Coming Home

Since I'm running short on time, I will have to add songs for this chapter later. Sorry, but thank you to all who read, rate, and review!

Responses to reviews: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/50866-reviews-for-coming-home/?p=333584

Now on to the story:

Present Day

Dylan pushed in the door and walked in with no hesitation. Just get it over with. he said to himself. Like ripping off a band-aid. Sitting up with the bed elevated, Darryl slept. It would have been just like finding him asleep at home when he’d fallen asleep in his recliner. The only thing that had changed besides the location was the fact that the normal beer in his hand was replaced with an IV and the additional wires and tubes hooked up to various parts of him. The sight was incongruous with the image Dylan had of his father. He had always remembered Darryl with the twisted face of hatred that last time he’d seen him all those years ago. But in front of him was a weak, frail, ill man who he did not recognize. It made no sense and did nothing to help Dylan regain his equilibrium.

Opening his eyes, Darryl blinked slowly at his son. It seemed to Dylan that he was having problems processing the situation as well. The silence was threatening to choke him and in a rush to break the burdensome noise he offered a short greeting.

“Darryl.”

Despite his weak appearance, his voice was steady as he acknowledged his son tentatively, “Dylan.”

Both men just stared at each other, neither not knowing where to go from there. Dylan was berating himself for feeling like a kid again, just trying to disappear and Darryl was just numb.

“Take a seat, son.” Darryl said with a sigh.

Arching an eyebrow, Dylan gave his father an incredulous look. “Son? Wow, they said the issue was with your heart not your brain.”

He hadn’t wanted to sound so antagonistic, but now that that little bit had slipped out he felt like there was a dam bursting inside and he felt flush with the onslaught of pain, hurt, betrayal, and down right anger. It was Darryl who’d drawn that battle line all those years ago. Dylan had not crossed it, but, once Darryl did, he sure as hell wasn’t going to back down. Darryl may as well have declared open war as far as Dylan was concerned because now Dylan wasn‘t going to pussyfoot around his father‘s feelings.

Continuing past Darryl’s exhausted expression, he sarcastically said, “I thought you didn’t have a son.”

Sighing once more, Darryl replied tiredly, “Dylan, do you have to do this right now? I’m tired.”

A harsh bark escaped from Dylan.

“Because what you want always comes first, isn’t that right Darryl? No one and nothing else matter. Doesn’t matter that I have put my life on hold to come here. Use my hard earned money to come here. It didn’t matter when I was just a sixteen year old kid with no one and no where to go and doesn’t matter now. But hey. You‘re tired. So let‘s just suspend reality for a few.” Shaking his head and chuckling humorlessly he said quietly, “Well, it’s nice to know some things never change.”

Dylan could feel the tidal waves of the pain and anger washing over him; he’d known this would most likely happen if he was ever faced with his father again. He’d imagined it over and over all ending with him finally vindicating himself in a blaze of righteous indignation. But looking at the defeated look on Darryl’s haggard face and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink he realized that all those fantasies where just that: fantasies. He felt so unbelievably exhausted by the onslaught of emotion.

Who was he kidding? He was tired too, well and truly tired, and like any person faced in that poignant and pivotal moment of forgiveness he knew he would always feel this way if he didn’t just let it go. And like every person, it was easier said than done. Letting go of the darkness that fueled your past and set you on the path to where you are now is hard to do when you are content with where it’s brought you. Dylan wanted to cry and he wasn’t sure why.

Dylan made his way over and sat in the standard issue recliner/chair. The silence was uncomfortable. Dylan decided that if Darryl was going to try and atone then it would rest on the ailing man to speak. Dylan was not the one who had anything to prove. With that realization, his shoulders relaxed at little more and he breathed a bit easier.

Darryl’s eyes roved over his son’s face. His heart over the years had become more and more weighted down with guilt and shame and with each passing day he’d tried to harden it a little more to avoid the crushing emotion. He’d lived with the stone sitting heavy on his heart that he’d not been able to recognize the signs for when his literal heart began to give out on him. Had he identified the signs of an impending heart attack he’d have fared better, maybe even been able to head off the damn thing all together. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

Seeing the young man that sat by him made his heart hurt a little more. There was a steeliness in the eyes that was not natural. There was a hardness to the face that spoke of struggle. There was a comfort with himself, an awareness that only comes from a man knowing defeat and knowing how to survive. It was a weary soldier that sat in front of him, not a man in the bloom of youth. No. This person sitting where he son should have been was a hardened victor and he had to admit, he was a little intimidated.

Dylan stared back at his father, wondering what passed through his mind. There was misery and despondency in his eyes, but Dylan couldn’t bring himself to care about it. He wasn’t jumping up and down that Darryl looked so unhappy, but he didn’t feel bad for him either. He merely acknowledged it as a fact.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” he asked as non-confrontationally as possible.

“You just look different.”

“Well, I am different.”

“No, I know that. I just… I don’t know how I thought you’d look. You look tired.”

Giving a snort Dylan said, “That your round about way of saying I look like shit?”

“Quit putting words in my mouth.” Darryl snapped. To this Dylan arched an eyebrow. Sighing again, Darryl reeled his guilt back in. “I was merely stating that you look like you could use some sleep. If you want you can go to the house and shower if you need to and get some shut eye. Maybe grab something to eat. The doctor won’t be in until this afternoon, so, if you don’t want to wait around here, you could... go home. Rest a bit.”

Dylan’s arch grew higher. This was definitely not the same Darryl. He was… kinda nice. Inside, Dylan balked at the words “you could go home.” He was sure if he allowed himself, he’d feel happy at hearing his biological father utter those words. But he staunched that emotion real quick. Slowly nodding, he rose again silently, aware his father was still watching.

“What time does he usually come in?”

“About four. I’m usually the last patient he sees.”

Silence ensued for an uncomfortable heartbeat.

“It’s good you came today. He’s bringing in some guy to talk about a new thing they might try.”

“Oh yeah. What your doctor’s name?”

“Marshall. Stephen Marshall. He’s actually from Irving. And that guy who’s coming in with him is some administrator. Young guy name Taylor, from here. They are seeing if they can do some experimental stuff to me.”

Dylan’s heart had stopped as moved to the door. His footsteps faltered just slightly. Taylor. A young guy named Taylor. Once again, he steeled himself against the hope he felt flair. It wouldn’t do to hope that it would be Nathan because the disappointment he’d feel when it wasn’t would almost certainly send him into a tailspin. One he couldn’t afford to have here. If he broke down in here in The Valley he seriously doubted if he’d ever make it out alive.

Clearing his throat but not looking back lest Darryl see the tumult he felt inside, he simply said, “Ok. I’ll may be back later then Darryl.”

As the door shut behind Dylan, they both heaved a sigh. Well that just happened, Dylan thought with a wry smile as he walked out of the cold hospital air into the heat of the morning and started to make his way to a place he was pretty sure he’d never see again. Although the possibility of even seeing Nathan sent his body into a sensation overload, he had to steel himself to seeing his Uncle Riley and remember his true reason for coming back: his brother.

That torch he’d carried for seeing Nathan again someday had been sanctioned off long ago and he wasn’t particularly keen on reviving it anytime soon. Not in this southern heat. Should there be life given to it, he knew it’d blaze out of his control and surely consume him whole.

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It was strange how even after all the time that had passed Dylan remembered each and every turn. The onslaught of memories, revisiting a time he normally avoided thinking about had him feeling exhausted by the time he pulled into 1602 Over street. The same cream colored house with its same black shutters and yellow door. Strangely enough it made him miss his mom, a person he thought of even less than he thought of his dad. Faintly, he heard U2 coming out of the rental car’s speakers and it made his heart squeeze. Fighting back tears, he turned the car off quickly to get inside.

Despite the walls of defense he had built up with just the turn of the door knob the ghosts of long ago decimated them. The feeling of despair and walking through a cold fog came back to Dylan as he walked in to the hallway of his childhood home. Pushing past the cold feeling, he walked into the living room on his right. Nothing had really changed. The old brown paneling was still there, along with long forgotten decorations, his mother pride and joy from her Pampered Chef days. The La-Z-Boy was more worn than the last time he’d seen it, the fabric on the arms almost completely devoid of color and fabric. While logically he knew time had marched on, he could not help feeling sixteen again. He hated that feeling.

Caught in a fuge-like state, he was unaware of his Uncle Riley’s approach. He didn’t realize he was no longer alone until the sickly and heavy scent of Stetson for Men assaulted his nose. Maybe is was the previous inundation of emotions, his sense of being out of his depth when confronted with his past demons. Maybe it was seeing his father act so out of sync with his past behavior. Maybe it was none of that, but in that moment, knowing he was coming face to face again with his childhood tormentor, he just got down right pissed off. He wasn’t some little kid anymore. He was someone new. He’d hauled himself up from the depths of his despair. He was the one that taught himself to get up and carry one, no thanks to that jack off. He had said no more back then and he wasn’t going back on it now.

“Well, well, well. The prodigal son returns.” his uncle crowed mockingly.

“Hardly, Riley.” he retorted, not bothering to turn to face him.

“Don’t get smart with me you little shit.” Riley bit back.

“Mmm. I wouldn’t dream of it. If I did “get smart” with you,” he said motioning parenthesis’ mockingly with his hands, “I doubt your puerile brain would be able to handle it.”

Knowing his uncle, his arm shot back reflexively and caught the hand that was aiming for the back of his head. “And don’t presume to think that you have a right to lay a hand on me, either.” he said softly, with a steel warning in his voice, his eyes cold and hard as he finally turned to face the aging man. He took in the sight of his uncle. Time had not been kind. Wrinkles lined a once mediocre face and turned him borderline repulsive. What tipped the scale was the accompanying beer gut and fake tan. It all combined to make a quite pathetic picture that reeked of desperation. Dylan was instantly bolstered even more. Enough so that he could find out what had been bugging him since Darryl first opened his eyes.

“Maybe you can explain something to me, Riley. I’m just dying to know why I’m really here. You told me I was Darryl’s proxy and I believe you. But perhaps you aren’t smart enough to know this. You only need a fucking proxy if the person is unconscious! So imagine my surprise when I walk in and Darryl starts up a conversation with me. Tell me do you just like fucking with me that much or is there an actual reason for my presence here?”

“He was unconscious you little shit. They were worried he wasn’t going to wake up and seeing’s how I’m not exactly Dylan McNamara there was no way they were going to let me in on making a call.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did he wake up, you dumb fuck??”

The hand shot out again and this time Dylan caught it and roughly shoved Riley back against the wall. The pudgy man lost his balance and caught the back of his head against a hanging frame which fell to the floor, breaking the glass and casting it along the floor. Riley hissed in pain. He looked up and let reality sink in. Dylan was not a small defenseless child, but a grown man who was subconsciously in an offensive position. It made him see twelve different shades of red.

Seemingly in defeat, he slumped down and replied with a sneer, “Does it matter? I still wouldn‘t have told you about your precious baby brother anyway if you hadn‘t come.”

Dylan stepped back. BABY brother?? He was younger. Which means Darryl… Darryl had cheated on his mother. Dylan wanted to be angry, but since hearing Riley’s revelation he’d just kind of assumed. Darryl was enough of a scuz bucket to do that.

“Why? What are you going to get out of all this?”

“I have my reasons. Think about this though. Even you aren’t stupid enough to realize that if Darryl goes under the knife FOR HEART surgery he’s gonna need so massive transfusions. With as stingy as blood banks are and as freaked out as your father is of diseases, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone in having you here.”

“So you wanted me down here JUST IN CASE Darryl needed a blood transfusion? Is that your story??”

“You know he’s got a rare blood type Dylan! You know that because you have the same one! AB- is only found in 1 in 100 people. Darryl made it clear he wouldn’t take any of the others as a substitute. Plus, he knows what kind of background you have. It’d make rejection a lot less likely. Dylan, he could DIE without you.”

“Uh huh. Well, maybe he should. He’s been able to live without me for so long. He doesn’t get to pick and choose when he wants to call me 'son'. And in case it's slipped your short-sighted vision, Riley, I don't particularly give a shit about him anymore. Or you for that matter. I'm not his personal medical supply. I thought all I’d have to do was talk to some people, sign a document or two and I’d be getting the hell back out of dodge. I didn’t ask for any of this and you… you, Riley, OF ALL PEOPLE should know why I’m saying no. And if you don’t then your dumber than you look.” Turning his back and walking towards the door, he’d just decided to hell with it all.

Desperation caused Riley‘s voice to go high as he said, “His name is Ven! Ven McNamara. Ple- Just hear the story out first before you go, okay?”