Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shane knew he was an asshole. It was an indisputable fact of his life, like that the sky was grey, and money was always tight, and beer was cheapest right before closing time. See, when you get told something enough times, you can’t help but start believing it. 

“My friends were right, you’re an asshole,” his Tinder date Dana or Dina or Donna had told him, right before throwing her diet soda in his face and storming out of the restaurant. Shane had sat there for a solid minute, feeling the cloying sugary drink dry and stick uncomfortably to his sweaty skin, before signalling for the bill. All he’d done was ask if she wanted to split the check. He didn’t get his paycheck until next week. But yeah, he’s the problem. 

“Dude, why are you such an asshole?” his coworker had asked, after Shane turned down going out for post-work drinks for the hundredth time. You’d think that after the ninety-ninth time, Sam would stop asking. But sure, Shane’s the bad guy here. 

“Shane, you’re going to end up out on your ass.” Aunt Marnie had scolded him, when he came home drunk for the third night in a row. Or was it the third week in a row? Third month? Whatever. He was a grown ass man, as Marnie liked to remind him. He could do what he wanted. And besides, he knew Marnie would never really throw him out. 

“Miss Penny said you need to apologize to Sam for being an asshole yesterday!” Jas told him at dinner. Shane had promptly spit out his beer. When questioned further, Jas simply pushed around the disproportionate amount of brussel sprouts left on her plate, before asking for dessert. When Shane said no, she called him an ass again. 

“You don’t gotta be such an ass, kid.” Pam had slurred at him from her side of the bar, which Shane promptly ignored. He didn’t take advice from drunks, and he certainly didn’t take advice from hypocrites. And Pam, with a daughter that didn’t talk to her and a pile of empty beer cans that rivalled Shane’s, was both. 

“Why are you always such an arsehole?” Elliot had asked him, when Shane had barged into his beach shack one night he was too drunk to make it back to the ranch. Too drunk for Jas to see him like this. Shane hadn’t answered him, just collapsed on the wooden floor, feeling a loose nail dig its way into his back. Elliot didn’t say anything the next morning; just silently handed him a coffee (no milk, no sugar). Shane hated sugary drinks. Hated most sweet things. His last birthday cake he barely even touched; just picked at the frosting until Jas asked if she could finish his slice.

Jas’ favourite cake flavour was double chocolate. Camille used to make it from scratch, and everyone would always ask for the recipe. Camille would just smile and say it was a family secret. Camille had promised to show Jas how to bake when she was older. 

“I’m older now!” Jas had said on her sixth birthday. Camille just laughed, and let Jas lick the spoon in exchange for waiting another year. 

Camille always insisted Shane and Ted stay out of the kitchen when she baked. Shane because he was a terrible cook and could burn water; and Ted because he would always try to sneak in extra ingredients and change the recipe.

“Come on love, what’s life without a little improvisation?” He winked, and Camille whacked his arm. 

“I hate improv.”

“Hey, I did improv in college!” Ted protested. 

Shane snorted.

“And thank god you met Cam after you graduated.” 

“Don’try act like you didn’t come to every one of my shows, Shane.” Ted shot back. Shane put his hands up in surrender.

“Against my will. You and Elliot dragged me there.”

“Aw, so supportive, Shane!” Camille grinned at him. Shane threw a chocolate chip at her.

“Hey! That’s for my cake!” Jas shouted, her mouth covered in melted chocolate pieces. 

“Oh yah? And what’s that on your face, little lady?” Ted reached out and tickled her. Jas broke into peals of laughter, running out of the room with Ted chasing after her. 

“Your husband’s demented.” Shane shook his head at Camille, who had just finished putting the cake in the oven. 

“He was your husband first.” Camille replied.

Shane grinned.

“Yeah, but he’s happier with you.” 

At this Camille smiled. 

Shane had tried making a double chocolate cake for Jas’ 7th birthday. Her first birthday with him. Somehow, it ended up burnt on the bottom and raw in the middle. 

Jas had eaten it quietly, trying not to make a face. Marnie hadn’t said anything, just cleared the plates and told Jas to brush her teeth. 

Once Jas went to bed, Shane went out onto the porch to drink. A few minutes later, Marnie poked her head out of the screen door, saw him sitting on the deck, and sighed.

“Jas is asleep. Sugar crash.” She informed him. At this, Shane scoffed. 

“She hated it.” 

Marnie frowned. “She knows you tried your best, Shane.” 

Shane scowled into his beer.

“Then why does it still feel like I’m failing her?” He asked. Marnie didn’t answer. In the distance, Shane could swear he heard the ocean. 

“I put the leftovers in the fridge.” Marnie said finally. Shane nodded. 

“Thanks, Aunt M. I’ll do the dishes when I come in.” 

Marnie looked at him, eyes understanding and damning all at once. 

“You are doing your best, Shane.” This time, Shane didn’t answer. 

Marnie went back inside, leaving the porch light on. Shane watched as a lightning bug flew towards the flickering bulb, hitting the glass over and over.

“You’re an asshole!” Camille had said, the night before she died. The night she and Ted had told Shane that they were moving. Moving away to a different city. To the goddamn suburbs, of all places. A better place to raise their daughter. 

When Shane had mocked them, asking if the new life came with a white picket fence too, Camille had lost it on him. She’d been losing it a lot lately. Ted blamed it on the stress of her new job. Shane couldn't help but wonder if it was the stress of him. 

Ted had tried to calm her down, but Camille had stormed out anyway. 

“She’ll cool off soon.” Ted had assured him, smile easy and weary and not quite meeting his eyes, “You know how Cam gets. She’ll be over it by tomorrow.” Ted was always assuring Shane that people would forgive him for his shitty behaviour. But Ted, like Camille, was also dead. And now there was no one left to forgive him. 

So when people called Shane an asshole, or an idiot, or selfish, or stupid, or any other insulting and cruel thing they could come up with, it didn’t bother him. Really, it didn’t. In fact, Shane thought these words being thrown at him were like kids chucking around sand on the playground. Sure, they stung for a second. But all he had to do was wipe them away. It was fine. He was fine.

You’re an asshole, you’re an asshole, you’re an asshole. 

Like a prayer to a god he didn't believe in, Shane repeated these three words over and over in his head.

You’re an asshole, as he brushed his teeth.

You’re an asshole, as he dropped Jas off at school.

You’re an asshole, when he stocked canned corn and tomato sauce.

You’re an asshole, as he drank and drank and drank until he couldn't see or sit or walk straight.

You’re an asshole, as he washed the dishes, and fed the chickens, and helped Jas with her homework, and picked up Marnie’s meds, and had drinks with Elliot, and flicked through the tv without really watching anything, and slept but didn’t really sleep.

You’re an asshole, as he stood in front of his best friends’ graves, and didn’t even cry. As he held Jas’ hand, small and cold and alone in the world. 

You’re an asshole, as he tucked Jas into bed, before going out on the porch and seeing the way the moon was barely a hangnail in the November sky.

You’re an asshole, as he cried and cried and cried. 

See, if you tell yourself something enough times, it becomes true. 

Chapter Text

Shane was late for work. Shane was always late for work, but this time he was really late. Like, fireable late. As he pulled on yesterday’s polyester work polo while shoving his foot into his boot, Shane couldn't help but curse the fact that he didn’t go to law school like his Dad wanted. He’d be miserable as a corporate lawyer, but he was miserable anyways, so he might as well be able to sleep in on Sunday and afford a Netflix subscription. 

Shane wondered what his Dad would do if he called him and asked for money. Shane wondered if he even still had his number saved.

It was this thought that made Shane trip on the loose floorboard by the foot of his bed, sending him careening ass over head and slamming into the nearby wall. Shane hoped that no one heard that. Jas should already be at school and Marnie in the barn, but then again, Shane was also supposed to already be at work. 

Stumbling to the bathroom, Shane grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. Scruffy beard. Undereye bags. Rat’s nest hair. And he was bleeding from where he’d smacked his chin on the wooden floor. 

Rummaging through the vanity and hastily slapping a few of Jas’ pink Hello Kitty bandaids on his scratched up chin, Shane regretted not taking Harvey up on his offer for a free at-home First Aid kit. Shane hadn’t thought he’d need it since Jas was pretty healthy. 

Jas rarely got into trouble, and the times she did were mostly from being goaded into it by Vincent. Jas wasn’t the most sociable child, but being the only other kid in town didn’t leave the two much choice but to be friends. 

Shane wondered if Jas missed her old friends. She hadn’t been old enough to attend the public school down the block from Ted and Camille's old apartment. But some of Camille’s friends had kids, and they would have baby play dates. Ted would tell Shane about the toddler yoga class Camille took Jas to when she was three. 

“She could become a gymnast!” Ted had beamed as he shoved picture after picture of baby Jas doing a roll over in a tiny leotard. 

“If she has your coordination, I’ll start praying now.” Shane had deadpanned. Shane only ever prayed twice in his life. The first time was when he was eleven and his mom was sicker than ever, and the pastor from their church told him and his dad to ask God for a miracle. Shane’s mother died a week later.

The second time he prayed, it wasn’t to any particular god. It was to himself, for the strength to walk into the next room where his goddaughter was waiting for him, and he’d have to tell her that her parents were dead. 

Shane had always sworn he’d never have kids. He knew he’d be a shitty father. Ted had told him he’d change his mind once he found the right person. Like he’d found Camille. 

Next month, it’ll be two years since they died and left Shane with a responsibility he still doesn't feel ready for. Maybe he never will be. Shane had never wanted to be a father. But fuck it, he still had to try. For Jas. For Camille. For Ted. And maybe a little for himself. 

~ 

Shane did not get fired. He got reamed out by Morris, and had his paycheck cut in half, and then got yelled at again by Claire. But he still had a job. 

As he mopped up the same spot in the corner of the store, Shane wondered if Sam was working today. 

Sam wasn’t his friend. Shane didn’t really have friends. But Sam kept insisting that Shane hang out with him. Shane was only eight years older than Sam, who was 21, but usually Shane felt at least thirty years older. Whether that was due to Sam’s immaturity or Shane’s mental state, he couldn’t tell. 

Sam was a good kid. A little naive. And loud. But he made the hours at work go by a bit faster with his endless chatting. 

“Hey, did you catch the gridball game last night?” Sam asked, poking his head into the frozen aisle. 

Shane took off his headphones. They were the large, oversized kind that basically screamed don’t talk to me. Too bad Sam was never one for social convention. Or cues.

“Nah, I’m not really into gridball,” Shane replied. That was a lie. Shane used to love gridball. Used to play on his university’s team. Though he probably couldn't even finish his old warm-up routine now. 

“Ah, me neither.” Sam grinned crookedly. Ignoring Shane trying to end the conversation, Sam continued, “Don’t let Alex hear that though. Dude’s like, obsessed. He’s got nothing but balls on the brain.” Sam laughed at his own joke. Shane couldn't help the half-smile from appearing on his face, before he quickly wiped it away. Unfortunately, Sam seemed to catch it.

“Hey, I know you’re probably busy, but me, Sebastian, Alex, Leah, and Abigail are grabbing drinks at the bar this weekend. I think Elliot might come too. You guys are friends, right?” 

Shane just shrugged. 

“Not really. We just have a drink sometimes.” He replied. 

“Well, why not have a drink with all of us then?” Sam pressed. God, the kid was relentless. Like a dog. A labrador, maybe. 

“Maybe.” Was Shane's answer, one he hoped would be enough to make Sam back off. It seemed to work, because Sam left to go clean the bathroom shortly after. With any luck, he’d forget about the invite by tomorrow.

Shane finished mopping and checked the clock. Not even halfway through his already shortened shift. Time seemed to move backwards here. The fluorescent lighting against the stark white walls of the grocery store reminded him of a hospital. Cold. Sterile. 

Shane hated hospitals. He knew most people weren’t exactly fond of them. But Shane hated them. He hated them so much that when he sprained his ankle slipping on a patch of black ice, that instead of going to the emergency room he’d just wrapped the swelling joint with some of his old athletic tape. Sometimes, his ankle will twinge in a way that reminds him of his cowardice. 

It was for this reason that Shane avoided the town’s doctor Harvey like the plague. Harvey was nice; always trying to chat to Shane when he’d stop by the clinic to pick up Marnie’s cholesterol medication. Shane liked Harvey well enough. Well, he tolerated him. But Harvey was just so chatty. 

All “the weather looks nice today,” and “any weekend plans?” and “you should come in for a check-up,” and “did Jas recover okay from her cold last week?” It was insufferable.  

And the worst part of it was against his will, Shane would find himself replying. 

Yes, the weather is nice for now, but it looks like it might rain later on.

No, I don’t have any weekend plans.

I’m healthy as a horse, no need for a check-up.

Jas is doing much better, thank you.

Small talk was not Shane’s forte. Camille had once said that Shane looked constipated in any social setting. Ted, unfortunately, made friends with anyone and everyone. He would stop and chat to random people on the street. Luckily Jas didn’t seem to have inherited that particular habit. In a way, she was a lot like Shane. She mostly kept to herself; reading her books alone, and jumping rope alone, and playing with her dolls alone. 

Shane didn’t know much about kids, so he couldn't tell if Jas’ anti-social behaviour was normal, or a result of trauma or something. Marnie never said anything about it. But then, Shane wasn’t sure if she knew much about children either. Marnie never married, never had kids. She was Shane’s mother’s younger half-sister. She and Shane were barely family. But they were also the only family the other had. And wasn’t that depressing. 

Shane continued mopping the same spot until 5 pm rolled around and he could clock out. 

Claire gave him the stink eye as he headed to the small employee back room. She hated this job just as much as Shane did, but she, unlike Shane, was always on time. When he first started working at JojaMart, Claire had offered to cover for him when he was running late. Two years later, and that offer has since been rescinded. 

Just as Shane was about to punch his well-worn employee card, Morris stopped him.

“Shawn, a moment please.” Morris called out to Shane. Shane sighed, and reluctantly turned around.

“Yes Morris? What do you need?” Shane replied as neutrally as he could manage. Morris shook his head slightly, his round face turning slightly red from the exertion of catching Shane right as he was about to leave. 

“Sheldon, I’ve had some complaints from customers about your work ethic.” Morris began, and immediately Shane wished he’d gotten out the door just a bit faster. 

“Now you see Sherman, we here at JojaMart Corporation and all its associated companies pride ourselves on our customer service. And I’ve noticed that you haven’t been putting your best foot forward.” Morris frowned disapprovingly at Shane, who in turn tried not to roll his eyes. He may or may not have succeeded. 

Morris paused, as if he were about to say something truly profound. Morris was a couple inches shorter than Shane, who couldn't stop himself from smirking down at his boss. Shane knew for a fact the man wore lifts in his polished dress shoes. Morris was always dressed like he was some important business mogul, rather than the manager of a shitty grocery chain. 

Morris continued, putting his hand on Shane’s shoulder, his cold fingers digging into Shane’s shoulder blade. 

“I trust that as a proud member of JojaMart Corporation and its associates, that you will keep in mind our employee policy on timeliness and efficiency in the future.” If you want to have a future here, was implied by the way Morris’ clammy hands squeezed the back of Shane’s neck, like he was a disobedient puppy. Shane resisted the urge to recoil in disgust. 

Clenching his fists, Shane nodded stiffly.

“I’ll do my best, sir.” he replied through gritted teeth. Morris looked at him from behind his old-fashioned round glasses that Shane figured were supposed to make Morris appear friendly. 

“Very good then, Sherwin. That will be all.” Morris dismissed him, as if Shane was the one who had hunted him down and accosted him right before closing time. Shane sighed, and punched his employee card. At least he got paid for that conversation.