[Duncan/Mal] - family

[inchesofevil]

Who:
Duncan
Malachai
When: Sunday, early AM, 6/19
Where: FCU dorms, Duncan's room
Before/After: N/A
Warnings: Talk of death



Dead.

Michael's dead.

Your father-

Wandering the city after midnight was probably not the safest thing for Malachai to have decided to do. Truthfully, he hadn't really thought about it, not even after getting out and realizing it was dark. It didn't dawn on him until he'd been out an hour, and then he started making his way towards the university. He still didn't know what to think, how to feel; he was dizzy, honestly. He needed someone to talk to.

Duncan was who he went to whenever shit happened.

Lucky for Duncan!

Mal was probably lucky nothing showed up to try and eat him along the way, though things had been relatively safe within the city lately. So maybe it wasn't entirely luck.

It was three by the time he made it to the dorms, where he lethargically made his way through the halls, as if lost, but he knew his way to Duncan's room so well that he made it there even in a daze.

He stared at the door, uncertain. He couldn't decide if he really wanted to bother Duncan or not. Maybe if he called, first...

Pulling his phone out, Mal punched in the auto-dial for Duncan and let it ring, leaning against the wall beside the door.


The phone rang. The first ring cut through Duncan's sleep, rousing him just enough to acknowledge the second ring as something that needed his attention. The third ring managed to hit his conscious brain and connect the sound with the action it required. He fumbled at his nightstand for the phone, picking up halfway through the third ring to give a bleary, "H'lo?"

He squinted at the red lines on his alarm clock. Three AM? Who the fuck--


"Hey," came Mal's response. "Sorry, I-" He paused, uncertain, then just said, "I'm in the hall."


"The f--Mal, it's three AM!"


"Ain't the first time," Mal retorted. Maybe not the best response. "Least I'm not drunk?"


"Jesus Christ," he muttered, throwing his blankets aside and rolling out of bed. It took some stumbling to get himself on his feet, but he managed it, shuffling to the door as he combed his fingers through his hair. He'd switched to summer pajamas, which meant cotton pajama pants (red, camo-patterned) and a white A-shirt.

He unlocked the door, opened it, and hung up on Mal when he saw him in the hallway. He didn't look hurt, so that was good. But not drunk, not hurt, why the fuck was he at Duncan's door at 3 AM. "Get in here." He was suitably surly about it.


Mal glanced up as the door opened, flipping his phone off, letting it sit in his hand as he entered. He walked over to not-Duncan's bed and sat on the edge of it, staring down at the floor for a moment.

He actually felt a little guilty about waking Duncan up. Normally he wouldn't care! It was kind of odd, but still, he gave Duncan an apologetic look and even said, "Sorry to wake you," sincerely.


Not-Duncan's bed was empty, the half of the room previously occupied by Missie now completely barren. He didn't have a roommate. Wasn't getting one.

He shut the door after Mal and walked over to sit at his desk chair, slapping the phone down on the desk as he swiveled to face Mal. His expression turned skeptical at the apology. Not standard behaviour, something was weird here. "What happened?"


Mal opened his mouth to reply, but balked. It was such an odd thing, not wanting to just spill his guts to Duncan, but, he kind of owed it to him after waking him up at 3AM. Mal frowned, scowled really. "Jill called me a couple hours ago." His step-mother. Duncan would be familiar with the name, though as someone all he ever did was complain about. "About my father."


He raised an eyebrow, confusion and concern overtaking his expression in equal measure. If Mal was here, waking him up at 3AM because his stepmother had called about his father, something very serious had happened.

"What's wrong?" For all his surliness earlier, he was genuinely concerned now.


"Someone broke into the house," Mal started. It got easier as he spoke, but still felt odd- not because he was saying it so much as he didn't really know how he felt about it. Like it hadn't sunk in yet, or was a dream. "My dad tried to stop them, I guess. Probably scared for the twins or something. Jill didn't really say much. But he-" Died. The word caught in his throat, unable to actually say it out loud, his expression one of disbelief.


Oh, that was serious. Duncan leaned forward as Mal spoke, arms on his thighs, growing more intent and more concerned as Mal continued.

'Dead' was not the first thing his mind went to fill in that blank with. In the hospital, in ICU, in critical, unstable condition--something that left Mal's dad alive but grievously injured. Not dead. "He..." Duncan echoed, prompting. "Is he gonna be okay?"


Mal steeled himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "He's dead." There. He'd said it.

And saying it somehow made it more real.

A delayed flinch hit his face a moment later, and he looked away from Duncan, gazing out at the room. No tears threatened his eyes, and he wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He hadn't exactly been close to his father, but... It was still his father.


No.

No, he was not going to be okay.

Duncan's eyebrows rose. He was definitely awake now. And he had no fucking clue what to say.

"Shit," he breathed. That was the best he could do.


That about summed it up. And was about what Mal had expected.

"Jill's taking the twins to her parents'." There was some relief about that, at least. It'd be safer than staying in the house.

With a smirk, he added, "She asked if I'd look after the animals."


Duncan shook his head. "Shit," he said again, this time more incredulous, less speechless. "Tell her to take the fucking animals to her parents' too. Shit, Mal." He looked up, focusing on Mal's face. "Are you gonna be okay?"


Mal shrugged. "Can't take 'em." Maybe she could come back for them, but they were more his dad's thing than hers. And Mal had been the one to name them, even if they were just chickens and goats.

He glanced at Duncan a moment, but looked away again. "I dunno. I guess so." Eyes on Duncan again, he asked, "Does it make me a horrible person that I ain't bawlin' over it after how I reacted to Brandon leavin' me?"


It wasn't really a serious suggestion, Jill taking the animals with her. Just a frustrated retort against perceived callousness.

"No," he answered, firmly, not a hint of uncertainty. "Sometimes when shit is too big to handle, your emotions shut it out to deal with it in pieces. That's normal. It doesn't make you horrible, okay?"


"Yeah, all right." It made sense, he supposed. Probably why he hadn't cried when his mother had died. "So what do I do? I mean, I gotta go to the house. What if there's, like, blood or something still there?" He had far too little information.


Weren't there clean-up crews to take care of that kind of thing? Duncan didn't know how fast they worked. "If you want, I can go with you," he offered. "Head in first, tell you what it looks like in there."

Duncan offering assistance was just as predictable as the swearing.


Mal didn't, either. Or if they took care of carpets or stains. They probably wouldn't repair damaged property, though, if there was any?

He actually knew very little about this.

"Yeah, all right." A pause. "Though I don't really need to go in the house. Just 'round to the back." The animals were kept in the yard, chickens in their coop and the two goats roaming the grass within the confines of the wooden fence. Since they kept everything in the shed- though the key was kept in the kitchen, hanging beside the back door.

...He could just reach in for it, he supposed.

Mal rubbed his face as other concerns came to mind. Dad's will, funeral, the twins, ...funds. Aside from extra costs, his dad had set up a monthly allowance that went through the bank, but if he were declared dead...

Fuck it, he'd worry about that later. And just try not to go on any spending sprees 'til he figured it out.

"Can I crash here?" he asked. He didn't think he'd actually get any sleep, but was too tired to walk home so soon.


"Yeah, fuck, yeah, of course." He rose from the chair, going to his standing wardrobe to pull a blanket out from the bottom shelf. He slept with several blankets in the winter and lost them as the weather got warmer. A couple months earlier, and he wouldn't have had a spare to give.

He handed it over to Mal. "You need anything else, just let me know." It was a much wider offer than just as related to crashing in his room.


"Thanks." Mal took the blanket as sat it on his lap. He appreciated it. Letting him crash, listening to him, being there for him.

"Hey, man. I'm sorry about... how I treated your sister, when Brandon dumped me." It was more sincere than any other apology Duncan had ever gotten out of him. "And you know, causing so much shit for ya."


It was what Duncan did. He was not always a good person, but he tried his best to always be a good friend. Loyalty in times of need was his biggest strong point.

He shut the wardrobe, pausing with his hand over the wood, eyes narrowing at the memory. The apology, fuck, he didn't know how to accept it. Ravi not knowing how to accept apologies had come from Duncan's own personal experience. The difference was that he cared less about any awkwardness that arose from doing it wrong.

"You fucking should be sorry," was what he settled on, turning to face Mal again. "But that's a shitty thing to say to you right now, so pretend I didn't."


Mal stared up at Duncan in mild shock. He probably should've expected that - it was so Duncan - but for some reason he hadn't. Perhaps he was just too out of it.

"Right, well." Pretending as best he could, he offered another, "Thanks." For the blanket, this time, though he wasn't specific.

"I'll let you get back to sleep, huh?" Might even get some himself, if he's lucky.