I hope you all enjoy getting juuuuuust a lil more background on our Gray here. PS: I also post this story on Archieve of Our Own (AO3), and I'm much more active over there. Usually, I try to post on Tuesdays and Thursdays there and end up forgetting to post to until the next day.
!Potential Trigger Warning (TW!) there is mention of domestic abuse and child abuse at the beginning of this chapter. It's not described in any detail, but I would rather be safe than sorry!
I didn't sleep at all that night. After attempting to drink away my problems alone at the bar, I spent the rest of the evening tossing and turning, thinking about them anyway.
As my potential parenthood started to set in, I began to understand just how woefully unprepared I was to actually become somebody's father. The thought fucking terrified me. I had no idea what a good dad even looked like.
Besides Gramps, my dad's dad, and Doug, my dad's cousin, I never had much of a positive male influence growing up. And on top of that, neither Gramps nor Doug were around much when I was younger, the time in your life when that shit matters.
Instead, I was left with the pathetic excuse of a man that had contributed sperm to my conception: Jet. Calling him my dad never really seemed right, considering he never actually did anything to warrant that title. It's hard to be a good father when your entire existence is spent shitfaced and angry at the world, and the man that claimed to be my father was the prime example of that.
When I tried to recall any positive experiences I had with my dad for any sliver of inspiration, nothing came to mind. Instead, feelings of anxiety and resentment flooded my brain. The only memories I could conjure up of Jet included screaming matches, complete verbal degradation, and physical altercations. If I wasn't on the receiving end, it was my mom, and I wasn't sure which was worse to endure.
He was an aggressive, unpredictable drunk, and growing up with him was like living in a war-zone. That type of environment isn't particularly conducive to producing healthy, well-rounded children, so it was no surprise when I started acting up in response. As a kid, I wanted so desperately to be seen and validated that I didn't care how I went about getting attention. This only caused more fighting with Jet, as he blamed my behavior for being the reason he drank, as ironic as it seemed.
We would continue to fight, each time worse than the last, only fueling the vicious cycle. It wasn't until I was thirteen that Jet got physical with me instead of my mom, which—for some strange fucking reason—ended up being the final straw for her. When my mom finally kicked him out and got him arrested, she was left to deal with the mess he had created: me.
Needless to say, I didn't have any "good father" experiences to guide me in my current predicament. If anything, Jet had given me instructions on what not to do. His lack of parenting seemed to be one of the only things motivating me. I wanted to be nothing like him because I didn't want any kid of mine to have to grow up as I did.
I turned over on my back and stared up at the ceiling of the dark room. My body felt heavy, stiff, and in desperate need of rest that my brain was withholding. I wondered how long I had been here uncomfortably shifting in bed, dwelling on my fears.
As the shadows on the ceiling changed, I sat up and looked out the window on the far side of the room. While the light wasn't shining brightly through the window just yet, it was clear from the growing soft glow that the sun was rising. It seemed grayer than usual outside, though I wasn't sure if it was due to rain in the forecast or if it was just a reflection of how I was feeling.
I audibly groaned. It wasn't worth it to lay back down for an hour or two of sleep I knew wouldn't come, so I figured I'd try to do something productive with my time and brain. Strange enough, work seemed like the only useful thing I could do lately.
The hardwood floor creaked underneath my feet as I threw myself out of bed. I looked over to Cliff, sleeping soundly in his bed across the room, unbothered by the sound. Kai's bed between us was empty, though I had a pretty good idea where he was sleeping. Lucky bastards.
No longer concerned with my noise level, I snatched a set of coveralls from underneath my bed and trudged to the bathroom, all but slamming the door behind me.
I snaked my arm around the shower curtain and cranked the knob before turning back to the mirror above the sink. I braced my hands on the countertop and leaned towards my reflection. The light in the bathroom was dim, but I could tell that I looked like shit. Bright red veins wove through the whites of my eyes, and a set of sunken dark circles were carved underneath them. I ran my hand along my jaw, noticing the rough patches that had accumulated over the past few days. Looking back at me in the mirror was the perfect representation of how I felt inside: fucking exhausted.
So much had happened over the past few weeks, especially the past few days, that it felt like my mind couldn't catch a break. My appearance was clearly paying the price.
I released my grip from the bathroom counter and turned back to the shower. Satisfied with the growing cloud of steam above, I pulled back the curtain and stepped into the basin. Immediately, the hot water rained over me, and my muscles relaxed. I put my head under the rushing water and closed my eyes, intent on basking in the warmth as much as I could.
My thoughts began to wander again, this time to Mary. With everything going on, I had almost completely forgotten about running into her on the beach. I'd promised to go talk to her, but what would I even say? I had no intention of trying to rekindle whatever the fuck we'd been doing, especially now, but I did still care about her. I didn't want to do anything to hurt her or make her hate me, but it sure felt like I was going down that track.
I opened my eyes as I felt my stomach drop in response to a thought I had yet to entertain: Did Mary already know about Claire and me? There was no possible way. How would she? Claire and I had already established who knew and how trustworthy each person was, but I couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that Mary somehow was aware of what was happening between us. She and Ellie had been friends since they were children, and Claire insisted that Ellie was bound by law to keep our secret, but that didn't ease my worries at all.
Maybe our secret was safe for now, but what about when Claire started to show? Would we tell people then? And what would we tell them? I'm not sure who "them" entailed, but eventually, the news would get back to Mary in a small town like this. I thought about how she and her parents would react and how other elders in the village, who already thought so little of me, would respond. I hated thinking about it, but I couldn't stop bringing it up. It was too early to go down this rabbit hole again.
I carried on with my shower, hoping to refocus myself on the things I could control today. I'd have extra time at the forge this morning to work on personal projects, something that had been extremely effective at distracting myself thus far.
My thoughts were interrupted when I felt my stomach turn in hunger. I rinsed out the last remaining suds from my hair and turned off the shower. The bathroom's air was still warm and humid, making the thought of falling asleep all the more appealing. It was too late for that, though.
I reached for the towel hanging next to the shower and dried myself off. After a quick shave and a fresh set of work clothes, I looked somewhat more presentable than I had earlier. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it would do for today.
I groggily made my way downstairs to the dining room and was surprised when the entire place was empty. It had been a while since I had woken up before 6, but it seemed exceptionally quiet this morning. After a few moments of standing awkwardly by the stairs, I heard some rustling and clanging from behind the kitchen doors.
A few moments later, Doug emerged from the kitchen doors with a few crates in hand. He set the stack down on the end of the bar and then separated the tower across the bar top. As he sat the last crate down, he noticed my presence.
"Well, good morning, Gray!" Doug greeted me with a friendly smile. He motioned for me to grab a seat before speaking again, "I'm happy to see you up and about so early this morning." My usual bar spot was occupied by crates, so I took a seat a few stools over.
"Morning," I replied, stretching my neck back and forth, "And thanks." As I sat down, Doug seemed to investigate me further. His cheery smile relaxed into a straight line as he tilted his head towards me.
"Everything alright, son?" Doug asked. "You look like—"
"Shit," I interrupted, "I know. I didn't sleep much last night, that's all." Doug carefully eyed me again, unsure if he was convinced by my answer.
"You know," Doug said, his ice-blue eyes now piercing straight into mine, similarly to how Ann's did from time to time, "You can talk to me anytime you need somebody to listen." He turned back to the various crates and removed the wooden lids.
"Thanks," I mumbled, looking down and tugging on my hat. "But I just need sleep. That's all."
Doug watched me as he tucked the wooden lids underneath his arms. The smile returned to his face as he replied, "And probably some food, too!" He headed towards the kitchen and looked back at me from over his shoulder. "You want your usual? I can get it cookin' right now."
"Yeah, thanks, that'd be great," I said as I looked up at the inn's owner. He seemed satisfied with the answer and pushed through the kitchen's swinging doors.
A few seconds later, I heard Doug yell for Ann from the kitchen, followed by an unintelligible exchange between the two of them. Minutes passed before Ann burst through the kitchen doors. She immediately looked me up and down before frowning in disgust.
"Yikes," Ann said with a small chuckle. She walked past my spot at the bar and turned to the coffee maker sitting on the bar-back. When I didn't respond, she turned over her shoulder and continued, "I didn't expect to see you down here so early the way you were drinking last night."
I scoffed, "Neither did I." I took off my hat and set it on the seat next to me, then lightly shook out a chunk of damp hair with my hand. "I didn't sleep, so—"
"I could tell," Ann joked without turning around. She finished adding grounds to the machine and then turned to face me. She noticed the scowl on my face and threw her hands up in exasperation, "What? I'm making your coffee! Chill out. I'm just kidding with you, jeez."
"Thanks," I said sarcastically. My attention shifted to the glass coffee pot behind Ann as the brown liquid steadily dripped to the bottom.
Ann watched me for a few seconds and then left through the kitchen doors. She returned less than a minute later with a stack of plastic containers, a cutting board, and a knife in tow. Without a word, Ann set the supplies down at the bar top between me and the crates. I watched her curiously as she arranged all the items with a purpose.
She grabbed a lime from the crate and placed it on the cutting board before looking back up at me, "Dad's worried about you."
I didn't respond immediately, so she grabbed the knife on the bar and returned her attention to the task.
She began slicing the lime carefully as she spoke again, "He sent me out here to try and figure out what's up with you." I perked up at the last sentence, now worried about what Doug knew.
"You didn't tell him, did you?" I asked so quietly that it sounded more like a whisper.
Ann stopped her hand mid-cut to look me in the eyes. "Of course not!" she exclaimed before turning back to the lime in front of her. "Come on, Gray, have a little more faith in me."
"I-I appreciate you keeping it to yourself," I muttered, leaning forward on the bar.
A shrill beeping rang from the coffee maker behind Ann until she sauntered over and pressed a lit red button. She reached into the cupboard below the machine and pulled out a white mug. After filling the cup with the piping hot coffee, she set it down in front of me.
"I'm mainly doing it for Claire," Ann said with an awfully attempted wink. I wasn't sure why she insisted on doing that when it was so painful to watch. "Kidding! You know I have your back. Dad can just be a little nosy sometimes. He just cares about you a lot. You're like the son he always wanted."
I grabbed the mug in front of me and blew some heat away from the surface instead of responding. Clearly, I wasn't in the mood to talk about father-son dynamics.
Ann noticed my behavior and changed the subject, "So, you never asked about how my date with Cliff went."
"You two went on a date?" I asked as I lifted the beverage up to take a sip.
"The Fireworks Festival?" Ann reminded me as she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "Remember?"
"Ugh, that feels like years ago," I grumbled as I set down my cup and rubbed my temples with both hands.
"It was two days ago, Gray," Ann said with a clearly annoyed tone. "Anyway, even though you almost ruined it, it went well, thanks for asking."
She headed back to the cutting board and pulled out a few more limes before returning to her prep work. "We… uh, may have held hands," Ann added quietly. Her eyes remained glued on the citrus in front of her as a warm glow spread to her cheeks. "And… he might have kissed me... on the cheek! But still..."
I looked up from my hands with wide eyes, "No way. Cliff?" Ann quickly looked up from her work to nod excitedly at me. "Guess he's finally coming out of his shell, good for him."
Ann put her free hand on her hip, the other still holding the knife. Her brows were furrowed in annoyance as her eyes locked on mine.
I caught on to her and spoke again, "Ah, ha, I mean, it's good for you too, of course. Good for both of you." My eyes darted between her and the knife she was holding. Ann noticed my eyes and set the knife down on the cutting board with a smile. I let out a sigh of relief.
"Yeah," Ann said dreamily, looking past me and towards the front door. "I guess it is. We'll see where it goes from here."
I paused for a second, thinking back to that night. "Does Cliff… uh, know?"
Ann shot me a look, seemingly upset for questioning her reliability a second time. "Of course, he doesn't. I just told him that it was between you and Claire, and it wasn't my place to tell him what was going on. He dropped it pretty quickly after you left."
I was wondering why she'd seemed to think that it was her place to chew my ass out in front of Cliff in the first place, but I didn't have it in me that morning to say anything.
"Right. Well, I'm sure Doug is loving the idea of one of his tenants dating his daughter," I said jokingly. Ann snapped her attention to me and frowned.
"You joke about that, but he actually is," Ann said with a groan. "I keep telling him he needs to work on boundaries but—"
"Breakfast is ready!" Doug sang as he busted through the kitchen doors with a plate in hand.
How was everyone in this family so cheery at the ass crack of dawn?
Ann and I snapped our attention to Doug, who was now slipping behind her to set the plate in front of me, "Bacon, eggs, and toast. Just how ya like it." Doug had been serving me this breakfast for years now, yet his energy was like it was the very first time.
I couldn't help but smile back at the man in front of me, "Thanks, Doug. Appreciate it."
"Anytime," Doug replied as he slid a roll of silverware towards me. "You have a good day now, okay?" he added as he made his way towards the kitchen. He stopped right before the door and turned his attention to Ann, "When you're done with those, there's still more prep in the kitchen. Don't get too distracted out here, hon."
With that, he pushed open the doors and disappeared. Ann let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes before starting up her work again. Not wanting to be a distraction, I took advantage of the silence and dug into my meal.
Within minutes, I washed down the last bits of my breakfast with the remainder of my coffee. I looked up to Ann, who was giving me a look of disapproval.
"Did you even taste the food?" Ann asked with a laugh as she slid slices of lime into one of the plastic containers.
"You're one to talk," I countered, placing the soiled fork on the plate and pushing it forward. "Plus, I eat this shit almost every day. I already know what it tastes like." Ann huffed as she pulled the remaining limes from the crate.
"You really are something else," Ann replied after a few seconds of silence.
"You're welcome," I deadpanned. "Well, anyway, you look like you have a lot going on right now," I motioned towards the remaining two crates full of lemons and oranges, "I 'oughta get to work too."
Ann watched me as I got up from my seat and pushed in the chair, then looked back down at her work before replying with a small smirk on her face, "Well, alrighty, see ya later then."
"See ya," I said as I walked towards the exit of the inn.
I pushed through the massive front door and was greeted by a breeze of refreshingly cold air. It had been a while since I was up and about this early; I'd forgotten how mild the weather was before seven in the morning. The summer heat had been ruthless this year, and this bout of lower temperatures was making me ready for fall.
After a short walk under the cloudy, pastel sky, I made it to the smithy. When I arrived at the front door, it was still locked, meaning Gramps still wasn't back from his morning walk. I reached into my coverall pockets and fished out the ring of work keys, locating the right one with ease. After unlocking the door, I turned the knob and used the side of my body to force the door open. The room was cold and dark without the forge blazing.
I flicked on the lights and headed to my work station in the back corner. Along the shelf above the desk was an unorganized row of previous projects, all showcasing various levels of success. A few simple rings and bracelets laid across the surface.
Structurally, the pieces had turned out fine. It had taken a few attempts, but I had gotten down the basic shapes and techniques I needed to make simple jewelry. The issue was in the details. I had been too scared to use colorful, high-quality stones, so I ended up with a series of dull greys and whites. While they had served their purpose at the time, the pale quartzes didn't do anything for me anymore. They had been useful then, but now I wanted to work with something more challenging, something brighter.
I went to the black leather case where we stored unprocessed stones and searched for anything small enough for me to get away with using. A meager sapphire ore I had unexpectedly unearthed in the mines last winter came to mind. I had been so wrapped up with Mary then that I completely forgot about the gemstone.
I trifled the various plastic drawers for about ten minutes until I finally fished out the parchment wrapped gem I had stashed. It was still rough and needed to be cut and polished, but as I held it up to the light, I couldn't help but admire its luster between the dark, rocky deposits.
For a split second, I wondered if it was okay for me to use something so beautiful and expensive in one of my own projects. Eventually, I decided that Gramps probably had no idea I'd even stashed the stone, so what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. If I was successful, I was sure he'd be impressed at my improvement. If it wasn't, he wouldn't have a fucking clue.
I went to work on the ore, isolating the gem from the other rocky deposits attached to it with the slab saw. After roughly etching out an oval-like shape of the glistening blue stone, I brought it over to the fine trim saw and meticulously carved out the gemstone's outline.
The process took about an hour, as I was petrified of going too fast and messing up the shape I had worked so hard to create, something I had done previously. Satisfied with the contour of the sapphire, I ran my thumb along its edges, assessing what needed to be done next.
When I turned back to begin the sanding process, I noticed my grandpa outside the shop, talking to Rick across the fence. Not wanting to get caught, I rushed to my station and rewrapped the stone before recklessly shoving it into the corner of the workbench drawer.
As I watched Gramps approach the front door from the windows, I looked around for something to do to ease the suspicion. The stack of old newspapers adjacent to the forge caught my eye, and without a second thought, I had rushed over and was crumpling up the top pages.
When my grandfather entered the shop, I was placing a flaming ball of old newspaper into the forge's firepot. I didn't look back over my shoulder when the door slammed behind him; I just continued to scoop coal over the burning paper, adjusting the air control lever to achieve the desired heat level.
"You're here early today," Gramps said as he hung up his shawl by the front door.
"Yep," I replied, continuing to tend to the fire pit. "Just, uh, taking my training more seriously like you wanted me to."
"Glad to hear you're taking more of my advice," my grandpa responded, nearing me from behind. He walked to the other side of the forge and watched as I added fresh coal. "Speaking of, how did last night go?"
I rolled my eyes. "Fine." What a stupid fucking question that was.
He didn't seem satisfied with my answer, so he pushed further, "Did you two have time to discuss my suggestion?"
"No. We didn't," I snapped back. "I was over there for maybe a few hours, and your specific instructions were to get to know her, not discuss… that. So we didn't." It was partially a lie, but I really didn't want to talk about that. If anything, I came to work early to do literally anything else but that.
"Did you think about it at all?" he pressed again, eyes darting between the forge and me.
My grip on the metal stoking tool tightened as I tried to keep my composure. It was especially tricky while running on minimal sleep.
"Nope," I lied, still avoiding eye contact with my grandpa. I had spent just about the entire night thinking about my situation, but I didn't particularly want Gramps to know that.
My grandfather let out a long sigh as he watched me tend to the forge, "Son, I know that this is a lot to take in, but I encourage you to think long-term. It's the right thing to—"
"Gramps, it's not even seven in the morning," I interrupted in a low tone. "I'm tired. Do we have to do this right now?"
"You're too young to be tired, boy," he retorted back.
"And you're too old to not be dead, yet here we are."
He took a deep breath, thankfully ignoring my comment. "I'd figure it out sooner rather than later," my grandpa chided as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Like I said, if you could understand—"
"Stop," I growled, trying to hold myself back from yelling in his face. The frustration in my chest was growing, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep myself together. I watched the fire in front of me consume the fresh coal as I forcefully spoke again, "We're not talking about this right now."
He paused and looked up at me for a second before closing his eyes and releasing another deep exhale. "You need to decrease the airflow slightly," Gramps said before turning and walking back to his desk.
I silently did what he said, happy that he was dropping the topic for now. As I covered the burning pit with more fresh coal, I watched my grandpa go through the order log on his desk. With the forge ready to go, it was time to get to work. I stood by the smoldering pit and awaited my assignment for the day.
Hours passed, and the two of us worked in a comfortable silence—much to my pleasure. Gramps had me cutting sheets of metal to be used on Barley's upgraded milker. The poor old man needed the machine entirely reconfigured so that he could use it without bending over. I wasn't sure how my grandfather had managed to design such a contraption, but he made it happen for the livestock farmer.
The two had grown up in Mineral Town together, so it was no surprise that they continued to look after each other in their old age. I had to admit, while Gramps was a hard-ass, he did have a good heart. It was just deep in there, though.
Surprisingly, Grandpa had left me alone to work today. Usually, he was over my shoulder, micromanaging every step of the way, so it was a nice change of pace. Lack of sleep aside, I felt decent. It was nice to have my grandfather trust me enough to let me work by myself. I wasn't sure what had brought on the change, whether it was my more recent dedication to the craft, my potential fatherhood, or just that time in my apprenticeship, but either way, I wasn't complaining. Without my grandfather breathing down my neck, it felt like I was able to work more efficiently.
I finished sawing off the last piece of the sheet metal and looked up to the clock in the back of the room. It was already a few minutes past two in the afternoon.
As I looked out the window to my right, I noticed the sky had charcoaled, and a light rain was drizzling from dark, swollen clouds. I had been so wrapped up in my task that I wasn't even aware of anything else, though it made sense why I wasn't a hot, sweaty mess this time around.
Satisfied with my stopping place, I neatly stacked the cuttings against my workstation and began removing my gloves and eyewear.
The bell chimed as the door opened and then swung shut. I was still facing the back corner, putting away my protective equipment, so I didn't get a good look at who it was.
Either way, Gramps was the one that usually greeted all of our customers; I was more of a back-of-house kinda employee. If anything, my grandpa preferred if I didn't talk to the customers, and I was OK with that.
Still facing away from the door, I grabbed the broom next to my station and began sweeping up the slivers of scrap metal. As I swept, I thought it was weird that my Grandpa hadn't spoken up yet, either about my work today or to greet whoever had come to the shop. Curiosity got the best of me, and I quickly glanced over my shoulder.
Lo and behold, the blonde farmer was standing at the front of the shop, a hammer in hand. I repeatedly blinked my tired eyes before taking a second look, hoping that I was experiencing some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination. No such luck. Of course, Claire would be here; there was no escape from this fucking girl!
As I looked back, her eyes met mine, and a small smile grew on her face. Fuck. There was no ignoring her now; she knew I had seen her. I turned my torso to see why she was just standing there awkwardly, un-greeted by my grandfather, and then realized he was nowhere to be seen.
(First and foremost, just wanted to give a big thanks and shout out to the beta reader for this chapter, rageaphobia. You were a super big help! I love collaboration and I never thought in my wildest dreams that anyone would want to work with me on one of my weird special interests lol so that just makes me the world's happiest camper.
Tbh I felt kind of nervous sharing the backstory I've created for Gray within this story. There's obviously a lot more to it, but even then it's kinda nerve-wracking inserting your own ideas into the canon idk. If you're curious about Gray's dad's name, Jet, it's inspired by a few things. Jet is a fancy black type of lignite, basically a fossilized, decaying piece of wood that undergoes extreme pressure and heat-so I thought it fit. Also if you thought I wasn't going to give Gray's parents color AND rock/mineral inspired names... you were severely mistaken lmfao. I personally LOVE geology so I'm just happy for the opportunity use some of my random ass knowledge.
Chapter title is inspired by Where Is My Mind by the Pixies. That song is such a shit show, I just feel like it represents how Gray is feeling, especially towards the beginning. Its my go-to "wtf is going on rn" song. Like the amount of time I spend listening to that song staring at the ceiling...
Anyway, sorry, done rambling haha. Let me know what feedback you may have for me.
