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Whumptober 2024
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Published:
2024-10-09
Words:
1,539
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
19
Kudos:
146
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28
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730

Phosphors

Summary:

He carries him in, just like when he was a baby, but now Matty’s nine years old and on pain pills to keep him from feeling the agony that’d kept them both awake at first. He’s silent where he lay against Jack’s shoulder, clinging to his neck, his little legs wrapped around Jack’s waist. One arm is wrapped up in a cast from landing so hard on the pavement that it fractured, and one of his toes is splinted to another. Jesus. Jack's baby with a cast and a splint.

Not to mention the blindness.

Jack brings Matty home.

Notes:

this was the only 2024 whumptober prompt i ended up filling, so hopefully you all enjoy it! i love me some jack and matty.

cw: non-explicit mention of injuries, non-explicit mention of controlled substances (painkiller), jack's eternal self-loathing.

if there's anything i missed, please let me know in the comments!

Day 08: Sleep Deprivation | isolation chamber | forced to stay awake | "leave the lights on"

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The first time Jack brought his baby home from the hospital, he was crying.

Both of them, technically, but mostly Matty. Matty was born fighting—all red-faced and screaming, like he was in so much pain and blamed the world for it. He screamed and screamed his little head off until Jack got a hold of him, swaddled up in his little blue hospital blankie.

Matty’s mama hadn’t been able to hold him. Hadn’t wanted to, even as he cried for her. But Grace wasn’t ever anything but stubborn, so when she refused to do anything but stare at little Matty with wide, blank eyes, Jack grabbed their son out of the nurse’s arms and looked at him.

He was real small, Matty. Five weeks premature. Born angrier than sin; a Murdock boy, through and through.

But when Jack held him for that first time, he quieted right down.

Now, coming home from the hospital with his baby for the second time, Jack’s the only one crying. Just a little.

He carries him in, just like when he was a baby, but now Matty’s nine years old and on pain pills to keep him from feeling the agony that’d kept them both awake at first. He’s silent where he lay against Jack’s shoulder, clinging to his neck, his little legs wrapped around Jack’s waist. One arm is wrapped up in a cast from landing so hard on the pavement that it fractured, and one of his toes is splinted to another. Jesus. Jack's baby with a cast and a splint.

Not to mention the blindness.

Their apartment is the same as when Jack left it three weeks ago: the dusty countertops, the Rent Past Due notices, the textbook open on the table. Not Jack’s textbook, Jesus, he barely knows left from right most days. Matty, though, blew through those things like lightning. His teachers never told him to read them, but Matty still went every other day to the library after school in order to find some new interest to pursue. He’s been on and on about law these past few months, about Thurgood Marshall and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and Jack will never get tired of hearing his rambled explanations even though the words go right over Jack’s head. Ain’t even past the fourth grade and readin’ college-age stuff like it’s nothing. Jesus, Jack’s kid is smart.

Matty shifts against his shoulder. “Daddy?” he rasps. His voice is quiet enough that Jack has to pause to hear it lest his footsteps be too loud. “Are we… are we almost there?”

“Yeah, baby, we just got home.” Jack keeps his voice low, but he still feels Matty flinch against him, his hands—wrapped in white gauze to ensure cleanliness while they healed from the chemical burns—darting toward his ears like the noise physically hurts him.

“Thought… stairs?”

Jack blinks back tears. Even exhausted as hell—Jack’s kid is still so goddamn smart. Waiting for stairs so he’d know when they got home, who’d think of that? “Yeah, we took the stairs. You might’a fallen asleep.”

No response, for a moment, and Jack resumes his careful trek through the kitchen, stepping over the books and shit all over the floor. Jack’s gonna have to tidy up so Matty can start to memorize the space when he’s better, God forbid he trip and bust his skull open.

Then: “I’m tired, Daddy.” Nothing more than a vibration against Jack’s shirt, a soft exhale against his collarbone.

Jack swallows. Walks a little faster, still tryin’ his best to be steady for Matty. Doesn’t cry. “I know, baby. Let’s get you into bed.”

They finally duck into Matty’s bedroom, and Jack, without thinking, flicks the light on. It’s only 10 in the morning, but Matty’s window lay snug against another apartment’s brick wall, and Matty hates the dark. He’s brave about it, but Jack knows his kid. Jack had always wanted to get him those stick-on stars for the ceiling, the ones that glow in the dark, ‘cause Matty refuses to use a nightlight on principle. They can’t afford either option, of course, but Jack has always thought—

Eventually.

But there won’t be any more chances. Matty’s got no use for glow-in-the-dark, no more.

Jack’s only been home a handful of times since the accident, all to grab clothes or something of Matty’s, but it hadn’t occurred to him to get Matty’s room ready at all. Matty’s bed is still unmade from the last time he slept in it, the pillows wrinkled and strewn haphazardly. Jack ain’t ever been able to give Matty toys like he deserves, and besides that Matty’s decently organized for a nine-year-old, so at least there ain’t much on the floor.

Still, though. The bed. Jack bites his lip and gently rubs Matty’s shoulder. “Matty, sweetheart, we’re, uh, in your room. I gotta fix the bed, though, so I need to set you down for a moment, okay?”

Matty inhales sharply after a moment, and Jack can hear him swallow his obvious anxiety as he nods. Jack finds himself nodding in return before he catches himself and clarifies verbally, “Okay, kid. I’m gonna set you down now.”

He sets Matty down by the foot of the bed, where the sheets are still mostly on top of the mattress. When Jack tries to pull away after making sure Matty’s in place, though, the kid clings to him a moment longer, like he’s afraid to let go.

Jack’s heart breaks. He stays there for a moment longer before gently prying Matty away.

The effect is immediate. Matty draws his breath in sharply, and if that isn’t a knife to the gut, the way Matty immediately lurches forward to tumble after him is. “Woah, woah,” Jack says, crouching down to catch him by the shoulders, but Matty has his mama’s stubbornness and keeps on falling forward ‘til he’s buried his face back into Jack’s neck, and oh, those are tears. Matty’s weeping weakly into Jack’s shirt. He doesn't even seem to notice how he's standing on his broken toe, he's so upset.

“Too much,” he’s whispering between sniffles, “hurts. Daddy?”

“I’m here, baby.”

But Matty doesn’t say anything else, just keeps cryin’ softly. This time, Jack can’t help the couple of disobedient tears that escape. Lord, forgive him. He ain’t strong enough for this. He can take a punch any day, take any sort of punishment, but seeing his baby cry is too much.

For a brief, awful moment, Jack is glad that Matty can’t see him cry. Won’t suffer the indignity of his useless dad bawlin’ as if he’s the one who lost his sight. Then the moment passes, and Jack feels even more shit than he already does.

He wipes his tears as discreetly as possible. He can lose his shit later, preferably at Fogwell’s in front of a punching bag. Maybe he’ll tape his own face to it, for good measure.

The bedsheets as they are will have to do. Jack lifts Matty up again, feeling his knees crack more than hearing them, and sits them both down near the head of the bed. Matty refuses to let go—just hangin’ there, gauze taped over his eyes. Doc didn’t want any risk of infection, he said, now that they were leaving the safety of the hospital. Jack was allowed to remove the gauze only for Matty’s eye drops, these next few weeks.

Jack lay down on his side, shifting Matty’s leg and broken arm so that they don’t get crushed by his weight. Matty don’t seem to care, so long as he can keep touching Jack somewhere. His forehead is warm against Jack’s arm.

Jack strokes a hand through Matty’s hair, and Matty leans into the touch. At least Matty was already in his jammies—Jack can’t imagine getting him to change clothes right now.

They stay like that for a few minutes until eventually Matty’s breathing evens out. He ain’t ever go to sleep this easy as a baby—only goes to sleep this easy now ‘cause he’s on a shit ton of drugs. Jack already loathes the thought of how hard it’ll be when they ease off them.

But for now, Jack’s baby is safe and asleep. That’s all that matters.

Slowly, careful not to wake Matty up, Jack eases up from the bed. Matty is out cold, but he still whimpers a little at the loss of warmth.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Jack whispers. He kisses Matty’s hairline before fully sitting up. “I’m so sorry.”

He has too much work to do. Jesus. How the hell is he gonna pay the medical bills? How the hell is he gonna make the apartment accessible? As much as he’d like to, he can’t just pass out. Murdocks don’t stop for nothing, not ever. Get back to work, Jack.

Jack hesitates by the door, though. Turns and watches Matty’s chest rise and fall. Watches his face scrunch up in pain and then relax in the next moment.

Jack’s baby. The best thing that ever happened to him.

Matty has no reason to care, no way to know, but Jack leaves the overhead light on for him anyway. Glow-in-the-dark stars be damned.

Notes:

if you enjoyed, i would love a kudos and/or a comment! thank you for reading!!