It's approaching five in the afternoon when Filbrick makes a run for lunch. (Maude had insisted it was still 'lunch,' even though he had argued that it was closer to supper-time.) He takes the opportunity to go home and change out of his ruined shirt, absently hanging it over a bedpost to be dealt with later. It's at that moment he finally realizes that he left his jacket folded over a chair in the hospital's waiting room.
"Damn it!" Filbrick barks in frustration, hitting a nearby wall with the side of his fist. 'Can't keep one damn thing on track today. Whole plan's gone to hell in a handbasket.' The man sits on his bed, removes his glasses, and scrubs at his face with both hands. "Shit."
'Calm down, Pines. It's twins, not armageddon. Rearrange a few things. Sell some crap. Adjust your plans. Things will start running smoothly again, given time. Hell, summer's just around the corner! There will be plenty of tourist to convince they should buy all kinds of crap they don't actually need!'
Filbrick takes a deep breath, releases it, and then freezes as one last unexpected thought hits him. "I'm going to have to sell my television, aren't I?" he groans to the empty room. It's a nicer set, too, with a large screen and color capabilities. He'd bought the thing just two months ago after he'd met his financial saving goals for the new baby; goals that have now been stretched and grown larger with the arrival of his brother right on his heels. He won't get all of his money back, of course, but someone will jump at the chance to purchase the set for a few bucks cheaper than the local stores' prices. And the sale would be a good chunk of change he could put toward making sure his family stayed comfortable. The man sighs, "Can't be helped. It isn't needed."
Filbrick forces himself to get up and put on a fresh shirt. He has a hungry son (and wife, seeing as Maude had been quick to turn her nose up at the hospital's fare) waiting on him; he can't spend all day behaving like a little boy pouting over lost toys. He almost leaves the room without his sunglasses and has to doubleback to retrieve them from where he'd placed them on the bed.
The man takes a detour to the apartment's single bathroom and rummages through the medicine cabinet over the sink. Upon finding the bottle he was looking for, Filbrick twists open the lid, shakes one of the pills free from the container, and swallows the small capsule dry. He doubts the pain reliever will help much with the headache; but it's been persisting for hours now, and he's ready to accept whatever assistance the little pill can provide. Filbrick looks down at the bottle in his hand and thinks longingly of a very different bottle he has stashed in the next room over. The man shakes his head, returns the medicine to the cabinet, and then stares into the mirror. "Meds and booze are a bad combination, Pines," he reminds his reflection with a grumble.
Filbrick locks the entrance to the pawnshop behind him when he leaves. He then takes the five steps needed to reach the door of the neighboring building, rings the bell, and waits. He's about to try the doorbell again when Joseph Knuckles finally arrives and opens the door. "Filbrick," the man says, clearly baffled, "What are you doing here?"
"Maude sent me out to get lunch - Unless you want to argue with her, it's 'lunch.' - but the store's are all closed for Sunday."
"So you came here," Joseph finishes the thought, running a hand over his bald head before nodding, "Right, then. Come in." The man turns the lights on for the sandwich shop and makes his way behind the counter. "I hope you're alright with cold cuts. It's all I can have ready on short notice."
"Fine. I don't need anything fancy," Filbrick replies from where he's standing, "just something I can take back to the hospital with me."
"The hospital?" Joseph looks up from the contents of his large industrial refrigerator in concern, "Did something happen to Ma and the baby?"
"Maude's fine," he says with a shrug, "She went into labor this morning. Had twins, if you can believe that. Both boys."
"Twins! Congratulations, Filbrick!" the man says with a large smile, "I know Ma was hoping for a little girl this time, but I'm sure she's happy anyway." He hums merrily as he returns to pulling packages of meat, cheese, and several vegetables from the shelves.
"Hmph. I was expecting one. I don't know what I'm going to do with two." The admission stings his pride a bit, but he's vaguely hopeful that the older man can offer some worthwhile advice.
"Ah," Joseph dumps the armful of food over the counter between them, "You worry too much. From what Ma has told me, and from what I've seen myself, you're not a dumb man, Filbrick. Nor are you afraid of work. You'll figure it out."
"I could use something a little more specific than 'figure it out,'" Filbrick mutters with his arms crossed.
Joseph glances up at him and purses his lips oddly as he tilts his head in consideration. "One moment," he excuses himself and sets down the knife he'd been using. The man soon returns with another cutting board and knife. "Ma tells me you're quick to learn," he begins while clearing a space on the counter in front of Filbrick. Once the cutting board is set down, he holds the new knife by the flat of its blade and offers it to his neighbor. "Do you know how to cut tomatoes?"
Filbrick's first thought is to dismiss the inquiry, but he quickly realizes that doing so might offend the other man. Maude will be cross with him for weeks if he alienates another neighbor. Filbrick hesitantly accepts the knife and admits, "Maude handles all of the kitchen work."
Joseph tisks and places a tomato on the cutting board. "Every man should know how to make at least one meal on his own," he says firmly, "if only to keep himself from starving. Sandwiches are simple. Now, watch." The shop's owner reclaims the other knife and sets to work.
Joseph has to correct Filbrick on how he holds the knife a few times, but he catches on soon enough. Filbrick finds himself slipping into conversation with the sandwich maker more easily than he does with most people.
"My son - Sherman," Filbrick corrects himself as he remembers that he now has three sons, rather than just the one, "wanted to know if you make 'baby-sized' sandwiches."
"Ha!" Filbrick suppresses a wince at the loud laugh. "Baby-sized sandwiches? I suppose I can understand why he may have asked such a question today. Tell me, how has Shermie been with his brothers so far?" Joseph asks and pushes the tomato slices to the edge of his cutting board. He starts in on a cucumber next.
Filbrick watches the way other man's hands move for a moment before following his lead. "He seems fascinated by them," the man shrugs, "A bit overexcited."
Joseph snorts in amusement. "I'm sure the jealousy will set in given some time," he replies, "He's a good kid, but there's always that shock of the youngest realizing they aren't the center of attention anymore."
Filbrick frowns. "Always?"
"Mm," the man nods, reaching for an onion.
The pawnshop owner pauses when he discovers there is no second onion on the table. Filbrick puts the knife he's holding down. When Joseph doesn't say anything more, he prompts, "There anything I can do about that? The jealousy?"
"Well," the bald man draws the word out, cutting the sliced rings into halves, and then quarters, "Each child is different, but Shermie is the kind to be eager to please. He's also at that age where children are looking to prove how 'grown-up' they are. Giving him a few new responsibilities helping with the baby - forgive me, the twins - might head some of it off. Nothing too big; just enough to make the lad feel important."
"Hmm, that's not a bad idea."
"I need to go upstairs to get some bread," Joseph says, "I usually make it fresh in the mornings for the shop."
"I suppose I'll wait here, then."
The sound of one set of heavy footsteps go up the stairs to the second-floor apartment over the shop; the sound of several lighter footsteps come down those same stairs barely a second later. Filbrick isn't surprised so much as he is confused to suddenly find himself being scrutinized by no less than four pairs of eyes.
"Hi," the eldest of the four says.
Filbrick can feel his eyebrows rising on his forehead and smooths his expression back to his normal, impassive mask. "Hello."
The teenager seems to take that as an invitation to come closer, though his younger siblings stay clustered near the bottom of the staircase. "What are you doing here, Mister Pines?"
'Like father, like son,' Filbrick can't help but think. "Lunch."
The boy's brows furrow. "But it's di-"
"Unless you want to argue with my wife," he interrupts the youth, "it's 'lunch.'"
"Oh. Well, if Missus Pines say so," the boy replies with a grin and an exaggerated shrug, his hands held at shoulder height and palms facing the ceiling.
Filbrick frowns slightly. He doesn't think the boy means for his response to be disrespectful. He decides to let it go; this time, at least. "What brought all of you down here?" Filbrick finally asks, nodding at the children still listening from their place at the foot of the stairs, "I'm not that interesting, am I?"
"That's just it. We don't know," the teenager says, "Missus Pines and Shermie are here all the time, but you never are. And Mom said we weren't allowed to go next door and 'pester' you."
"I see." He doesn't really. Still, he may need to thank Mrs. Knuckles for keeping her brood from tearing apart his store and leaving sticky fingerprints on his display cases.
"My name's Frank," the teenager says, holding his hand out.
Filbrick remembers being dragged by Maude to the meet-and-greet-type grand opening his neighbors' had hosted a little over a month ago, when they had first moved in. He knows all six of his neighbors' children had been introduced to him at that time. He'd not been able to recall even one of their names before Frank decided to reintroduce himself. It's something of a relief that he hasn't been forced to ask.
"Filbrick Pines," he returns, taking the extended hand in a firm grip.
Filbrick isn't sure why accepting Frank's handshake seems to fill the boy with delight, but the bright smile on his face makes it clear that he's pleased for some reason or another. He decides, not for the first time, that he is never going to understand children, and especially not teenagers.
"Why are you all down here bothering Mister Pines?" Joseph demands when he returns, a loaf of bread held securely in one arm, "If you have time for this, you have time to help your mother with dinner."
"Yes, Sir," comes the chorused response, all four children quickly retreating up the staircase. Frank comes back only a moment later to poke his head around the wall and add, "Goodbye, Mister Pines!" He disappears again before his father can become upset with him.
"They're normally better behaved," Joseph asserts with a shake of his head before he begins assembling the sandwiches, "but they've gotten to know the rest of the neighbors a bit by this point, and it's left them curious about you."
"Frank seemed...nice enough."
"Only Frank?" Joseph asks, though the grin he's wearing reassures Filbrick that he hasn't said anything that will come back to bite him. Not yet, anyway.
He shrugs, watching intently as different slices of food get layered on top of each other. "He was the only one that did any talking."
The sandwich maker chuckles. "That sounds right: send Frank in first. If the smart alec doesn't get his head bitten off, it's probably safe," Joseph says in a tone that's both amused and fond, "They're all good kids. They'll settle down once they figure out you're just a man like any other." He finishes the first sandwich and starts in on putting together the second. At the same time, he redirects the conversation back to their previous topic, "Now, about your twins. I know it's a bit early for this, but I have found that bunk beds are a fantastic way to save space in these cramped apartments. Or in general, for that matter."
Filbrick leaves the building ten minutes later with a brown paper bag full of sandwiches and the beginnings of a newly revised plan.
Read the entire Dimension 297 series on Archive of Our Own: archiveofourown dot org slash series slash 457846