Febuwhump Day 27: Shower Breakdown
Word Count: 1510
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Denny Brosh, Denny's Siblings
Warning: Grieving
Summary: Denny has suddenly lost his dad and his stepmom and finds himself thrust into caring for his siblings. But even the strongest person needs a moment to be weak.
Notes: Headcanons are as follows: Denny's mom died when he was young. His father remarried and they had more children. Barbara (Barb, 15), Caitlyn (12), Benjamin (Benji) and Ainsley (twins, 6), and Frederick (Freddy, 2). This takes place at least a couple of years prior to the main timeline of FMA beginning.
Please see end notes for a personal note from me.
Shower Breakdown
The door to the bathroom opened, and Denny Brosh wearily walked in. His shoulders were taught, his body stiff, and he felt as if he were holding it together by sheer force of will alone. He quietly closed the door behind him, taking care to make sure that it closed softly. Then he turned around and just stopped. It was probably the first time he had stopped all day and—
No. No not yet. He couldn't let go of his control yet.
Steeling himself again, he took a breath, and then started moving once more. He laid his clothes on the counter, and then turned to take his towel from the rack of hooks on the back of the door. He paused, hand hovering over his towel for a moment as he regarded the two towels to the left of his. They were a plain, bleachable white, just like the rest of them but—
He shook his head, and closed his hand around his towel, forcing himself to keep moving. It was a mechanical, but it was something, at least. He took his towel, and threw it across the shower curtain rod, then retrieved a washcloth and did the same. He pushed the curtain back, and turned on the water to let it heat, and then closed the curtain again.
He paused for half a second, and he could feel the weariness creep up on him, the emotions rising, and he started moving again. He couldn't stop yet. Not yet. He swallowed and pushed on.
His hands were shaking the slightest bit as he undressed, but he ignored it. He knew his control was tenuous at best, knew that soon it would break. But not yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet. He had just gotten Freddy down, and the twins were finally asleep together as well. Caitlyn and Barb were curled up together in Barb's bed as well. No one wanted to be alone right now. Including him.
Emotions started to well, and he dashed that train of thought viciously, instead focusing on every motion it took to undress. Unbuttoning each button on his shirt. Letting the shirt fall to the ground. Grasping the edge of his undershirt and pulling it over his head. Unbuttoning his pants and then pushing down the zipper, sliding the pants down and stepping out of them. Pushing his finger into the edge of his socks and pulling them off one at a time. He didn't dare look in the mirror as he did this, knowing what he would see reflected in his face, and not wanting to see the tremble he knew he had.
He slipped off his underwear and stepped into the warm spray of the shower. The water had heated nicely, and he reached to bump down the temperature a bit. For a moment he stood there, not doing anything, not thinking of anything, holding himself in a complete moment of nothing. It wouldn't last, but for just that moment, he took it.
And then his shoulders slumped, he took a breath, and let his control finally, finally fall.
Tears formed in his eyes and fell, not in a huge gush, but one, two, three at a time, sliding down his face. He didn't try to stop them. He took a shuddering breath, which turned into another, and then another, until they were sobs. They weren't silent, but they weren't loud enough to be heard over the spray of the shower. Denny didn't try to stop them. He brought his hands up to his face, let his back hunch over. Slowly, he crouched down in the tub as his emotions took hold, standing suddenly seeming like far too much to do right now, not under this weight. He sat the bottom of the tub, the spray of the shower hitting his back as he finally let the grief fully hit him.
His parents. His parents were dead. They were killed in a car accident. Because someone decided that the traffic laws didn't apply to them, now his parents were dead! His father was dead, and a louder sob escaped him at that thought. It hit like a punch, like a knife, like so much pain. He almost couldn't breathe. His father, who had loved him so, so much, who had held him when he was seven and his mother had died, who had played with him, encouraged him, loved him. He was dead, gone, and Denny would never again get a hug from him, hear his father tell him how proud he was of him, or tell him how much enjoyed working on projects with Denny. He'd never again hear unknown stories of his mother, or stories of his own childhood. It was all gone. All of it, dashed away, gone forever, and Denny's face contorted as his sobs grew and his heart felt like it cracked more.
And then there was Stephanie. She was his stepmom, but she had never treated him as anything less than her own son. She had loved him from the beginning, known that he and his dad were a packaged deal. She never tried to erase the memories of his own mom, not from him and not from his dad. She had loved him with her whole heart, and now—and now that was gone too. No more would he hear her say how lucky she was to have him for a son or feel her kiss his head and say how proud she was. Never again would she tease him about stealing cookies from her trays and burning his fingers. He would never get to hear her say how he was a wonderful big brother, and how she hoped he'd be a wonderful father one day too. No, all of that was gone, and it tore at his heart, sending him bending further over, as another, louder sob broke through.
Gone, gone, gone. All of it. They were gone. They were dead, and the grief was ripping his heart to pieces.
It was a punch to the gut. It was a knife twisting. It was someone stealing his ability to breathe. He couldn't get his breath back, but yet all he could do was sob. Even when he was breathing, it felt like he couldn't. Sobs wracked his body as he curled in on himself, keeping his voice muffled as he grieved. He wanted to wail, wanted to scream, wanted to make noise. It felt like everything had just crashed down, and there was a big empty void that was being filled with nothing and yet completely with something. There weren't words to describe it, but it rent into him and tore him to shreds, leaving him sobbing here, alone, in the shower, with a cooling spray of water hitting his back and no one to comfort him.
Denny wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, although he was keenly aware that time was ticking by, keenly aware of any noise outside of the bathroom, keenly aware that he had responsibilities now, and he had to be strong for them. But it was long enough that the warm water had started to cool, and he started to reign himself back in.
He raised his head and took some deep breaths. They were still shuddering, but he was no longer sobbing. Slowly, he uncurled himself, feeling like he was peeling himself out of a ball and back into his normal shape. It took effort, and it had to be forced, but he did it. He slowly rose from the bottom of the tub, no matter how much he didn't want to, and reached for the faucet, bumping the temperature up a little. Mechanically, methodically, he reached for his washcloth and the soap, and began to soap it up and wash himself.
Tears still flowed, although they were slowing, and his breath still stuttered in a crying pattern here and there. It was still an effort to make himself do anything. But he did it. Even if it was just muscle memory and mechanically, he pushed on with what he needed to do.
He rinsed off, and turned off the water, his breathing almost back to normal and the tears almost stopped. He dried off and reached under the sink for some lotion. Once again, he avoided looking in the mirror, even thought it was fogged up and he wouldn't have seen anything anyway. He hung his towel up, put on his clothes, and then gathered up the ones he had left behind.
Denny opened the bathroom door, the temperature difference sending a chill through him, and walked out. He'd put his clothes in the hamper, and then go fall into his bed. The tears hadn't quiet stopped, and he figured he'd go to sleep with them still leaking from his eyes. It wasn't going to be the first time, and it wasn't going to be the last, just as he was certain that he would spend more time crying by himself in the shower.
Author's Note: A lot of what you just read comes from personal experience. I lost my mother this past June (June 4, 2021) and I've had more than one shower breakdown. And while I don't have the same responsibilities leveed on me that Denny does—as my father is still alive, and my one sister is grown, married, and has a child of her own—I still have felt and still feel a need to be there and be strong for my family.
Denny's struggle here to hold it together just long enough to get in the shower where he can cry and grieve alone, even if he doesn't really want to be alone, is my struggle as well. That crushing weight of grief he feels that bows him over and leaves him sitting on the floor of the tub, that is the weight I feel as well. The way he pushes it to the side, and then collects himself again, is the way I push it to the side and then gather myself again. The sense of loss he feels, of the things he can never have again, is something I feel over and over when I realize I can't have those things from my mother ever again. And the knowledge that he will break down in the shower again, is my knowledge as well.
Perhaps this story turned into an emotional catharsis for me. Perhaps it was a way to express some of what I've felt. Perhaps it reveals too much of me and I shouldn't have written it. I don't know. I don't regret writing it, not right now. All I know was that when I saw this prompt, I knew what I wanted to write. For good or bad, I knew what I wanted to write. And I cried with Denny as I wrote it. I cried when I reread it. I cried as I edited it. I'm crying now.
If this story was too much for you and you didn't read it (as I perfectly understand, I still avoid things with character death in them) then please don't worry about it. I truly understand. And if you did read it, thank you. Most of the stories I write are for the fun of it. I don't get emotional over them. I don't get emotional over most things. This is a rare one that shows you my heart. Thank you for going through this moment with both Denny and myself.
-AllyKatie