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The cold light of morning doesn't do them any favors, not that much light can make it through Al's dirty windows; it's not like she gives a shit how well lit this place is after all. They're sitting at her table, eating cereal. Trix for Wade and raisin bran for “Nate” (he can't be Daddy anymore) because “Nate” is not a fan of refined sugar which is like saying you're not a fan of air. But for once he feels too anxious to tease him. And that's familiar too. Humiliation, tension, and fear hanging heavy in the air like cloying perfume was a staple of the Wilson household growing up. At least this time he doesn't have to find a way to sit that isn't burning agony.“Nate” heaves one of his sighs before breaking the silence, and even though it's a soft sound it still makes Wade tense up. This is the lead up to the yelling, this is the lead up to the hitting, the unspeakable act behind a locked door. And when Nate finally gets around to letting the words come out Wade doesn't know what to do with them.“I'm not mad at you.”And okay, that's not what he was expecting. He wants to say of course you're not mad at me I rocked your world last night. But he doesn't say that. Doesn't “filter his pain through the prism of humor” or whatever it was he'd said.And while it may not have eased the tension any, Wade can't help but feel just a little bit better because yeah, “Nate” actually had every right to be mad at him, every right to be disgusted by him, every right to never want to see him again in his life. But here he is, eating old people cereal with him in Al's apartment. Gotta get that dose of fiber in him, he supposes.“Cool.” And ain't that just the wackiest thing. Him. Of all people. With nothing else to say.Wade sits slouched in the uncomfortable chair, head turned down and focused on breakfast. He chases the brightly colored lumps around his bowl with the spoon, watches the milk swirl and churn in its wake. He'd like to say he's contemplating how his life is like this mush, maybe something about how each corn syrup flavored ball dissolving in the now pinkish milk is a metaphor or a fucking simile or some shit. But he's not thinking that. It's just cereal. Cereal he's gonna toss in a moment because he's not hungry.“Should we talk about this?” Nate asks. And the way he says it is calm and patient and the fact that he's handling this whole thing so fucking well is kinda pissing him off a little bit. How can he be so calm and collected after all this bullshit?Wade wants to spout anger, vitriol, bile and Trix flavor vomit all over the table in response. Wants to say should we talk about your dead daughter and dead wife? Should we talk about how you abandoned them for me? About how I just wanted to die and you brought me back and made me think about that pit full of horrors I kept closed off in the back of my mind? Wade wants to scream and throw shit and break stuff and have Nate punch him so hard he goes flying across the room because at least that's familiar. There's a file slot in his brain for that. None of this tension heavy mock therapy bullshit he doesn't wanna fucking deal with.He doesn't do any of that though. He wants to, sure, but he has enough self control left to not be that much of an asshole. But just barely. He knows he'll regret it if he does and for once in his life that's enough to stop him from fucking something up, even if it's not something he's even sure he should have or deserves. But he wants it. Wants it in the way that tiny corner walled off inside him wanted a normal family; wanted Mommy to come back and Daddy to say sorry and maybe they could all just pretend like this chapter never happened. Because he was so tired. So fucking tired even as a kid. That's what they don't talk about on Law and Order. How tiring trying to fight back is. How yeah he always wished Daddy was dead but that will come with a host of new problems and sometimes change is the scariest thing of all.Sure, Wade hates his old Daddy. So wouldn't it be nice if a shiny new one came along to play catch with in the back yard? A daddy who called him champ and cared if his homework was done (at least fucked him soft and slow liked he loved him because when you're that far down you're willing to settle). So yeah, he's a little mad Nate doesn't wanna play Daddy for him. Mad about how stupidly easy Nate comes in in his darkest hour and fits so perfectly into every hole he has (the ones carved out of his soul by years of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse and his asshole because Nate fucks like a champ).And it's Nate who breaks the silence, shatters it like sugar glass in a bad movie even though his voice is Soft and Understanding. “Whatever happened to you isn't your fault.” And Wade thinks it's cute that he doesn't say it. Thinks it's absolutely adorable how he's pretending Wade hadn't made it disgustingly obvious what had happened to him.“A lot of things have happened to me, buttercup. You're gonna have to be a little more specific.” And yeah, Wade's the one playing coy now but if Nate wants to do this then Wade's gonna try to make him say it. He's gonna watch in sadistic glee as he tries to flit around the subject as widely and delicately as possible. Because that's what people do when they find out. What they do after is look at you with pity so obvious on their face it might as well be a dick drawn on with sharpie. After that they never speak to you again. Because saying it makes it real to them. Saying it means that there are horrors in the world that nobody ever bothered to fix.That had been nice about Vanessa. She had smiled and said yeah, same. There wasn't any surprise or anger at weird triggers and there weren't any half ass attempts to fix him. Just a calm understanding. And it was nice to be with someone who Got It. Who didn't judge him or pity him or treat him like he was a child made of glass. Because that's what people think abuse victims are.He sees that idealization on TV all the time. Pretty waif girls who are as thin as reeds with long string hair and shadowed eyes. Lilting and fading like shaded blossoms. Porcelain personalities that everyone wants to protect. And aren’t they pretty aren't they perfect isn't it just a shame? They never show up somewhere with dirty, tangled hair and ragged clothes. No bruises to swell their perfect cheeks, no noses broken crooked over again and again through the years. Voices shy and soft and never loud or screaming. They're quiet and flawless and oh so easily fixed. Take away the cause and all those troublesome symptoms just fade away.God wouldn't it be nice if it was that easy? If Olivia Benson could have placed him a with a distant but kind relative after the accidental reveal of his dirty secret? But that's not what happens. You're just the weird kid at school, the twitchy one who acts out. Then you grow up and you're the same, just better at hiding it. No miraculous moment when you're better or it gets easier or it's behind you. Just the bitter knowledge that there's a lot wrong with you spiraling endlessly into self loathing.And god remember all the times you've been suicidal? All the fantasies about jumping shooting pills knives ropes? Now you can (and have) tried them all. It's fun in a way that invokes terror and nausea and self loathing and the itching under his skin that has nothing to do with cancer. It's like science. He liked jumping the most. That heart pounding thrill of speed before you hit the ground with a wet splat.Because that's the easier solution. Because Wade can't be fixed. He's too broken. It doesn't matter how much Nate wants to play Ground Hog's Day with him, no random acts of kindness and awkward breakfasts are gonna change that. But it's cute to watch him try.