Thanks to everyone who read and to Scififan33 for reviewing.
Barry's alarm went off with a beeping that was way too loud in the silence, and he jerked upright, swatting at it sharply.
It shouldn't have startled him, really, it wasn't like he'd been asleep. He wasn't sure how much sleep he had gotten last night, but it couldn't have been much. But the alarm was yet another thing that he wasn't accustomed to anymore, and he had a bad feeling that that list was just going to keep getting longer.
It was only seven and they wouldn't need to leave for his appointment with his parole officer until a little after eight so he took another shower—it was the first thing he'd done after he'd finished throwing up last night, but part of him could smell the prison on his skin—and changed into a clean set of clothes.
A clean set of his own clothes.
It was so weird.
Except that while he'd figured that it would be a good idea to dress up a little for this first meeting, he could once again feel his shirts pulling across his shoulders as soon as he put them on. It didn't much matter with the undershirt, but the button up was a different story, and he did a quick check just to make sure that he hadn't managed to grab the smallest one in his closet or anything.
He hadn't.
He might be okay as long as he was careful not to move too quickly, but after a minute he headed over to Mom and Dad's room to see if Dad was awake yet and maybe had something that he could borrow.
Dad called for him to enter as soon as he tapped on the door, no surprise there since he'd always been an early riser, and Barry's breath caught in his throat when he stepped inside. For his whole life this room had been set up in exactly one way, maybe with a minor change in color of duvet cover or one artifact swapped for another if Mom found something that she liked better, but otherwise the same. But unlike his room which had been kept exactly how he remembered it, in here the bed had been shoved off to one side as much as it could be, the side tables had been replaced with a small glass tower, the wraparound desk complete with pile of papers brought up from the office below, and there was no sign at all of any of the artifacts that his parents had spent so much time collecting.
"Good morning," Dad said, smiling and pushing his keyboard away. Because for Dad, 'two days off' meant two days of not going into the office, not two days of no work at all. That, at least, was nothing new. "How did you sleep?"
Barry managed a smile and a noncommittal answer.
"Are you hungry? There's cereal, or I can do eggs and bacon."
He probably should eat something, but after getting sick last night he didn't really want to risk it. At least not right before a meeting that wasn't likely to be very pleasant. "Actually I was wondering if I could borrow a dress shirt. Mine are a little tight."
For an instant Dad looked suddenly, incredibly sad, but before Barry could ask he shook himself and smiled again, getting to his feet. "Of course."
Dad's shirt fit a little better than his, although Barry was surprised to realize that he was still going to have to be careful—Dad had looked sad again before making some noises about updating his wardrobe when they got home—and then Barry ended up forcing down some eggs and toast mostly just to make Dad happy. Or at least less sad.
After breakfast Dad went back up to his room to finish whatever before it was time for them to leave, and Barry made a slow lap of the rest of the house to see what else had changed while he was gone. In the basement the answer was not a lot, or at least not a lot in the rooms he looked in...the laundry and bath were the laundry and bath, there had never been much to look at there anyway, and he wasn't about to open the door to Mom's office, but while the game room was cleaner than it had usually been when he and Jason and TB had been tromping in and out most days, the pool table and dart board and video game system were exactly where they'd always been and the couches and pillows were the same. As it turned out his computer was down here too, but he left it alone for the time being. His parole officer was supposed to give him the rest of his restrictions there during their interview today.
On the main level it was a different story, though. He'd already noticed that the kitchen was far emptier than it ever had been when Mom had been the one doing the cooking, actual dust collecting on some of the hanging pots, but more shockingly there were no more artifacts visible here than there had been in Mom and Dad—in Dad's room.
It was true in the main living area as well. The actual display cases were still there, probably why he hadn't noticed everything missing yesterday evening, but he didn't...he wasn't sure how he felt about the emptiness. On the one hand, after what had happened it wasn't like he wanted to spend his days with all of that around him. He already knew that he needed to clear out his own room—his room and the game room too, since it kind of made sense that Dad had treated it as his and left it alone—but on the other they'd always been a huge part of his life. Or at least they'd always been a huge part of Mom's life, and therefore his by proxy.
One hand came up, closing around his pendant hard enough for the sharp point to bite into his skin. It wasn't that Dad hadn't supported the causes or anything, but she'd always been the driving force getting them involved with this preservation society or that fundraiser for historical whatever, and the idea that the things she'd spent so much time collecting were just gone wasn't something that he could wrap his head around.
"They're in my office," Dad said, coming up behind him. "The pieces, I mean."
Barry shook himself and looked away from the empty glass casing. He hadn't even heard Dad coming back downstairs.
"Or what used to be my office," he continued, waving vaguely in that direction. "I've done some rearranging. I'm...sure you've noticed. But with regards to the pieces, if there's something specific that you want for yourself you're welcome to take it. I just can't...," He shook his head, looking sad again. "It's too much."
Barry could only nod awkwardly. "Yeah. Okay."
The two of them stood in even more awkward silence for several minutes before Dad shook himself. "So I guess we should probably get going. This isn't something to be late for."
"Yeah," Barry repeated.
Barry nodded and managed a polite thank you and a handshake before making his escape from the parole offices. Even without bars on the windows the place of reminded him of the prison, and that was not an association that he was in any state to deal with right now even if his specific parole officer seemed fine. Not particularly friendly, no, but he hadn't expected that. Professional was a perfectly reasonable step up from some of the guards.
He had a whole stack of papers to go through, but most of them just elaborated on things that he already knew. He was confined to their house and grounds for the next six months unless he was doing his required community service work, making his monthly visit to his parole officer, or on a pre-approved outing, most examples of which revolved around going to a job or a class. It kind of made sense, but while he planned to continue with his correspondence courses, he'd had to start them from prison so an in-person component hadn't been an option anyway. And he had no idea what a job for him would even be at this point.
Once upon a time he'd figured that once he finished high school he'd go on to the same undergrad that Mom and Dad had attended—he'd actually been supposed to finish his application packet the same weekend that he and the twins had found trespassers in the house and things had gone straight to hell—law school after that, and then eventually go to work with Dad. The idea of studying law had never particularly thrilled him, but as Mom had always assured him it was a good, respectable career that would allow him to properly support a family and that was what was important. Now...
Even after his sentence was served, he wasn't sure what his options would be. You had to be able to support a claim of good character to be a lawyer, and he kind of doubted that kidnapping or attempted murder were great qualifiers.
He shook himself and skirted around another man headed for the doors of the parole offices, scanning the street for Dad's car. Dad had dropped Barry off before heading around the block to look for a parking spot, but Barry doubted that he'd have gone far.
During the interview Barry had also been informed that while he had very few actual restrictions on his computer usage, both that and his phone were subject to monitoring at all times. It wasn't exactly a surprise, although he was a little curious about how it would work when a lot of what Dad did was privileged and couldn't legally be monitored even when he was working from home. But Barry never been allowed to use the computer or phone in Dad's office anyway—or maybe they were in Dad's room, now?—so that might be it. And now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure where his own phone was. He'd left it at the house on purpose when he and Jason and TB had headed out to...
He shook himself again and continued scanning the street for Dad's car. One of the restrictions he did have was a ban on contacting anyone at the prison so the twins were still out of reach, and as much as he wanted to talk to them, a tiny, cowardly part of him was almost glad. He was out, and they weren't, and if their positions were reversed he doubted that his reaction would have been good. He didn't see an explosion like that helping any of them.
His parole officer would also be dropping by the house at least once a month—both scheduled and unscheduled visits were permitted per Barry's parole agreement, although Barry didn't figure that it mattered much either way since it wasn't like he'd be going anywhere that the guy didn't already know about—and then in six months his case would be reviewed again. Best case he got moved to 'typical' parole restrictions, worst case another six months with the tighter version.
Well, worst case—
He cut that thought off as his nails bit into his palms. Whatever his parole officer had implied when he'd talked about the agency monitoring his ankle bracelet and the potential penalties for violation of any portion of the parole agreement, Barry wasn't going back there ever.
It turned out that Dad had managed to grab the last parking spot before the streetlight, and Barry tapped lightly on the glass to get his attention before climbing back into the car.
"Hey," Dad said, smiling although today Barry could see the effort behind it. "How did it go?"
"Okay. I need to go review all this," he held up the packet of papers, "and then pick one of the community service rotations, but other than that..." He shrugged. "Other than that I just stay home and stay out of trouble."