- Jun 18, 2015
- 10,109
- Gender
- Female
- Pronouns
- She/Her
- Posting Status
- Irregularly
Angelo had spent days in his room, curled up and crying. But there was only so much he could do that. Only so much he could stay in his room before he realized he was making himself worse. He didn't want to subject others to his misery, but thinking about things wasn't making them any better.
It would be better if he was busy. If he didn't have time to think.
So Angelo made himself busy.
There were a million and one things to do, and the moment Sergeant Genovese stopped by the house to let him know the case was closed, he suddenly could do them. He tried--desperately--to get Angelo to show him the tape (the older man seemed shocked he even knew the tape existed) but it was an absolute no go, and eventually he was forced to relent. He had other things to do anyway.
—-
Broen's things had been held at the station in the aftermath. It wasn't a lot. The armor, a bag of clothes, some odds and ends. The armor was going to be a problem, but Sergeant Genovese was willing to deliver it if he wanted him to, and Angelo wasn't about to turn it down.
So he let him. He'd deal with that first, before anything else, which meant a trip to the station.
He hadn't been to see Armourer since he'd returned from Halcyon. He'd meant to--that had been his original plan when he'd gotten back--but it was obvious Armourer had heard about what had happened, because he didn't question how late Angelo had been when he passed over the case. It was the armor itself that was of interest to him, and Angelo thanked the Sergeant for his help and effectively scooted him out the door, despite his older self's obvious concern.
"You can have it," Angelo said. "For free. But only on the condition it's taken apart and reused, and that you don't make anything for Frederick in the future."
Frederick would want his armor, and Angelo was going to make absolutely fucking sure he wasn't going to get it. He didn't have the money for it, but on the off chance he one day did... well, his armor would be long gone.
—-
Broen's clothes were easier to handle. Angelo was sure Broen would have preferred he just stack his stuff up and burn the whole thing to the ground, but Angelo was more practical then that. He sorted out what he had received, tossed a bunch of it, and donated the rest. He returned Broen's borrowed things--his laptop, mostly--to the school, and then squinted at his phone.
The temptation was too great to keep it around, so instead he settled on completely destroying it. He snapped it in half, then took a hammer to it, physically taking the phone apart to keep it from being accessed. Let Broen keep his privacy.
—-
The guns were a problem. Angelo couldn't inherit them, which meant Broen's handgun--the very one he'd tried to shoot himself with--went into a trust for Basilio to hold onto. Maybe that was better. His shotgun, on the other hand, was simply missing. He dug through Broen's things over and over and still hadn't found it, and in the end was forced to accept that it was probably lost in his pocket dimension.
Fuck.
Angelo rested at home as he made a number of calls, cancelling Broen's phone line and making sure everything was signed off. He closed out his bank account and received a modest check for how much Broen had in it.
Angelo made a point of donating it to a small charity that helped with kids dealing with the side effects of abuse. He made sure it was anonymous, the way Broen would have wanted.
—-
It gave him something to do, and that distracted him. By the time he returned home, there was almost nothing left, but he felt a little bit better anyway.
It was better to be doing things.
It would be better if he was busy. If he didn't have time to think.
So Angelo made himself busy.
There were a million and one things to do, and the moment Sergeant Genovese stopped by the house to let him know the case was closed, he suddenly could do them. He tried--desperately--to get Angelo to show him the tape (the older man seemed shocked he even knew the tape existed) but it was an absolute no go, and eventually he was forced to relent. He had other things to do anyway.
—-
Broen's things had been held at the station in the aftermath. It wasn't a lot. The armor, a bag of clothes, some odds and ends. The armor was going to be a problem, but Sergeant Genovese was willing to deliver it if he wanted him to, and Angelo wasn't about to turn it down.
So he let him. He'd deal with that first, before anything else, which meant a trip to the station.
He hadn't been to see Armourer since he'd returned from Halcyon. He'd meant to--that had been his original plan when he'd gotten back--but it was obvious Armourer had heard about what had happened, because he didn't question how late Angelo had been when he passed over the case. It was the armor itself that was of interest to him, and Angelo thanked the Sergeant for his help and effectively scooted him out the door, despite his older self's obvious concern.
"You can have it," Angelo said. "For free. But only on the condition it's taken apart and reused, and that you don't make anything for Frederick in the future."
Frederick would want his armor, and Angelo was going to make absolutely fucking sure he wasn't going to get it. He didn't have the money for it, but on the off chance he one day did... well, his armor would be long gone.
—-
Broen's clothes were easier to handle. Angelo was sure Broen would have preferred he just stack his stuff up and burn the whole thing to the ground, but Angelo was more practical then that. He sorted out what he had received, tossed a bunch of it, and donated the rest. He returned Broen's borrowed things--his laptop, mostly--to the school, and then squinted at his phone.
The temptation was too great to keep it around, so instead he settled on completely destroying it. He snapped it in half, then took a hammer to it, physically taking the phone apart to keep it from being accessed. Let Broen keep his privacy.
—-
The guns were a problem. Angelo couldn't inherit them, which meant Broen's handgun--the very one he'd tried to shoot himself with--went into a trust for Basilio to hold onto. Maybe that was better. His shotgun, on the other hand, was simply missing. He dug through Broen's things over and over and still hadn't found it, and in the end was forced to accept that it was probably lost in his pocket dimension.
Fuck.
Angelo rested at home as he made a number of calls, cancelling Broen's phone line and making sure everything was signed off. He closed out his bank account and received a modest check for how much Broen had in it.
Angelo made a point of donating it to a small charity that helped with kids dealing with the side effects of abuse. He made sure it was anonymous, the way Broen would have wanted.
—-
It gave him something to do, and that distracted him. By the time he returned home, there was almost nothing left, but he felt a little bit better anyway.
It was better to be doing things.