arms from the hug in an instant, clasping the man’s face in her hands and turning his face from side to side.
Percy, to his credit, goes along with it, refusing to protest even as her nails dig into the skin of his face.
“Here. You’re here. And without the other one. You’re here. And older. Not supposed to be…”
“I’m not.” He agrees, gently taking her hands away from his face. “But I am. I’m here to make things right, Ms. Castellan.”
“Make things right.” She repeats mistily.
“Yes. Make things right. I’m going to make sure that everyone is safe this time.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes. Everyone.”
Now Luke has no idea what that means, but his mom seems to. She beams at the stranger, and Luke thinks it’s the prettiest she’s looked in months. Unlike usual, her smile isn’t manic — it isn’t strangely stretched or trembling at the corners, it’s a real smile, earnest and hopeful.
She grabs the stranger’s forearm and pulls him inside. With a surprised noise, Percy staggers after her.
“Come in, come inside!”
And just like that, there’s a stranger in their house.
Percy doesn’t leave until much later in the evening, and even then, he insists on staying to help Luke’s mom make dinner.
Percy’s way of ‘helping’ includes sitting May Castellan down at the dining room table with a short picture book on Greek myths as he ducks and weaves his way through dirty dishware, searching for anything remotely edible in the house that isn’t peanut butter, strawberry jam, or chocolate chips. In the end, he goes to the local grocery mart.
Percy asks Luke if he wants to come with him, but Luke refuses. He might’ve been nine, but he wasn’t stupid. No way was he going to be getting into some weird car with a stranger he barely knew, uncle or not.
(Even if that car happened to be a Camaro.)
And so, Percy leaves without him. He’s gone for a while, and the moment Luke starts to think that maybe Percy isn’t going to be coming back after all, the doorbell rings and in he steps, carrying an armful of groceries.
While Luke’s mom ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhhs’ over the colorful assortment of baking supplies he’d gotten her, Luke watches curiously as Percy cleans the entire kitchen from top to bottom, spraying and wiping every visible surface with some sort of natural lavender scented cleaner.
Luke had almost forgotten that their countertops used to be white. He was so used to the crusty yellow kitchen bar, the dusty floors, and the scummy looking fridge, he hardly recognized the room once Percy was done.
The lavender smell was nice, too. Better than burnt cookies and mildew, anyway.
Luke makes the mistake of maybe looking a bit too interested in what the man is doing though, because in the next moment, Percy is inviting Luke to help him cook. Luke agrees, if only to ensure that nothing strange is put in the food.
What results is crisp and buttery grilled cheese sandwiches, creamy tomato and basil soup, and to Luke’s absolute horror, grilled vegetables.
When Luke tries to sneak past Percy, plate full of cheesy goodness and completely veggie free, a scarred hand reaches out to swiftly commandeer his plate, adding several heaping spoonfuls of cooked carrots and onions to his lineup.
“Vegtables are non-negotiable, bud.” Percy says, not even turning his head from the stovetop as he ladles soup into a white and yellow checkered bowl. “Now go and take this to your Mother.”
The three of them sit at the dining room table. Luke can’t remember the last time he ate in the dining room. Like the rest of the house, it was stuffed to the brim with junk.
It was dusty, and made practically unusable by the sheer amount of stuff his mother owned but could never seem to clean. Within minutes, all of that changes as Percy makes quick work of the cluttered dining room, skillfully sorting and stashing items away in other places throughout the house until the entire room is spotless and ready for use.
What follows is perhaps one of the strangest meals Luke has ever eaten. The grilled cheese isn’t burnt. It isn’t soggy either. It has just the right amount of butter, enough to make the bread toasty and golden but not enough to make it greasy or hard to hold. The soup isn’t overseasoned or watery.
It isn’t canned, either. Luke had watched Percy struggle with the hand blender himself. Even the vegetables are…
Luke makes a face, pushing the cooked carrots around on his plate. Alright, no, the vegetables are still kind of bad, but Luke thinks that has to do more with the fact that all vegetables are basically inedible than it does Percy’s lack of cooking skill.
For the first time in his life, Luke has seconds.
More surprising than the food is Percy’s single minded determination to have proper conversations with them as they eat.
He’s patient with Luke’s mom and listens carefully as she outlines her perfect apple-pear turnover recipe — nodding respectfully even as she loses her train of thought and switches recipes halfway through. He tries various times to pull Luke into the conversation as well, but Luke resists.
There’s no way he’s going to humor this stranger who is definitely not a friend of his mom’s and who is definitely not his Uncle. As far as Luke knows, this is just some strange guy who is trying to take advantage of the fact that Luke’s mom isn’t all there in the head.
He doesn’t know what exactly Percy is trying to do here, but whatever it is, he is determined to see it fail. Whatever it is he wants, Luke would be sure to keep it from him.
That was what Luke decided, but as the night wears on, he becomes less and less sure of what exactly is going on. Percy doesn’t ask for anything. He doesn’t try to convince Luke’s mom to give him money, and he doesn’t try to take anything from the house.
No matter how rude Luke is or how silent, Percy takes the mistreatment in stride, and continues to try and draw Luke into whatever it is he’s doing.
Percy asks about his hobbies, about his favorite foods, what kinds of games he likes, whether or not he plays any sports at school, if he’s in any clubs — the man has a gazillion topics up his sleeve and he uses each and every one to try and gauge Luke’s interests.
Of course, Luke knows better than to let any information slip. About the only thing Percy is able to get out of him is that Luke likes to watch professional fencing on T.V, and that fact is mostly given out of pity when Percy begins to physically droop at Luke’s lack of answers.
With the way Percy is treating him, it’s almost as if Percy is there solely for Luke. But that would be crazy.
What reason would this guy have for trying ti befriend some random kid? Even if he was Luke’s uncle like he’d been insisting, what reason did he have for trying so hard? Why now?
It isn’t until Percy leaves the house that Luke finally lets himself relax.
It had been nice to sit around the dining room table and talk about mundane things, even if Percy had been the one doing the majority of the talking.
It had been nice to eat a dinner that wasn’t cold or covered in a blanket of blackened crust, even if Luke had to force down a few vegetables along with it.
It had been nice to see his mother so at peace with herself, talking about her forgotten interests and walking around the house with newfound clarity. But that’s all it was.
It was nice. Not normal.
Nice nights like these would never be Luke’s normal. Not so long as he lived here, in a house where everything was up in the air at any given moment. His mother’s mood, the food he ate, how he got home each day, how much he slept each night — all of it was subject to change. He wouldn’t get used to living nicely.
He couldn’t.
He watches Percy’s Camaro pull out of the driveway. The moment his tires squeal onto the street, he sticks his tongue out at the retreating car.
Good riddance, he thinks.
Now things could get back to normal.
Or at least, that’s what was supposed to happen.
Instead, every day since that first strange night, Percy kept coming back. Every day without fail, he shows up unannounced at the front door of their porch. And no matter how many times Luke slams the door in his face, he keeps turning up.
Always waiting, always carrying something new for Luke and his mom. Food, books, rental VHS tapes, a new succulent plant for the kitchen window, you name it. Eventually Luke gives up on keeping him out and starts letting him in.
Most days, Percy comes by in the morning. Some of those days he would bring cinnamon sugar doughnuts with him. Other days he made breakfast himself, and the whole house would smell of freshly brewed coffee and blueberry pancakes.
Eggs and toast made their appearances, but pancakes were, by far, the thing that Percy made the most. Most days he made them blue. And on some of those days, Percy made bacon to go with them.
Regular bacon, not blue bacon, thankfully.
Luke liked those days. Once Percy realized just how much Luke liked those days, bacon went from a ‘sometimes’ food to an ‘every day’ food.
Some days (usually on weekends, when Luke was home from school) Percy would show up in the afternoon.
On those days, he would bring lunch — hoagies, ingredients for chili dogs, or on some special days, a box of pizza.
The Castellan’s rusted Foreman grill had never been used before Percy started coming over. The grill was home to a nest of hornets, who, as Luke learned, were prone to chasing whoever was unfortunate enough to get close.
He learns that the hard way when he tries turning on the gas one afternoon.
The hornets are a temporary problem though, and Percy has the whole thing sorted before the day is out. That doesn’t erase the three painful stings Luke received from his encounter though.
While he did his best to hide the stings at first, all it took was one wrong move — the smallest brush of his hand against the frame of a door and he was on the ground.
Percy isn’t happy at all when he finds out that Luke kept his injury a secret from him. He promptly sits Luke down on the kitchen countertop and inspects each of the stings thoroughly before wiping the affected areas with a warm soapy cloth and icing them. A bit of baking soda paste later, Luke is (almost) as good as new.
In the coming weeks, Percy comes over so often that even the neighbors begin to take notice. Mrs. Sanderson next door now knows Percy by name and waves jovially to them each time she sees the two of them together.
Mr. Sansweet across the street thought it was ‘real swell’ that May Castellan had such a ‘nice brother’ to take care of her and her son.
“Brother in-law,” Percy had corrected the old man. “I’m Luke’s uncle. On his dad’s side.”
Lie.
Just like last time and every time before that, the untruth had sent a weird ping off in the back of Luke’s head.
Even though now Luke was pretty sure that Percy was related to him in some way, he wasn’t entirely sure how. Luke had tried asking, but time and time again he was met with the same old answer, the same old lie.
“Your uncle, Luke. That’s who I am. Who else would I be?”
Looking up from the homework that Luke is definitely-trying-to-do-but-not-really-focusing-on, he glances thoughtfully at Percy from his seat at the kitchen bar.
Maybe Percy is his cousin or something. But that doesn’t make sense. If that was true, then why would he insist on being called Luke’s “uncle?” Maybe instead of his Uncle, he was actually some sort of… estranged brother?
He looks up again. His uncle is singing along to Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) on the radio as he washes the dishes, getting suds everywhere as he jams on an invisible drum set in the sink. Luke chews on the end of his pencil before erasing the answer to the problem he’s just done.
No, that wasn’t it either. It just didn’t sound right. But what were they, then?
“Luke!”
Luke blinks once and Percy is in front of him, gesturing soapy hands at him expectantly. “Come on, sing the next part.”
Luke shakes his head. For a minute, he considers jumping off the bar stool and hightailing it to his room, but at the last moment he decides against it. There’s no way he’ll make it in time. Percy is inhumanely fast.
“You know the words!”
Luke did. He made the mistake of muttering the lyrics alongside Percy a few moments ago.
“Quick, before the solo finishes!”
Ducking his head forward, Luke erases his last answer hard enough that the eraser leaves marks. In the background Percy sings on without him, raising the lime green sponge to his mouth, voice comically high and off-key.
When he turns back around to face the sink, Luke lets his head bob to the beat a little before finally beginning to mumble along.
He pretends not to notice the blinding smile Percy shoots him from across the kitchen.