Chapter Three #3
Fortunately for him, he slept away most of the day. It had been a masterclass in hiding if he was honest with himself.
After arriving at Callen’s, Ethan Blackhawk had tucked himself under a blanket that smelled like home, and Callen, so that he could do what a coward did.
He hid from the world.
For him, in that moment, it was the only safe place he could find.
And that hurt.
He was spiraling, and in the middle of that free-fall, Blackhawk felt so alone.
When he arrived there, he’d been so scared that he didn’t know where to go.
What to do.
Who to see.
Who to hide from.
All he knew was that he needed to regroup, think this out, and figure out why he was so fucked up that this was a difficult decision.
One question plagued him.
Of all places to run to so he could escape, why didn’t he go home to Gene?
Then, those voices creeped in, and deep down, he knew the truth.
He was a mess, and Gene deserved better.
That was the bottom line.
Every second of his day, and every day, Ethan was chased by the demons.
Unfortunately for him, they changed daily.
As if this whole thing could get any worse, today’s demons were particularly nasty.
They were the ones that told him he wasn’t worthy of anything.
They were currently screaming in his brain that he was a product of this Hellhole, and he’d never escape.
EVER.
To him, it was clear that the universe hated him because just when he got his footing, and started to feel like he was worthy, they came tearing back into him.
He was here because of one thing.
As he made his escape from the cold, hard reality, there were no voices of reason to talk him down.
NOT.
EVEN.
ONE.
Without that voice of reason, usually Gene, he was in a free-fall.
It was just nonstop misery for Ethan.
The flight there had been delayed, and that in itself had been torture. Because of that, he’d not arrived in Utah until the early hours of the next day. Now, all he wanted was to find some silence.
Some peace.
Because at that moment, exhaustion was an understatement.
When he hit the rez, his body went on autopilot, and it took him to one place.
Not his grandfather’s cabin.
Not his father’s.
His brother’s.
It always brought him back to the same person each and every time. As a child, taken by CPS, when he aged out, he and his black trash bag of possessions headed home.
Not for Timothy.
No.
For Callen.
And now, here he was, in his home.
Sadly, for Ethan, even that wasn’t easy.
Before barging into his brother’s home to hide, it took him five whole minutes of sitting in his car outside of Callen’s cabin.
Why?
He had to build up enough courage to go to his door.
The irony wasn’t lost on him that he’d left here, screwed Callen over in NOLA, and was now going to rely on his kindness to hide him out.
Because that moth always returned to the fire.
ALWAYS.
Callen had been his choice, and he didn’t understand why. Then again, if he saw Timothy, he knew it wouldn’t end well for that relationship.
There was too much rage brewing in him over what had happened to him as a child. That bitterness was still there, festering for so many years.
Maybe had Timothy raised his son better, he wouldn’t have been a shit father.
A horrible husband.
Maybe had he taught his son how to be a man, he wouldn’t have fucked over both of his sons with his alcoholism and piss-poor behavior.
Yeah, he absolutely couldn’t face Wyler or Timothy while the demons were riding him into Hell.
It was just sad that the man he hurt with his own behavior was now the man he ran to so he could be safe.
Deep down, Ethan knew the truth.
Unfortunately for his brother, he bore the brunt of their past disguised as something so stupid.
Oh, he’d absolutely run from the reservation because of betrayal.
Just not Callen’s.
It had all been Timothy’s.
With a side of Wyler’s.
So now, what he needed was a place to lie low without someone bitching and moaning about anything. It wouldn’t end well, and Ethan knew it.
Where he tucked in for the duration needed to have a few requirements.
He needed a ‘safe’ place.
But most importantly, he needed understanding, and out of the three men on the reservation, Callen was the ONLY one who would have that in him.
That it was Callen…yeah, crazy.
Now, as he was waking up, there was no choice but to face the music. What he did know was that he’d had about eight hours of sleep, and it didn’t help in the least.
Not.
At.
All.
Instead, the whole time that he’d been sleeping, the dreams had been horrible. They were relentless, just like the demons screaming of his demise.
In them, there was no Gene.
There was no joy.
There was no FBI.
There was no hope.
In them, Ethan got a snapshot of who he would become now that he’d turned in his badge, and it was terrifying.
What did he see?
Well, the inevitable.
In them, he became just like Wyler—nothing more than a drunk who was spreading his sperm around willy-nilly without a care in the world.
A man who was destroying lives with his carelessness.
A man who was destined to die alone.
What made it even worse was that he looked like his father in those nightmares. He was an older Native living in destitution because he failed to be anything.
Anyone.
The prophecy of his genetics was coming true, and Ethan couldn’t fight it anymore. He’d tried, and despite how hard he’d worked on getting out of there, it didn’t end well.
He.
Was.
Back.
There was no doubt in his mind that he was, and forever would be, the half-breed Blackhawk.
Too white for this world.
Too Native for the other.
Even in his dreams, he was assaulted with those voices, and he was made to feel ridiculous for even trying to escape the life that he’d been given.
In the end, he was being shown that trying to dig out of the cesspool, clawing his way out, had been a waste of time.
It all came crumbling down, breaking him in ways he’d hoped to avoid.
With the truth out, and him failing out of the FBI, and having to return here jobless and homeless, there seemed to be no hope.
For Christ’s sake, he was sleeping on his brother’s couch.
Great.
How the mighty had fallen and fallen hard.
Pulling out his phone, Ethan knew he needed to face the inevitable. So, he turned it on and saw fifty-seven missed calls waiting for him.
Yep.
That was why he’d turned it off.
Forty of them were from Gene.
Ten were from Greyson.
Oh, and seven were from Alice and John.
What he did notice was that six hours ago, Gene stopped trying to reach him, and in his heart, he knew why.
He was done with him.
Instead of listening to the voicemails, so he could be broken further, or reading the hundred and seventy-four texts, he turned his phone back off to escape that, too.
That was later-Ethan’s problem. There was no way he could deal with this now.
He was a man on the edge.
AGAIN.
Deep down, he knew Gene would hate him for running. He knew that this had to have hurt the man in countless ways.
Only, that couldn’t help it.
He was a coward.
That was the bottom line.
He was so broken inside that when that panic overtook him, he’d always tuck tail and run. He’d always be weak and crumble.
It was just who he was after years of being decimated.
For Ethan, deep in his heart, he knew that there was also no way Gene would forgive him for bailing on him or fight for him because he simply wasn’t worthy.
He knew that to be fact.
Ethan Blackhawk was a soul no one had ever fought for, other than his mother. She had been the ONLY person who loved him enough.
The demons were screaming that over and over again as his soul was stripped bare.
Oh, shit.
He was having a panic attack.
His chest was tight, and he felt lightheaded.
As the anxiety rose up, Ethan had to move to keep it at bay. If he didn’t find a way to push it down, beating it back, he was three days past screwed.
For him, now, it would be about just surviving. What he wanted to do was curl up against someone and be held. What he needed was to be told it would be okay.
Ethan Blackhawk was adrift in a sea of darkness without his life preserver.
What hurt his soul was that no one would ever know he needed to be saved.
Why?
Well, because he was the ‘aloof’ one who was as cold as ice, when in actuality, he was the most fragile.
Oh, but he wore that facade well.
Building that wall years ago had been his downfall. It meant that no one saw him flailing.
Well, Gene had, but that was over now. When he ran, leaving him behind and to hold that bag, partnerless, it was safe to say that the man would hate him too.
Just not as much as Ethan hated himself.
Getting up from the couch, he walked around the small but nice cabin to push back the anxiety attack that was on the cusp of erupting.
Ethan tried to focus on anything else.
So, he focused on his brother’s home.
In a way, Ethan was proud of his brother. Callen had built this place on his own, and he’d given himself a home to call his own.
Ethan had done that, too, and the FBI had forced him out of his brownstone and to Philly.
God.
Why didn’t he go to his home when he’d freaked the fuck out? Why hadn’t he gone to that bastion of calm, and hid there?
Maybe Gene wouldn’t be angry with him had he made that choice.
Standing there alone, looking out the window, he saw the snow that was gently beginning to fall in light, fluffy flurries. It was March, and this would likely be the last of the snow in Utah unless you went to the mountains.
Soon, the rez would go green with life, disguising the mire that hid beneath the beauty.
He was exactly like that.
A pretty face, mired in rot.
Being here would have been nice if he wasn’t a product of this nightmare—hollow and decaying from the inside out. The rez was a nice place to visit, but being locked there was pure Hell for him.
Alcoholism.
Poverty.
Destitution.
They were the trifecta that was about to define his life.