Fathers and Sons

1 - Jaded Bonds

"I'm sorry, miss, but this is the men's bathroom."

Denny's exasperated groan mingled with his father's cackles as he cut into the nearest bathroom stall.

"It's not funny!" He shouted, wincing when his voice cracked. His father cackled louder and he grinded his jaw, thoroughly humiliated. He thanked God the other stalls were empty. At least his shame wouldn't be shared among strangers.

He winced out loud as he tried to undo his pants.

"Need help?" His father's voice sounded from outside, still shaking from amusement.

"Just go!" He shouted, more from the pain flaring up his arms then his growing irritation.

Though his father's teasing did hurt, the burn stabbing through his shoulder was almost unbearable. His movements were strained but somehow he managed to use the bathroom without any assistance. Unlocking the stall, he grimaced finding his father waiting by the sinks.

"I told you to leave." He picked the sink farthest from his dad.

"And I ignored you." His father slid closer, thwarting his attempt at adding distance.

He sighed, opening the valve. The faucet sputtered as if it was first time it'd been opened in years. He struggled keeping water from the bandages nearer to his wrist.

"Let me help."

He tensed as his father's arm crossed over his chest. He placed his fingers over the wild stream, and soon the sputter calmed to a soft gush.

"Thanks." He muttered so low he could barely hear it, but his father smiled.

He closed the tap and turned away, rubbing his wet hands on his coat as he exited the bathroom. His father hobbled behind, slipping beside him when they reentered the hall.

The squeaks of their boots on the clinic tiles inhabited the silence between them. It was an uncomfortable silence, one that he knew wasn't normal for a fifteen year relationship between a parent and child, but he stopped caring about that. It didn't matter. It was their normal so he accepted it. He preferred his father quiet if anything else. Though, his reason for being quiet...

His gaze flicked to the back of his father's head. Eyeing the bleached clinic walls. He'd ask why but he probably wouldn't get a real answer. Just some lousy joke or vain retort. No, that's exactly what he'd get.

They continued down the hall in silence turning a few corners along the way and eventually returning to the clinic's reception from which they came.

The receptionist smiled directly at them.

"Mr. Han. Your paperwork is ready." The lady at the desk called to him, waving some papers and a pen.

His father's arm shoved him forward. "That's you, Miss Han."

A hint of his previous scowl resurfaced and the irritation paired with it. He ignored his father's jibe and stomped towards the reception desk, replacing his scowl with a tight smile.

"Where do I sign?" He took the pen from her hands.

"Here and here."

He inked his signature in the designated spaces and secured his papers under his coat sleeve.

With a word of thanks to the receptionist, he turned towards the exit where his father stood, sliding on his finger gloves. His father tossed him a similar pair and he caught it though not without a stab of pain from raising his arm.

"Need my scarf?" His father asked, flicking the one strapped to his neck.

He shook his head, nuzzling his coat collar. He then repositioned the cap on his head and nodded. "Let's go."

He split the clinic doors and a gust of late October air charged inside, raking shivers against his body. He struggled against the cold but his father pushed past him, unaffected. Even with his limp, his father was a beast. At times like this, he was envious of his dad, or rather his unfeeling body.

An autobus stood waiting by the edge of the street, honking at them as they approached. His father motioned for him to hurry and he did, not wanting to make the bus driver wait any longer. The bus door hissed as his father stepped inside, him entering right behind.

The small bus was packed with weary passengers, all soldiers and most wearing varying looks of annoyance. He and his father eased into their tight seats, the type that made large movements impossible and smaller ones feel like tearing off a limb.

His throat tightened as he thought of the twelve-hour journey ahead. He tried to focus on his breathing. It wouldn't quench the choking feeling but it'd distract him. Breathing was normal after all and he could use the normal to distract himself from the abnormal.

Though, if he didn't get used to it soon, he'd get used to it later.

Because soon, it would be all he'd know.