Backstory Fic: "Formative"
Was originally intended to be from Enoch's POV, framed as one of the few memories of his childhood that hadn't been forgotten. And then it wound up in Jared's POV, negating the significance of it being a memory. Oops!
Also intended as a focus on the start of his catchphrase, wound up with a lot more than that, which I should have seen coming.
I apologize in advance for any failure of facts.
It was the last day he'd mourn. Even if Beraka's passing still weighed heavy on his heart, there was work to be done, a house to maintain, a child to feed. Jared looked down at the child in question, who was clinging to his arm with a strange-seeming combination of frailty and strength. It was the sort of tenacity expected of youth; the illness that had claimed Beraka hadn't managed to kill Enoch, and the boy wasn't daunted by his wasted muscles.
Enoch looked up to meet his father's gaze, and the hood of his too-big cloak fell back. Jared smiled and tousled the exposed blond hair, getting a smile in return.
"Grow it long so you won't burn your neck," he said.
"Yes, Father."
Enoch paused for a long time, seeming to study his eyes.
"You're not ready yet, are you?" he said at last, tears starting to fill his eyes. Enoch hugged onto his arm tighter, burying his face against the powerful muscle to cry. "I'm not, either..."
"No problem," Jared said. "Everything's fine."
Enoch looked up again, sniffling and wiping his eyes. "You always say that. It's not fine. Mother's never coming back."
"She's not. But you know, Enoch, life is still moving all around us. We're not gone, and we need to keep moving."
"But it's not fine..." Enoch protested stubbornly, looking at the grave site. One hand slipped from his father's arm.
"I know. It's like a prayer just for us. No need to bother God with little things like this."
"A prayer?"
"Not really a prayer, is it? A wish, then. That it'll come true. Or a goal. Make it true." He ruffled Enoch's hair again. This time, the kid let himself be moved like a rag doll, seeming lost in thought as he mulled over the meaning of Jared's words. "Even if it feels like your spirit's made of stone, like you can't go on, tell yourself it's all right and keep moving. Because the people who are still here will need you."
"They'll need me," Enoch repeated softly.
"That's right. And you need to get your strength back, too. A strong body lives long."
Enoch gave his skinny arms a slow glance over, as if just now realizing what the disease had done to his body. And then he looked up at Jared again, traces of tears drying in his eyes.
"No problem. Everything's fine," he echoed. His voice cracked on the unfamiliar sentiment. Jared smiled and bent down to kiss his son's forehead before scooping him up in his arms to carry him home. There was a lot of work to be done.
Also intended as a focus on the start of his catchphrase, wound up with a lot more than that, which I should have seen coming.
I apologize in advance for any failure of facts.
It was the last day he'd mourn. Even if Beraka's passing still weighed heavy on his heart, there was work to be done, a house to maintain, a child to feed. Jared looked down at the child in question, who was clinging to his arm with a strange-seeming combination of frailty and strength. It was the sort of tenacity expected of youth; the illness that had claimed Beraka hadn't managed to kill Enoch, and the boy wasn't daunted by his wasted muscles.
Enoch looked up to meet his father's gaze, and the hood of his too-big cloak fell back. Jared smiled and tousled the exposed blond hair, getting a smile in return.
"Grow it long so you won't burn your neck," he said.
"Yes, Father."
Enoch paused for a long time, seeming to study his eyes.
"You're not ready yet, are you?" he said at last, tears starting to fill his eyes. Enoch hugged onto his arm tighter, burying his face against the powerful muscle to cry. "I'm not, either..."
"No problem," Jared said. "Everything's fine."
Enoch looked up again, sniffling and wiping his eyes. "You always say that. It's not fine. Mother's never coming back."
"She's not. But you know, Enoch, life is still moving all around us. We're not gone, and we need to keep moving."
"But it's not fine..." Enoch protested stubbornly, looking at the grave site. One hand slipped from his father's arm.
"I know. It's like a prayer just for us. No need to bother God with little things like this."
"A prayer?"
"Not really a prayer, is it? A wish, then. That it'll come true. Or a goal. Make it true." He ruffled Enoch's hair again. This time, the kid let himself be moved like a rag doll, seeming lost in thought as he mulled over the meaning of Jared's words. "Even if it feels like your spirit's made of stone, like you can't go on, tell yourself it's all right and keep moving. Because the people who are still here will need you."
"They'll need me," Enoch repeated softly.
"That's right. And you need to get your strength back, too. A strong body lives long."
Enoch gave his skinny arms a slow glance over, as if just now realizing what the disease had done to his body. And then he looked up at Jared again, traces of tears drying in his eyes.
"No problem. Everything's fine," he echoed. His voice cracked on the unfamiliar sentiment. Jared smiled and bent down to kiss his son's forehead before scooping him up in his arms to carry him home. There was a lot of work to be done.