okay... so this is kind of an out-of-order weirdly stylized drabble i took from a longer sheldon fic i'm writing, the third law of thermodynamics. for just a regular nerd, who wanted fatherly concern in trying circumstances- this is set maybe a couple of years before the last chapter?
(get up, dammit. his father is kind of drunk- again- and his vowels are slurred as if he's talking through molasses.
he rises reluctantly from his physics textbook. physics makes so much sense, a stark contrast to the cooper family. dad? he ventures.
turn around, let me see your nose. sheldon does so, revealing the crusted blood, the purple bruises under his eyes. who the fuck did this?
david. he lives across the street.
he doesn't ask why. he probably already knows and doesn't want to. hold still, he commands instead. he takes a damp washcloth out of nowhere and swipes sheldon's face with uncharacteristic gentleness, with perpetually shaking hands. you just stood there, huh?
it was the most logical option, sheldon protests, pride stung in spite of himself. he's three years older than me. i'd have only encouraged further battery if i had struck him.
coward coward coward. i didn't raise you to bend over and take it up the ass from the neighbor boys, he mutters darkly, even if it's 'logical'. next time you throw a punch at the little bastard, you hear me?
he isn't going to do it, but he nods to placate him. his father puts a warm, callused palm on his head and ruffles his hair, pacified by the meager display of masculine fortitude; pneumonia, salmonella, rhinovirus, and he arches into the rare touch anyway.)
