WHO: Kaden, Tragos, open to Cin if you want? WHEN: Friday night WHERE: The Hole WHAT: A Thanksgiving party WARNINGS: You're all going to be surprised by this, but, references to domestic violence. Also, racism and genocide.
It was a truth universally acknowledged (in the universe in Kaden’s head, anyway) that drinking in a carpark (or a normal park, taking over children’s playgrounds late at night) with his friends was a world away from drinking at home with his brothers.
He was too young to drink, of course, but that didn’t stop him, or many of his other friends, and there were enough older siblings of the people in his group that acquiring alcohol – at least a couple of cheap forties if they wanted them – wasn’t normally a problem. They drank spirits, sometimes, at parties, but out by themselves it was usually just beer, and usually not heaps. Enough for a buzz, and honestly sometimes Kaden felt just as buzzy and free and uninhibited when all he’d had to drink was coke.
At home, his older brothers had people around for Thanksgiving drinks, with less of the thanking and more of the drinking. They threw it on Friday, since Thursday night all three of them had been out doing something nefarious and probably violent.
People had been pouring in since sunset, many of them already drunk when they arrived. Kaden had tried to make his exit early, sneaking out to spend the evening at the Warmoth’s instead, but Barak had stopped him, saying it was Thanksgiving and he was going to spend time with his goddamn family and not hanging out with Cin’s stupid baby siblings. Kaden bit back the words he wanted to speak in defense of the Warmoths, hoping that if he didn’t give Barak any reason to be annoyed at him, or notice him at all, he would get through tonight sort of okay.
He stuck close to Tragos, who was outside talking cars with two men who had at least a decade on him. Neither of the men seemed to notice that he wasn’t saying anything, though Tragos sometimes darted a look toward him, but he too was unwilling to focus any spotlight on Kaden. The War Dogs didn’t need to pay any attention to his younger brother, not that Ander and Dre were the worst of them by far. Still, Tragos wasn’t unhappy that all Kaden was doing at this party was sitting on the bonnet of his nearly-finished car, slowly nursing a beer, and listening.
At least, he wasn’t unhappy till Cy stuck his head out the door, and shouted Kaden’s name. He looked toward Kaden, Kaden did not look anywhere at all, skulled the last of his beer and obediently went inside.
Two years ago when he was thirteen, one of the girls in Kaden’s glass had done a speech about the truth behind Thanksgiving and the story had shocked Kaden so much that he’d bought it home to tell his brothers. Every Thanksgiving since, Cy wouldn’t let it go.
Kaden thought: if I don’t focus too hard on what’s happening, it won’t turn into a memory.
His brain could be clever, like that.
His brain cleverly stopped listening as Cy announced, with a cruel kind of glee, that his little brother wanted everyone to know that this holiday was based on a genocide. And his brothers stupid (terrifying) friends were pretty clear, with their reactions, that yes, they were celebrating the victory of their ancestors. Kaden could see them all cheering, but it was like watching them all on TV instead of being there in the room with them. And then Cy reached through the screen and pushed another drink into Kaden’s hand and made him toast, and because Barak was watching he drank it.
Kaden just… he hated it. He hated that drinking with his friends, which was harmless and fun, was more illegal than drinking at home with his legal guardian's permission, which was toxic and terrifying. This undermined the whole justice system, didn’t it? Just because something was legal didn’t mean it was fair, or good, or safe. More fuel for the belief that the people who ran this world didn’t give a damn about real right and wrong.
He’d hated this whole week, like every day he was turning into a worse and worse version of himself. His suspension on Monday. Going shooting with Barak on Tuesday, and again on Wednesday, except that day Barak had taken him to a proper shooting range. Thursday was at least a little better because Tragos dragged him out of bed early in the morning and took him driving, and Tragos was the one who argued back against Barak who was angry when they returned, “I had plans with him!” Barak snapped. “I’m schoolin’ him.”
“No one told me,” said Tragos, unbothered, solid, neither defensive or aggressive. “Or him. Aren’t you gonna be late?”
Barak shouldered past him on his way out the door. “Tomorrow,” he said, pointing at Kaden.
“I have school again tomorrow,” Kaden said, relieved by the miracle of having somewhere legitimate he had to be.
“No you don’t,” Barak said. “Your face is still messed up. I’ll tell them you’re sick.”
“I wanna go,” Kaden argued back, hating the idea of another day at home slightly more than he hated the idea of explaining his black eye. “I’ll tell them I walked into something.”
“You want me to tell them you broke your arm and need a fucking week off?” Barak snapped. “Stay at fucking home tomorrow.” He slammed the door behind him so hard Kaden felt the jolt of it up his spine.
The silence hung over them for a moment. “What’s he ‘schoolin’ you in?” Tragos asked.
“Nothing,” Kaden said, snapping too. “Aren’t you going to be late?”
Tragos shook his head. “I’ve a different job, tonight.”
“What the fuck ever,” Kaden grumped, and stormed off to his room, feeling the need to slam a door as well. He didn’t want to say anything about the shooting stuff… he didn’t want anyone else to know, even Tragos. Didn’t want anyone else to see him as something he wasn’t.
Kaden sat on his bed, with his back pressed against the corner of the room, arms around his knees. I’m not going to be mini-Barak he kept telling himself, putting the fears into words in his head to try and solidify them, turn them into something he could use to hold onto. I’m not I’m not I’m not. Just because I got suspended doesn’t mean I’m going to fail school. I’m not I’m not I’m not. Maybe what he was most afraid of was that Barak was going to take him to that gym, sign him up there, because if that happened Kaden didn’t think there would be a way to safely quit, not under Barak’s watchful eye. He could hear Barak in his head now, telling him the gym would be good for him, harden him up, make him more of a man. I’m paying for your membership, say ‘thank you’, shithead.
Kaden didn’t want any part of that life. He just wanted to focus on the path that would take him out of here, and turn him slowly into a vet.
Vets didn’t need to know how to shoot.
And vets didn’t stand numb and silent in the middle of a room while their brothers and their friends toasted genocide. Vets didn’t need to come to parties like this ever again.
He escaped back out into the chilling night air when he could. Tragos gave him a questioning raise of his brows, and Kaden replied with a blank I don’t know what you’re talking about look, and Tragos frowned but let it go.
Kaden finished the drink Cy had given him, forcing it down even though the amount of vodka in it made it taste like earwax or something. This whole night would probably be over a lot faster if he was drunk.