DEH Oneshots/drabbles/shitposts

Go With You (Murphys)

Cynthia sat with her fingers crossed, her head aching with the nervous tears streaming down her face. Her eyes traveled to where Connor sat, the silence so thick, it became deafening. Zoe stared at her brother with the same distraught expression. Larry was the only one at the table, who wasn't going to break down if he opened his mouth.

It'd been a normal day, until Cynthia's fourteen year old son got sent home from his third day of freshman year with a broken wrist, a concussion, and a heavy burden that he had carried with him since they began to bully the boy in seventh grade.

But when Cynthia had to pick up Connor from the school, and take him to the hospital to mend his wrist with a cast, he refused to take off the long sleeved, maroon shirt that was draped over his army green shirt beneath it. He almost worsened the fracture, fighting his mother, begging her to take him home.

She remembered the terrified look on his face as he took off his jacket, the swelling accentuating the thin lines that cluttered his forearms. He bit his lip, looking at his terrified mother with wide, glossy eyes.

It was that night at dinner that he told his family what had actually happened.

And Cynthia's world came crashing down on her.

Zoe blamed herself, watching her older brother suffer. It had been the first time since elementary school that the two had been separated. She wished she could be there with him, for him, but Connor felt that it was okay to hurt himself when she couldn't be. How useless could she be? She trusted him with her whole heart, and he barely trusted her to tell him how he actually felt.

And Connor, well, Connor was starting to regret what he'd done. The hospital bill was extensive, and the emotional taxation he was forcing upon his family was forcing him to put a couple thousand bucks for collateral. He stared at his yellow cast. It was boring, and annoying, and yet his eyes couldn't seem to find anything more entertaining.

"You're telling me you fell down the stairs?" Larry Murphy, the only stoic one left at the table, finally spoke up.

"No," Connor whispered, his hair seeming to fall further into his face as he tried to hide from his father.

"Larry, please don't make him say it again," Cynthia begged, looking over to Connor.

"Say What again?" Larry hissed, watching Cynthia tense when she glanced at her son. "That he was being a reckless idiot?"

"He wasn't being an idiot."

"Yeah I was," Connor interjected his eyes snapping up to meet his father's stern, frustrated ones. "I was being a reckless, stupid idiot and I didn't think about any of you when I..." Connor trailed off. "When I did that, okay?"

"Connor you didn't think at all," Larry shot back, his eyes shooting daggers at the boy, who was beginning to tear up as well.

"Larry, Stop it!" Cynthia stood up, her heart shattering at the sight in front of her.

An angry father, a daughter who didn't know what to do, and a son who was terrified out of his mind.

No mother wants to see that. "Connor," she tried. "Connor, Zoe, go to your rooms, please. I have to talk with your father." She sat back down, watching both of her children sprint up the stairs into their respective bedrooms, both seeming to be terrified out of their minds.

"Cynthia, he threw himself down the stairs," Larry started, causing the woman to put her hand up and swallow back the lump in her throat.

"We shouldn't punish him for that," she argued, slowly bringing herself to meet his eyes. "He was hurting. He was hurting and we didn't notice until now."

"He's just looking for attention,"

Attention

Cynthia felt her nails dig into her palms when that came out of her husband's mouth. "Excuse me?" She growled, her once vulnerable voice completely reassured with anger. It was as if someone flipped a light switch, and Cynthia Murphy turned to an overprotective mama bear.

"I mean, doesn't it make sense? He doesn't have many friends."

"You'd break your arm for attention?" She seethed, her eyes seeming to cloud with a dull anger. "He was crying out for help and that's all you have to say? He just wants attention?"

"If he wanted help he wouldn't fucking hurt himself, Cynthia!"

That's when she stood, her eyes glossy with angry, betrayed tears. She didn't say anything, but she sprinted up the stairs, wiping her eyes.

She came to Connor's door.

"Sweetie? Are you still awake?" She tried, knocking at his door, only to be cut off with the sound of a sob.

Cynthia opened the door, her eyes trailing across the room to see her son slumped in the corner, a large t-shirt covering his slender frame. "He hates me, doesn't he?" Connor squeaked, his eyes trained on a dent in their wooden floor. He swallowed hard. "I'm a terrible son... I've caused so much. I've hurt you all in so many ways... Mom," he took a breath. "I messed up. What am I supposed to do?"

She shook her head, finding herself kneeling next to her son. Her face contorted into one of concern and love for her son. No haste, no disappointment, no hate. "You are so much more than what you give yourself credit for, Connor." She pulled him into a hug, running her hands up and down his arm. She couldn't stand seeing him like this. It hurt her to even think like that. "You're a great son. You have phenomenal grades. You're an artist, you're a powerful writer, you're a beautiful person, inside and out. I want you to know that I can't let you talk about yourself that way, because I can't let you say things that simply aren't true."

"How do I know you're not saying things that aren't true?"

"Do you trust me not to lie to you?" She sighed, pulling him further into her lap.

"Yeah, Mom. I do."

She smiled, finally letting go of some of the initial regret in her stomach. She squeezed his hand, looking down at him. "Good. Then you have nothing to worry about."