Chapter Text
Luke used to love the taste of peanut butter and red Kool-aid. Whenever he opened his lunchbox at school and saw a plastic container with a simple sandwich inside it, his face would light up in excitement. At seven years old, he had fairly simple tastes, but who could really blame him? Kids are kids, any parent would be excited that their son preferred sandwiches to chicken nuggets and fries.
School was always exciting for him. He took immense joy in gym classes and all the clubs he could join. There were so many opportunities to make friends, and Luke’s social circle was bigger than most seven year olds would have. He had all the invites to birthday parties, and everyone loved when he joined them for soccer or tag at recess. Life at school was great.
It wasn’t the same at home.
No matter how many birthday invites he got from his friends, or how many houses he went to for play dates, no one ever came to his. He was lucky his birthday was in May, the weather was usually nice enough to have something in the park on his birthday. He really only had to figure that out for the past two-ish years, anyways. No one really remembered someone not having a fourth birthday party, but when they reached age five and started inviting school friends, he had to return the favor.
He was too smart for his age.
Sometimes he wishes school days could last forever. Shifting his too-big backpack over his shoulders, he heard the bus drive away as he walked from the corner to his house, staring at the stupid, stupid stuffed animals that line the walkway to his front door. Little monster-like shapes, he glared at them each and every time he walked into the house.
Feeling particularly spiteful today, Luke kicked over a stuffed snake-woman as he passed by. It made him feel ten times better to watch it flop over and get its face stuck in the dirt. Pushing open the door with a sigh, he didn’t even blink at the creaking; he knew by now that the noise wouldn’t draw his mom out in any way.
Moving through the cramped hallways, he went straight to his room, the only place he could ever feel sane in this house. Was it normal for a seven year old to feel like the weight of the world was on their shoulders? He began to doubt it more and more each day. Stuffing his bag under his bed, he went to climb on top of it so he could roll over and just fall asleep, not even bothering to kick his shoes off, when a voice bit through the silence.
“Luke! My boy! Where’s he-- where are you? Luke?”
He stared at his ceiling with a blank expression, mentally preparing his young, little brain as he rolled off the bed and dropped back to the floor, cracking his door open. Standing out in the hallway, his mothers back was to him, having just stepped out of the living room area.
May Castellan stood, in all her former glory, like a broken woman. Her blonde hair that used to glow like the sun had turned white and choppy, as if she had hacked it off herself with a pair of kids scissors. She had only lived about six years since that ill-fated day at Camp, but the way it showed on her body made her look nearly sixty.
“Mom?”
May turned quickly at the sound of Luke’s voice, her face lighting up in excitement more so than recognition. Those silver eyes of hers looked as gray as a piece of dust, dull and dark. She started towards him, arms out, squeezing him in a tight hug.
“Oh, Luke! You’re home, I didn’t hear you come in. Here, I made a snack.” She took him by the hand, leading him down the hall to the kitchen. Luke breathed out a small sigh of relief to himself.
He wasn’t sure which mother he was going to be getting when he came home from school. If it would be this mom, the mom that might look old but acted like every other little boy’s mom, or the… other one. Luke didn’t really like when his mom was in her other state. Every now and then she’d go jerkingly still, before her body began to move in strange movements, as if she were being controlled by puppet strings. Her eyes would turn a choking green, and she’d start hissing words that Luke didn’t fully understand.
This mom, this mom was okay. This mom was still May Castellan, somewhere deep in those clouded eyes. He held tightly to her hand, letting himself be pulled through the hallway as his brain slowed down, a small smile crossing his face. It disappeared a few seconds later, as he stepped into the kitchen where the acrid scent of burning was the only thing he could decipher. Yanking his hand free of his moms, he ran to the oven, grabbing an oven mitt and yanking open the door.
Smoke curled outwards, the result of a dozen burnt cookies. He hissed, turning off the oven as he pulled the tray out and dumped it on top of the oven, slamming the door shut. Leaning on the sink, his legs dangled off as he struggled to open the window, trying his best to air out the room.
Dropping to the ground, Luke turned back to his mom, who just stood there staring at him blankly.
“..om? Mom? Mom!” Luke had to repeat his calling nearly five times before May even began to realize that he was saying something. Blinking slowly, she looked down at him, staring at her son with empty eyes.
“Oh, the cookies burned. I guess I left them in for a minute too long when I went to meet you at the door,” she hummed, brushing past him to get to the table. Luke turned to stare at her, then at the cookie pan sitting on top of the oven. The cookies were more like the pieces of coal a naughty child would find in their stockings than cookies, considering how blackened they were. They had clearly been left in the oven for longer than a minute .
He slowly trailed her to the table, where she patted for him to sit at a chair, dropping a plate with a sticky peanut-butter sandwich and a plastic cup of red Kool-aid in front of him. Luke sighed silently out of his nose, staring at the food. It was really all his mom cooked anymore, if you can call it cooking.
May went to the fridge, pulling out a tube of cookie dough with a hum, causing him to jerk his head up.
“No-- mom, I don’t need any cookies. The oven needs to cool down, and, and I think that we’re all out of sheets anyways since that one now has all the- the burnt cookies over it,” he spoke hastily, starting to slide out of his chair and move over to his mom. May just laughed, patting his head and gliding past him.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Luke! I can just scrape this sheet off easily. Now, why did you turn the oven off? I had it pre-heating and everything!” She spun the dial on it, cranking the heat to the maximum possible, causing him to cringe. Sliding over to the oven, he dropped it back down to 350 degrees, letting out a soft sigh of relief before a shriek and a clang caused him to immediately stand on alert.
Whirling around, he saw the tray with burnt cookies fallen on the ground next to the trash can, his mom clutching her hand that was blistering bright red. Luke’s eyes widened.
“Mom!! What did- did you grab the pan? You can’t do that without the oven mit, it’s, it’s hot!”
May was staring at her right hand, which was quickly looking more and more inflamed with each passing second. Luke grabbed her elbow, pulling his mom over to the sink and turning the cold water on, pushing her hand under the stream. He stared at the dirty dishes in the sink, a weird feeling sitting in his stomach. Pans with burn marks and charcoal coating it, cups and pitchers with Kool-aid stuck to the bottoms, knives with peanut butter and breadcrumbs caked onto it. His nose scrunched up, letting go of his mom.
“Keep it under the water, I’ll clean up,” he told her, sounding more like seventeen than seven.
Luke squatted, picking up the pot holders and grabbing the burning hot pan from the ground. The “cookies” were so far burnt that even the drop hadn’t managed to shake them loose. He pushed open the door to the backyard with his back, trotting out to the trash cans, dropping the offending pan into the bin.
Hurrying back in, he glanced over to see his mom still standing at the sink, allowing him to let out a relieved breath. He had worried that somehow she’d manage to hurt herself more in the forty seconds it took him to walk to the trash.
Luke made his way back to his mom, tugging on her non-injured arm.
“Mom? You have to put the bandages and wrap and everything on your hand now, you know? Mom?”
God, he was so tired. He reached towards the sink, shutting it off and pulling his mom with him to the bathroom, where he knew the first-aid supplies were. Pulling out some burn ointment, he smothered May’s burnt hand in it, reaching for some bandages to wrap around it. His little voice squeaked a bit as he spoke.
“You gotta be careful, pans are hot y’know?”
“Oh, I know, Luke. But you’re always there, my little boy! Oh, my beautiful little boy,” she hummed, pulling him in close despite his struggles of protest, squishing him in a hug. He finally got himself out of it.
“I’m going to go clean the kitchen,” he told his mom, sounding all too responsible. “You should lay down, maybe?”
May’s clouded, broken eyes had dark circles under them, standing out against her pale skin and grayed hair all too clearly. She stood up, ruffling Luke’s hair (and most surely not seeing the dark glare he shot at the floor), wandering past him and towards her bedroom with a hum. The door shut and he could hear the sound of someone collapsing on a bed-- the walls are quite thin here. It wasn’t until he was sure his mom had laid down that his shoulders slumped, and he rubbed his eyes with little hands.
Going back to the kitchen, he turned the oven off, throwing the sandwich in the trash and pouring out the Kool-aid. Luke stared at the mess of the kitchen, the stupid bean-bag monsters and stuffed critters all around the area. Scowling, he kicked the yard door open, sitting down on the steps, his short legs laying out flat.
Luke just stared at the dying grass in the yard, leaning against the metal railing next to him.
As much as he loves going to school and getting to be away from his mom, he’s relieved for the weekend’s arrival. There’s always a sense of uneasiness that plagues him during the day, being unaware of what his mom is getting herself into while he’s gone, if she’s hurt or whatnot. At least he can be home to watch her for the next few days, making sure that nothing goes wrong.
Luke sighs.
He’s only seven years old.
