Chapter Text
The crumpled bills in Ash’s hand don’t amount to much. A pitiful haul of sixteen bucks and some loose change to show for tonight’s work.
He could get more, probably, but after that last John, he don’t think he wants to try.
Fucking bastard had tried putting his dick in him after all they'd agreed to was a blowie, and when Ash had dared to tell him no, the big, fat fuck had teed off on him. Knew what he’d been doin' too, sinking that meaty fist 'a his into Ash’s kidney first. Ash hadn’t been able to breathe for a second, and the guy had laid another one against his left eye, the world exploding into a burst of white before Ash had managed to scramble back off the bed and grab his gun from underneath his pile of clothes.
That had stopped the bastard in his tracks, his reachin' hands freezing in place as Ash had pushed himself back farther, until his back had pressed against the wall behind him.
Shoulda’ robbed the asshole blind, Ash thinks now, glaring at the prices marked underneath the cans 'a soda lining the shelves, instead of just telling him to get out.
Don’t know why he does stuff like that.
He huffs, shoving the bills back into the pocket of his hoodie, opening the glass door in front of him and pulling out a Coke. The cold of the glass bottle burns at the tips of his fingers and against his palm, and he tries to focus on it instead of the throbbin' ache spreading through his insides.
He feels sick. Like he’s gonna puke again. He hopes he don’t. He’d barely made it to the hotel room's dingy bathroom after the John had left before pukin' his guts out.
He don’t think he can go back there tonight, even though the room was already paid for. He don’t want to be there, with the stale air of the place filled with the stink of sex and blood and vomit.
He shakes his head, lettin' the glass door swing shut and focusing his gaze on the waxy-looking floor beneath his worn-out sneakers. The bright lights of the convenience store hurt his eyes. He knows he’s already got a hell of a shiner formin' from that punch he took earlier, and he can still taste blood on the back of his tongue from where the inside of his cheeks cut against his teeth.
He can’t afford an ice pack, so he grabs a bag of frozen peas from the next freezer over.
He grabs a pack of Twinkies and a roll of Necco’s on his way to the counter.
Papa Dino would be pissed if he knew Ash was eating this kind 'a junk. But fuck Papa Dino. He wasn’t here and Ash wanted them, so he was gonna have ‘em.
The clerk at the counter is a pimply-faced, gawky kid who looks like he’s maybe 18 or 19, and he eyes Ash suspiciously as he approaches.
Ash don’t guess he can blame him. He knows what he looks like.
He dumps his stuff on the countertop and stares up at the clerk.
“That it?” The clerk asks.
“Pack 'a smokes.” Ash tells him.
The clerk’s eyes narrow at him.
“How old are ya kid?”
Ash rolls his eyes.
“Eighteen.”
The clerk don’t look like he buys it. Ash can’t really blame him for that either. He’s 13, but he looks even younger, he knows.
“I got ID, if that’s what you wanna see.”
The clerk continues to eye him for a few, long seconds, before he shakes his head.
“Whatever. What kind you want?”
“Whatever kind’s cheapest. ‘Long as they ain’t menthols.”
The clerk turns around and grabs a pack from the rack behind him.
“Winston okay?”
“Yeah, that’s cool.”
The clerk starts ringing the stuff up and Ash glances at the clock on the wall behind the counter. It’s just past 2 AM.
He don’t know where he’s gonna stay tonight. He’s not gonna have enough cash left over after this to afford another room, and the shelters are no doubt already booked up.
He’ll just have to find somewhere…
“$2.84.”
Ash reaches into his hoodie pocket, grabbin' a handful of bills and laying them on the counter.
He sorts through the change. All’s he’s got is fives and tens and a one.
The clerk’s mouth twists as he catches a glimpse of Ash’s hands. Skinny fingers and blunt nails chopped off too short, caked under with dirt and blood. Courtesy of trying to fight off that John from earlier. His knuckles are scraped to shit too. Don’t quite remember how that happened. He knows it looks bad.
“You got change for a five?” Ash asks, ignorin' the way he can feel the clerk's eyes lingering on him. He hates when people stare at him. They do it all the fuckin’ time.
“Here man.” The clerk hands him a plastic bag full of his stuff. “Just take it. You don’t gotta pay.”
Ash looks up at him, a shock of sudden, irrational anger coursing through his blood.
“Don’t feel sorry for me.” He snaps. “I don’t need your charity.”
“Hey man, I was just tryin’ to help you out.”
“Well I don’t need your fuckin’ help! J-just give me change for a five like I asked.”
“Sheesh man, alright. Calm down.”
Heat burns at Ash’s cheeks, and he shoves the feelin' away. He shouldn’t of snapped at the guy like that, but he feels too fuckin’ rotten to care right now. He just wants his junk so he can go and find somewhere to stay for the night.
The clerk sorts out his change and Ash takes it, crumpling it up in his fist and grabbin' the plastic bag, mumblin' out a thanks before turnin' and leaving.
He needed to get out of the place, the lights overhead starting to swirl and throb behind his eyes, the world tilting dangerously under his feet.
The night air is cool, heavy with humidity and the thick taste of salt from the water. It’s enough to ground Ash for a moment, clearin' his jumbled thoughts.
He needed to find somewhere isolated enough that he wouldn’t get harassed by no pervs, but warm enough to fight off the chill in the air. He’s already shakin', which ain't a good thing.
He stands on the curb outside the convenience store a moment, rummaging around inside the plastic bag and grabbin' the bag of frozen peas. He holds it to his throbbin' eye, teeth gritting against the sharp sting of it, before he steps off the curb and begins wandering aimlessly down the street.
He makes it a couple blocks before the surge of nausea puts him on his knees and he’s throwing up all over the pavement.
The pain through his insides steals the breath from his lungs, his vision goin' white with it as he curls forward, his body convulsing violently as he pukes up what little was in his stomach. He hasn’t eaten nothin' since yesterday morning, so there isn’t much. Mostly just a white, frothy liquid which leaves a sickening taste at the back of his throat, making him gag.
It lasts maybe a minute, but it feels like forever, and by the time it’s over, he’s gaspin' for breath. A thick rope of saliva hangs off his lower lip, refusing to break, and Ash reaches up a shaking hand, grabbing at it with clumsy fingers and tearing it free.
He wipes his hand on his pants. It’s disgusting, but he feels too shitty to care. Fuck… he hopes he’s not bleeding inside.
He sits there a few minutes more, trying to calm his breathing, the ringin' in his ears loud and distractin'. He tries to make it to his feet again. His legs are useless beneath him though, knees collapsing back to the pavement.
A few more minutes maybe…
His bag of stuff is scattered along the blacktop, pack 'a Twinkies sitting pitifully in the gutter, Neco’s a little ways more into the road. His bottle of Coke somehow didn’t break, rolled away and comin' to a stop in the middle of the street. Ash can’t see where his bag of peas went. Don’t matter. It was starting to melt anyway.
Swallowing down the taste of sick in his mouth, he tries again for his feet, and manages to fight off the wave of dizziness this time, squeezin' his eyes against it.
He takes a moment more to make certain he won’t go down again before, with unsteady steps, he moves into the street, bending cautiously to start gathering his things.
Somehow he feels worse than when he left the store. He don’t think he’ll make it far tonight. Whatever overpass he can find will have to do for shelter then.
He finds one not too much later, and a powerful relief takes hold of him as he stumbles into shadows of it and doesn’t see anyone else squatting here. Homeless people were usually harmless, but you never really knew either. He’d woken up plenty of times with some freak show on top of him, their hand shoved down the front of his pants.
It was places like these where Ash spent most nights when he’d first run away from Cape Cod and ended up on the streets of this city.
It was while he was sleeping under an overpass one night that Marvin found him…
He shoves that memory away, pressin' his hand against the cool concrete as he moves farther in. When he feels satisfied he’s suitably hidden from anyone on the street, he allows himself to slump down the curved wall until he’s sitting on the damp soil and grass beneath.
Dino’s expecting him at the compound tomorrow.
If he don’t show, he’ll send Marvin after him.
He don’t want to think about Marvin. He don’t want to think about Dino.
He tries to distract himself by fumblin' with his pack of Twinkies.
His hands shake hard as he struggles with the plastic wrapping.
In the dim light bleeding into the underpass from the overhead street lamps, Ash can make out the dried and crusting blood covering his knuckles, and the filth caked onto his palms and fingers, underneath his nails.
He finally manages to tear the wrapping and he pulls one of the spongy cakes free, his fingers sinking into the golden shell, white cream squeezing out and smearin' all over 'em.
Dino would tell him he’s a disgusting animal, eating with his filthy hands like this. Dino would slap him hard across the mouth, would tell him he’s not fit for company. He would say the sight 'a Ash made him sick, before ordering him to go clean up and make himself presentable. Dino would deny him food for days, if he knew Ash had eaten anything sweet like this… No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner. No snacks. He would have men in the kitchen to make sure Ash couldn’t sneak nothin'…
Ash brings the Twinkie to his lips and takes a big bite, not caring how the cream smears all over his mouth and cheeks. Dino ain't here, so it don’t matter what the bastard would say.
He pops the top off his Coke and downs half the bottle. It burns down his throat. His eyes sting.
Dino wasn’t here, so it don’t matter… it don’t…
He has enough left to take a taxi to Jersey in the morning… He’s gotta find a taxi early so Marvin don’t come…
Dino’s gonna be mad when he sees what a mess Ash is. When he sees his black eye and the bruises formin' along his torso…
Ash’s eyes sting and burn and he blinks hard against it.
He thinks of Griff.
The stingin’s worse, and then he’s cryin'.
Stupid. He’s such a stupid baby.
He crams the rest 'a the Twinkie into his mouth, chewing and wiping at his eyes and nose.
He wishes he didn’t have to go see Dino tomorrow. He wishes he didn’t. But if he doesn’t, Marvin’s gonna come and… and Marvin’ll rape him too. He’ll rape him and just hand him over to Dino anyhow, and Dino’s gonna rape him after, so it don’t… it don’t change nothin', anyway, if he doesn’t go. It’ll just make it worse.
He remembers sitting in the grass in front of his and Griff’s house in Cape Cod, Griff sittin' next to him. Remembers Griff pointing out the constellations and tellin' him about them. Remembers the feel of Griff carrying him in his strong arms, back to the house, because Ash had fallen asleep out there…
He don’t know what happened to Griff. Dead, he guesses. Probably dead in the war. One of those nameless soldiers that never made it home…
Ash’s stomach roils and churns, and he thinks for a second he’s gonna puke again. He gags a little, a thin stream of bile all that comes out.
He can’t eat no more.
The air’s gone fat with water, chillier, and it’s gonna rain, Ash thinks. He feels cold. He always feels cold.
He thinks about the pack 'a smokes. Then realizes he didn’t get no matches.
He guesses he should try to sleep, but if he falls asleep, the mornin'll come quicker, and then Dino.
He wraps his arms around himself, the smell of rain heavy, a loud whistle blowin' through the tunnel as the wind picks suddenly up.
A few minutes later, it starts to drizzle, and Ash presses himself against the concrete, arms tight around his middle.
He cries a little more.
He doesn’t want to see Dino in the morning…