Forgotten
Rating: PG/K+
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Family
Summary: Fill for hc_bingo, prompt "Mistaken Identity". John's gone. MAJOR SPOILERS for the game.
Author's Note: Writing Scott was certainly an experience.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heavy Rain. It belongs to Quantic Dream Studios.
[-]
"Johnny."
Scott grits his teeth and tries not to say something bad.
"No, mom, I'm Scott. John-" A muscle convulses in his cheek as he tries to keep his expression under control. "-John's not here anymore, mom. Remember?"
"-this is QD TV with your nightly news at five."
Ann tilts her head away from him, focuses on the window. She's quiet for a while, but Scott just waits, fists clenched on his knees; she does this a lot now. The Alzheimer's makes her do anything from forgetting what days it is to forgetting that one of her sons is dead. The fact that he and John were fairly similar (though not identical) in appearance is probably not helping.
"Scotty."
"Yes, mom. I'm Scotty- Scott."
"Of course. My Scotty and my Johnny. My little boys." Ann turns back to him and waves her hand, a serene smile on her face. "Do you still make the little dogs, Scotty? Do you still make the little origami dogs?"
"-to our top story of the evening, the body of thirteen year-old Johnny Winter was found dead in a field outside of the industrial district earlier today. Police believe-"
Scott's eyes dart away from hers, and he regrets the movement; if she's having a moment of clarity, she might realize that he's lying, just like she did when he was a child. Their father may have been crap, but Ann had been a good mother, if not stretched too thin. The only thing she had ever done wrong was marry a dirt-bag.
"Not dogs; other things."
"Oh. I may not remember things as clearly as I used to, but I'll always remember those little dogs. All of them named Max! If they had been real, the poor things would have been so confused!" Ann chuckles.
Scott is stoic.
"-Perry had this to say: 'At this time, we are doing everything in our power and utilizing every asset we have in order to find the person responsible for these atrocious acts. The-'"
He loves his mother, without question. He should never have been taken from her after John died; it was their father that should have been taken, should have been put in jail for not doing what fathers were supposed to do.
But they were, and as a result, all of Scott's memories of Ann are associated with his memories of John. And memories of John are more painful than the broken collarbone he got when he slipped on the stairs a few years ago, more painful than the bullet he had taken to the leg in a standoff when he was with the force, more painful than the cut on his hand that he got from the metal on the grate that covered the hole that ended up being Johnny Winter's tomb-
"Johnny, have you seen my glasses? I can't see anything without my glasses." Scott shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, counts to ten. "Johnny?"
"I'm not John, mom. I'm Scott." He can't stop the raw bitterness from bleeding into his voice, and knows that he needs to leave soon or he's going to lose his temper. She can't help it, it's not her fault, but just because the shaker tipped over and got salt in the wound on accident doesn't mean it doesn't still sting as though it were on purpose.
"Residents are being advised to not leave their children unsupervised, and to observe an unofficial curfew of six o' clock-"
"I have to go now, mom." Scott glances at the clock, and it's just a little past five (of course it is, that's the five o' clock news on you idiot-).
He really does need to go.
"Okay, Johnny. You'll come and visit me soon, won't you?"
Scott's nails are digging into the palms of his hands, but this time he just doesn't have the energy or the will to correct her. "Of course, mom." He picks up his coat, puts the TV remote within Ann's reach, kisses her on the forehead and moves for the door. He's got one foot over the threshold when she says,
"Scotty?"
Scott is surprised that she gets his name right, because normally once she's on the Johnny-train there's no stopping it without actively reminding her that he's Scott and John is dead (and dear God, there is nothing worse than having to remind her that John is dead).
When he turns back, Ann's expression can only be described as desolate. "I miss Johnny." She says quietly enough that he has to strain to hear it.
Scott swallows down the rage, the pain, the bitterness that all built up thirty-three years before. He has to: If he lets it loose, doesn't control it with… Other means of coping, he's genuinely afraid of what he may do.
"I do too, mom. I do too."
-End