"Gregory," came an ever so familiar deep, dark voice who haunted his nights more nights than not nowadays, as Greg looked frantically around the room. "It's only going to be a matter of time before we can get to your boy; you understand that, right? Call it fate, call it the call of the void, call it you not protecting him enough. Whatever will help you sleep better at night when it inevitably happens. Someday, Greg, someday we're going to win. You can try and protect that boy as long as you want to fight it; but you know deep down that you'll never win against us. We are stronger than you, you will never be able to protect him, like you could never protect yourself! You were a weak, cowardly child and you're worse as an adult! You think if you couldn't save yourself from us, that you could save a child? Come on Greg, bring your son to visit his grandfather and great uncle; you know that he wants to come here. You know that there's nothing you can do to stop it,"
"Over my dead body are you getting anywhere near Tyson and Charlie!" Greg screamed back into the black abyss, before seeing John and Henry's shadows emerge from the darkness, although their features were still obscured by the still, haunting blackness; Greg knew exactly who they were.
"Greg, you stupid boy. You can't keep them hidden away from us forever. Tyson is so desperate to visit South Dakota, surely you don't want to deprive him of that? Or to deprive him of meeting his family? To learn where his 'daddy' came from? To meet his 'daddy's daddy'?" John smirked, his teeth and eyes shining creepily through the deepest of darks.
"You aren't getting anywhere near my son or daughter, so forget about it! I'm their father, and I'm going to protect them like a father should protect his children, unlike what you did!" Greg screamed.
"You really think that a pathetic excuse of a child like you deserved protection? When all you ever did was grow up to become a filthy fucking faggot anyway? Letting another man fuck you up the ass multiple times a day, and yet you claim to be traumatised by us? Surely you must have secretly loved it, given that is clearly what you like, despite us trying to teach you it was wrong, and that it would hurt, you clearly secretly got off on it, you enjoyed it, right? Do you ever think of me when you feel James' cock inside you? Do you still imagine it's me and fake panic attacks like you used to with James? God, Greg, you let James shoot three loads into you tonight alone; yet you cry to your therapist about 'my daddy and uncle taught me life lessons and how to be the best in bed that James has ever had', you know that's the only reason he's still there right? Because of what we taught you. How we taught you to be a warm hole and a good fuck," John smirked.
Just before Greg slapped him across the face, "James and I are adults. That's what makes the difference! What we do is none of your business! And no, I don't get off on what you did to me, you filthy old man! I'm not some sick paedophile creep who fucks his own son! That's the biggest difference between you and me! I am actually creating a healthy life for my kids, unlike you! I don't hurt kids! I am the opposite of you! I hate you," as Greg watched the creepy grin turned into an evil one that Greg knew all too well.
"Pushing your luck there a bit, Greggy boy. You know that I don't tolerate that kind of insubordination! We'll make you pay, although in saying that, maybe it won't be you footing the punishment this time… surely your hole isn't what it used to be, those kids however, they're virgins… now it's been a while since I enjoyed that," John smirked.
"You aren't getting your filthy paws on them! Either of you!" Greg screamed back so loud his throat hurt.
"And who's going to stop us? You and your faggot husband? Quit kidding yourself Greg, you've got no power here. Plus, don't think that we and our buddies don't know where you are… that Rob flits in and out of your lives as the drunkard that he is; barely conscious when he is there anyway! Don't think that I don't know where your house is in Detroit where you hide out with your faggot husband and two kids; thinking you can hide and protect them. I also know that James works a lot, and what days and times he works. You know maybe you should be less concerned about your children coming to us and be more concerned about Henry and I coming to your children. Maybe we're already here,"
With that Greg heard the front door creaking open, as he spun around, screaming "get out, now! You filthy fucking paedophiles! You better get out before I shoot you!"
"Now, you're not going to shoot your dear old dad and your sweet old uncle for simply paying a visit, are you? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail? Maybe you do, plenty of men will be willing to pass you around as the prison bitch. You'll love that. So many men sticking it up your asshole, giving you hepatitis and AIDS too, that's what you deserve, you filthy slut!" Henry tormented.
"So, help me, don't you dare come any closer, or I'll blow your brains out! I'll single handedly give you a fast track to hell!" Greg screamed.
John was entirely unfazed by his son's threats; "so, tell me Greg, I know you've got two kids sleeping upstairs; why don't your lovely uncle and I toss a coin and see which one of us between Henry and I gets to take the innocence, the purity; of which child? Out of Henry and I, who gets the boy and who gets the girl? Your mother was right, Greg, it was only because of how strict we needed to be that you became anything of use, and despite everything; you're still pathetic. Worthless. A 'recovering addict'. A shit excuse of a father. A filthy faggot, probably riddled with diseases, like most addicts and faggots are. And an absolute shame of a parent you are, bringing shame and disgust onto the family name. No wonder you switched to Gallagher; because you're no House! You're weak and pathetic just like your mother and Rob, and the rest of the Gallaghers! Your kids are unruly and out of control, Greg. You're too terrified to even discipline them. Yet you still crown yourself as a great father; the permissive, disgusting excuse of a 'father' you call yourself. Like your stupid mother said, maybe they need me, a real, true father who doesn't tolerate such stupidity from children; to teach them discipline and how to behave. You say 'they're just children'; well children need to learn Greg, just like how we tried with you. We won't hurt them, we will only use the good, old fashioned, tried and tested House discipline methods- none of which you carry on because you're too weak. Discipline them into good, well-behaved children just like we tried to do with you. Maybe we're about to pull up outside of your house now, Greg. Just try and stop us," as Greg then snapped awake, ran upstairs, and then upstairs again; retrieving the gun and rushing downstairs; sitting there ready to attack.
"Papa!" Tyson came barrelling through the basement door and downstairs in the early hours of the morning, his eyes wide and voice filled with panic; "daddy is sitting out the front in a chair with granddad's gun on the floor next to him! He's not waking up when I knocked on the window, and I knocked really loudly! As loud as I could, he's not waking up!"
James felt his blood turn to ice, as he saw the empty spot next to him on the bed and grabbed his phone and dialled 911. "Tyson, you need to listen to me very carefully. Grab Shady if he's not in your sister's bedroom, and go straight up into Charlie's room, shut the door, and play on your iPads. Right now. Do NOT come out until I come and get you okay? No matter what you hear, do not come out of the bedroom, and don't let Charlie or Shady come out either. No matter what. Not even to go to the bathroom or get food," to which Tyson, understanding there was a grave situation to this scenario, meekly nodded and ran off upstairs.
"Hi, I think that my husband may have just committed suicide. He attempted last week and has only just gotten out of hospital; our six-year-old just woke me up, saying he couldn't wake my husband up and that there was a gun on the ground! He said that he found him… Oh my God! I think he might have shot himself with a handgun. I'm going to check on him now. He can't be dead, he can't be! We're all that each other have had in more than twenty years!" James ran out the front door, "Greg? Greg!"
"Sir, we need an address," the operator stated calmly, "have you found him yet? Do you require medical assistance?"
Greg looked sleepily over towards James as he burst through the screen door onto the front porch, not looking as though he'd slept at all the night before and had simply passed out from exhaustion. "It's a false alarm, a misunderstanding, thank goodness," James shook his head, as he hung up the phone, "what the actual fuck, Greg? What the fuck? Why are you passed out on the front porch holding a gun? You better have a damn good fucking reason!" James shouted, swooping down to grab the gun and tucked it into the back of his pants once he ensured the safety was off.
"I'm protecting the kids," Greg grumbled, staring ahead with narrowed, suspicious eyes out across the front yard onto the road ahead, "from dad and Henry, they told me that they'd be coming to take them away. That they'd toss a coin over which one of them would take which kid. To take their innocence from them. They said a lot of things. They said a lot of really horrible, unrepeatable things. I'm out here to stop it. Prevent them from stepping foot inside,"
"No one is coming for the kids, Greg, you need to stop all of this, okay? It is starting to get tiring. Nobody knows where we are; we have different names now than we used to, and they are safe with us. If anything, we could possibly be a bit too overbearing," James squatted down next to the chair where Greg was; "you know what? We haven't heard from them in so long, I doubt that we'll ever hear from them again. We're safe here, okay? But if you don't feel safe here; we can always move away and start afresh someplace new, okay? Is that what you need?"
"I don't think that I'll ever feel safe anywhere," Greg muttered, glancing away; "all I knew before you were terror, fear, pain, and the need to fight. To take things to the extreme when necessary,"
"I know, baby, I know. I know what they did to you was awful, repulsive, disgusting and unimaginably cruel; and nobody; especially not you, ever deserves such a thing, or the aftermath you're trying to cope with. But we need to try and stop it from affecting your life too much," James winced as he said those last few words, hoping he hadn't pushed it too far.
"I'm just trying to be a good parent. To protect them, like fathers are meant to do," Greg grumbled, narrowing his eyes and scanning the road again; "there are too many evil people out there in the world, James, I've got to keep them away,"
"Well, this sort of behaviour is distressing to the kids as it is, Greg. Tyson just came running downstairs because he thought that you were dead out here. You can't spend the rest of your life sitting on the front porch holding a gun and waiting for a potential real long shot to happen. Greg," James reached his hand out onto Greg's shoulder to interrupt his chain of thought, and for Greg to look back at him, "Greg, I need you to try and think about this logically right now, okay? I know that when you were growing up, that John and Henry were big, strong and a lot more physically powerful than you. Greg, they are frail, old men now. A strong gust of wind could blow them over. And to get to the kids they would have to get through Shady, who is going to grow into a monstrosity of a protector and become a mammoth of a dog; they're going to have to get through a giant, terrifying Rottweiler that never lets the kids out of his sight, is bonded and would give his life to protect them, and is probably going to be 160lb by the time he's fully grown. They'd have to get through Rob if it's a time that he's here, and you know how guilty Rob feels over what happened to you, he's not going to let that same thing happen to his grandchildren. Then they will have to get through me, and you know how much I will fight for those kids, they'd have to kill me before they could stop me, and then they'd have to go through you; and heaven help them if they got to that stage. On top of the weapons we have. These kids couldn't be safer or more protected if we tried. But Greg, your mental health is so fragile right now. You need to rest your brain. This is not helping your brain and mental health to recover," James pointed out.
"I know it's not," Greg admitted, "but James, I can't sleep. Every time I do try and sleep, the nightmares come, and they don't stop. That's why I'm out here, because John and Henry know where Rob's house is, and that we live here, they know where and when you work, among other things. They told me all of this in the dream,"
"It was a dream, Greg. It's your subconscious working against you in overdrive. They don't know where we live. And again, even if they did, they wouldn't be able to do anything. Greg, it was a dream, your mind coming up with outlandish potentials because it's frightened. If you're really struggling with sleep, we can talk about maybe some strong sleeping pills to see if they help. Some Ambien or something similar. For now, come inside, baby, it's freezing; you're going to get frostbite out here, you must be so cold, I've not even been out here for long, and my fingers and nose feel a bit tingly," James tried to hook his hand under Greg's arm to pull him up, but he resisted, pushing his weight further down.
"I don't feel the cold," Greg muttered, "it doesn't affect me. I'm used to it. If anything, the cold makes me feel more alive. It's comforting. Because inside I feel dead and scared, and the coldness makes me feel something. But you go inside, I'll just stay out here,"
"Yeah, that's not happening. Whether you like the cold or not; I want my husband with his nose, and all his fingers and toes," James growled, as he physically hauled Greg to his feet and dragged him back inside the house; "guess you're happy that I started working out, huh?"
"Guess you're happy that I didn't scream out that you were kidnapping me?" Greg growled back, to which James just laughed in response and stated that everyone on the street knows that Greg lives here; as he dragged Greg back indoors who grumbled and headed back down to the basement, closing the door and metaphorically locking James out from his emotions and feelings, before collapsing onto the bed and dozing off.
Greg was awoken from his slumber by an unexpected doorbell ringing repeatedly at the front door, he tore up the stairs, and grabbed Tyson's baseball bat that was hanging up by the front door as he smashed opened the door, "what the fuck do you want? Who is dying? Why are you ringing my doorbell like that?" Greg barked, staring back at the unfamiliar couple on the other side of the door.
The couple took an uncertain step back at the big, vaguely familiar, clearly infuriated man who answered the door, holding a baseball bat in his hand; "Nobody's dying, we just rang the bell a lot to get someone's attention; it's quite noisy here," the woman tried to placate the infuriated man.
"It's the ghetto. It's our home, but it's in a ghetto neighbourhood, there's lots of noises in the ghetto," Greg growled back, narrowing his eyes angrily and making a point to show off the baseball bat he was wielding, "what the fuck do you two want? You better have a damned good excuse for ringing our doorbell like that,"
"We're not from around here, but we're looking for our son," the woman answered, sounding genuinely sincere and worried, "the last we heard from him... spoke to him, months ago, he said he was living in Detroit; we managed to track down an address, and this is it,"