THERE WAS A SAYING THAT YOU COULD NEVER GO BACK HOME. Nicky had learned in back in high school, and it had taken him quite some time to understand it. Living with the people he had been, he had been ecstatic to hear that, yet he had to wonder what it meant for the people who didn't grow up with his situation. He came to learn that it meant that the past can never truly be recovered, no matter how hard anyone tried.

He never did, but it he ever tried to think about it, he would come to realize that this would solve all his feelings and problems about the complex, about his need to find them, give him the painful truth that he would never get back what he had lost.

However, he was unwilling to think about them, and especially not with that quote in mind, so he remained in the dark, and simply thought of the literal meaning, of how the last thing he wanted was to go see his family again.

Yet there he was, heading back towards the prison. He wondered why he was going back to see his step-brother first if he had been the only one Nicky had actually had face-to-face contact with in the past years, but that could have possibly been why. He just wanted to work his way up, and, maybe, prolong the torture as best he could.

Or maybe the waiting was the torture.

Whatever the reason, he found himself going back into the prison, turning in all his items, reminding himself to clear any traces of him going to visit his brother, moving to sit back down at a different area, picking up the phone.

"You're back," Mason said, and the clear shock made Nicky's stomach twist in pain, "I didn't think you were gonna come back."

Nicky bit his lip, wishing that he didn't care about his step-brother as much as he did. The man had told his boss about Nicky, about how he used to build all those things when they were younger. Toomes hadn't known about his job, but he was much too close to, and the threat of bodily harm had come so far enough that Nicky had to cash in Harry's offers, asking for protection until everything blowed over. His step-brother had caused all that, but the worst part was that he didn't even realize it.

He sighed, leaning back in his seat. "I didn't want to, let me just clear that up now." Mason's face fell, and he added with no major hurry, "But I came, so let's just focus on that, okay?"

Mason nodded, adjusting his phone. "Why did you come visit?"

Nicky sighed again, rubbing his temples with one hand and shrugging, "I just...closure, I guess? I don't know, the recently I've just been coming clean to everyone, and...I'm a psychologist and always talk about coming to terms with your past, so I figured I'd go to my roots."

"So you're here to tell me you hate me?" Mason asked, and Nicky shook his head.

"No, Phin, I'm not," he admitted, "I mean, I can't really hate you, you never did anything to me. I mean, mom liked you more, but she never liked me even back when I was on the only child, so it's not like you showing up changed anything. I don't hate you, but I came near close to it when you sent your boss after me."

"I didn't mean to do that," Mason said, and there was so much truth behind his words that Nicky believed him, "I swear, he just wanted extra help and I thought of you, thought maybe you'd want the money, we were a family back in there, thought maybe you'd want in."

Nicky shook his head, not caring that the prison was no doubt recording every word they were saying. "I wouldn't want in on that, Phin. I still don't."

"Thanks for not testifying," Mason mumbled with a sigh.

Nicky raised an eyebrow. "No one ever asked. 'Sides, I don't think they would've have the stomach to ask me to testify against my brother, everyone always thinks it's in poor taste. And I wouldn't have even through all of that."

Mason smiled lightly. "Thanks."

"I didn't do it for you," Nicky reminded him, and he wondered why he was being so harsh, "Phin, do you understand what Toomes did? He used you. To hurt people."

"But he was looking out for us," Mason argued, "You don't understand, Nicky—"

"Don't try with me again," he interrupted, sighing as Mason shrunk back in his seat.

"I'm sorry I'm being so harsh, this isn't really closure, this is just me being mean. Look, I wanna be okay with you, 'cause we were pretty alright as kids. I mean, we never really did anything together, but you weren't out to get me, so that was alright. But I don't think I can get what I need until you get what you did wrong, okay?" he said, raising his eyebrows, and Mason sighed heavily, rubbing his face.

"I don't wanna talk to the shrink here," he mumbled, and Nicky nodded, licking his lips; his step-brother had a habit of saying whatever people wanted, so talking to the psychologist at the prison might not be the most productive.

"I'll make some calls, sort something out, maybe," Nicky mumbled, avoiding Mason's brightening face, "No promises."

With that, the guard called out that their time was up and Nicky sighed, breathing into the phone before saying, just as Mason was pulled away, "Take care of yourself, 'kay?"

Mason gave him a small smile as he was led away, trying to keep his gaze for as long as possible. Nicky simply sat there for a moment, just breathing. Then he pushed himself out of the seat and made his way out, not feeling lighter, but not any more heavy.

This was the easiest of it all.

º º º

Like Nicky always said, he never liked going back to Harlem.

He shuddered as he adjusted his jacket around himself and pulled his scarf farther up his face, climbing off the train and heading towards the stairs. He had stalled long enough, and it was time to rip off the bandaid.

He tried to convince himself not to have the mindset he did, reminding himself that this wasn't a chore, but rather something that he wanted to do. He needed to have closure, he had come too far not to by this point. He had tried to move on after telling Sam the truth, but there was just something still unsolved, and he figured that this would be it.

As he made his way down the familiar streets that barely changed since he had left, he thought to his step-father, whom he hadn't seen and would possibly never see. He hadn't been informed by his mother nor his step-brother, but apparently, his father had been killed while in prison sometime some five years ago.

He didn't really care, but it truly was a testament to how much they didn't care about him either.

He felt the anger bubble up inside as he neared his childhood home, bile rising in his stomach as he once again came face to face with the house next door where his father had brutally murdered his next door neighbors.

He had always loved his neighbors. He had a view of them out of his window, and he loved to watch them. Theirs was a Hallmark movie, an untouchable snow globe surrounded by the likes of his own family, and he loved them for it. He'd watch them during the holidays, how happy they looked, how loving. What he wouldn't have given to live with them, be a part of their family, and he was sure they would have took him if he asked.

But then he looked through his window one day and the blinds were closed. They were closed for nearly a week before he decided that he should call the police.

Maybe that was why his mother resented him so much. He was incredibly young when he called the police, still in elementary school, not yet accelerated, but he had called the police out of worry for a family that wasn't his own, unknowingly leading the police right to his own father.

She had moved on quickly enough, his step-father had been the one to convince his mother to let him be accelerated, interestingly enough, but he wasn't any better than Nicky's first father. He didn't expect anything better, but he had hoped for it. 

He took a deep breath as he stood in front of his door, his stomach filled with all the pent up rage and hatred. He had been so upset to learn that his step-father was already dead that he didn't bother to try and look up his biological father. 

So all that was truly left was his mother.

Knocking on the door, he dropped his head, listening closely for the familiar hard footsteps that he had memorized down to their very core, a jolt of familiar preparation filling him, as if he was readying himself for the shouting that he had always heard. 

Even after all these years, he still feared her yelling.

The door was yanked open, but he could hear the start of a harsh greeting die at the back of its owner's throat, and Nicky stared at the flip flops still inside the house for a moment longer before raising his head and looking right at his mother.

"Hey, mom," he greeted weakly, trying to give her a smile despite his festering anger, "You gonna let me in?"

His mother immediately started yelling, demanding to know what he was doing at her home, why he was finally here after nine years, why his step-brother was in prison, a conversation they had already had over the phone, and a thousand other questions he, for the most part, ignored.

It wasn't until she started going on about his father going to prison that he finally snapped.

"Shut up, woman, I'm trying not to hate you right now!" he finally screamed, his words reverberating through the walls, rendering his mother shocked and speechless.

He was surprised as well. In all his years, he had never been able to scream back, and even if he had, she always outdid him. Never once had he ever gotten the upper hand in anything. Not once.

Breathing heavily he pointed his finger at her, his entire body tense. He practically shook as he spoke, every word dripping with the poison of pure hatred. "All my life, you've been screaming at me. You ruined my life, and the only time you called in the nine years! Since I've been gone was to call me to ask what I did to get Phin in prison. As if I wanted anything to do with any of you! God, I came here to find some closure, but now I just hate you more!"

"How dare you—" she whispered, but he cut her off.

"How dare I? How dare you!" he screamed, slamming his fist against the counter, "I was a kid! And I already hated you enough to want to live with our neighbors, and you think I was the one who fucked up? I didn't mean to get dad sent to prison!"

"You shouldn't have fed them those lies! About him being awful to you, he never did anything to you!" she screamed, and it was as if she hadn't even heard the first part of his screams.

"Exactly!" he shouted, storming right up to her face, screaming the way she used to, pointing his finger harshly in her face the way she always did, "He never did anything to me because all you two ever did was yell! You just yelled and screamed and you didn't want to hear or see me! I wanted to live with the neighbors 'cause anything would've been better than living with you! Then dad went and killed 'em, as if he couldn't ruin my life any more!"

Then her palm was colliding with his face and he could only stand there in shock, unable to even raise a hand to his stinging cheek. Turning his head, he just stared at her, too shocked to even be upset.

"Don't talk about him like that," she whispered, "He was a good man—he is a good man."

"Yeah?" he scoffed, "Such a good man, you moved on in a week."

She reached out to slap him again, but he caught her arm, one of the only self-defense moves he had bothered to learn from anyone, shoving her back, not enough to hurt her, but enough to put some distance between them.

"You never understood—" she began, but he was done listening to her voice.

"You never bothered to talk to me!" he argued, "All you did was scream! And you know what? I'm more successful than you or any of those dead beats were! I'm doing something with my life, I'm not cheating the government and lying for welfare, stealing from people who actually need it! I didn't beat the shit out of a ten year old for five hundred dollars! I didn't kill the Jeffersons! Your upstanding husbands did that. I just got yelled at."

She scoffed, but he saw her perk up at the mention of success. "I was toughening you up. You were too soft—"

"I'm strong because I still am," he declared, "I'm strong because no matter how shitty you were to me, I was never gonna be as awful as you. So I really should thank you, mom, you taught me what not to do."

She looked more than offended, which brought Nicky immense joy. She began to scream, shouting about him being ungrateful, ruining the lives of everyone in this house, how he shouldn't have come home, grabbing one of the couch throw pillows and hitting him, screaming for him to leave, but he wasn't about it.

Storming up the stairs, he headed to his old room, pushing the door open. To his surprise, everything was still inside, all that he had left, which was nothing more than his bed, his desk, and the box of scrap pieces he had lovingly built up to create all of his tech when he was younger.

"Couldn't even be bothered to change things up," he mumbled softly to himself, moving out of the way, watching as his mother stumbled inside, not planning on him moving.

She whirled back around to continue shouting at him, and he prepared to shout back, but then a new set of feet thundered towards them, a set that Nicky had never planned on hearing ever again. Not outside of his dreams, at least.

"What the hell is going on?"

Whirling around, Nicky found his biological father standing by the doorframe, blocking his only escape, his mother blocking the window.

Just like this, his resolve was gone, and he was reduced to the same little kid who watched his father curse up a storm as he was carted off to prison, unable to feel anything but pure fear.

The shock on his face was nothing compared to the shock on his father's face. The two men stared at each other for a few moments, and Nicky was sure his heart had stopped beating for longer than safe.

Then finally, "Nicky?"

There it was. His skin crawled as he heard his father call him the name that he had loathed for so long, a name that he loathed so much that he begged the people he cared about most to call him it, if only to give him better memories of the name than that which his father gave him.

But no matter how hard he tried, he still felt the goosebumps.

He took a step back, unable to help himself, but tried to stand firm. He wanted to yell and scream, but all that came out was a stated, "You ruined my life."

His mother immediately began to scream again, shouting towards her husband to do something, force Nicky out, remind him who was in charge, and all the while Nicky just stood there, trying not to flinch at her suggestions or the images rising up in his mind, his heart hammering in his chest.

He was going to die here.

He stood there for a few more moments, almost certain that he was going to die of a heart attack long before his father would get the chance to kill him himself, when the older man simply opened his mouth and spoke, his words crystal clear over the white noise of his wife.

"I'm sorry."

Just like that, everything stood still. Nicky's mother had stopped shouting, his heart had slowed to being almost nonexistent, and he could scarcely breathe nor think.

"What?" He stared up at the man in utter confusion; that had been the last thing he had expected.

"I'm sorry," the man said, shrugging, "I just got out of prison two months ago, man, I've had a lot of time to think. Fucked some guys over pretty bad, but I did some kinda therapy or whatever it was. I'm sorry I ruined your life, that's probably the only thing that made sense from all that garbage the shrink was spewing. Talk of me being a despicable human who has no empathy, like, what, I realized I fucked over my kid, I think that's empathy right there, don't you?"

Nicky shook his head. "No, dad, it's not."

He scoffed. "What would you know?"

He swallowed thickly, palms sweating. "I mean, I'm a clinical psychologist with three PhD's, so I'd think I know a lot."

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No shit?"

Nicky shrugged minutely, still speaking in that light, afraid tone he had been since he found his tongue. "I mean, I'm more successful and well off than you ever were, so I don't think I'd be shitting you on that, right?"

The man laughed then, clapping Nicky's shoulder with his hand, and he tensed up, pulling away immediately, and the man stopped laughing, suddenly serious. "Wow, I really fucked you over, huh?"

Nicky nodded, scoffing. "It's not like you verbally and emotionally abused me since I learned to walk, then killed the only people who brought me any source of joy in my life, and never stood up for me when mom screamed at me—oh yeah, that's right, that's 'cause you were screaming first. Nah, you didn't fuck me over at all."

The man frowned. "Hey, I admit I hurt you, can't we just get past that?"

Nicky grit his teeth. "Maybe some day. But not today."

He moved to shoulder past his father, but was grabbed by the shirt and tugged back, a jolt of fear coursing through his entire body, nearly sending him into shock, but he recovered, forcing himself to try and calm down.

"Hey, no matter what, you're still my son," his father began, as if he had any right to make a heartfelt speech at this point, "And I wanna make this right with you. Your mom does too."

"No, she doesn't," he scoffed, the same time she huffed, "No, I don't."

His father rolled his eyes. "She just loves me a lot. I mean, can you blame her?"

"She found another man within a week of your conviction," Nicky deadpanned, and it shocked him that he was so willing to throw his mother to the dogs like that; he had really been hurt by these people.

"Look, I'm not saying you gotta forgive me now, that's what the shrink said, it's gonna take time or whatever, you probably know this, you're some hotshot shrink yourself, which is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, but whatever," the man drawled, and Nicky grit his teeth, but continued to listen, "So all I'm saying is we'd like to have a chance to make it right."

Nicky raised an eyebrow. "You just want money, don't you?"

The man laughed. "Nah, we got the government doing that. C'mon, what've you got to lose?"

"My entire life," he snarked, only to receive a flick on the back of his head.

"Don't be smart!" his mother shrieked.

"Too late for that!" he shouted, whirling around to glare at her, but his father stopped the fight before it could begin.

"Shut up!" he cried, "God, you're just like her, ya know that? I mean, you talk like me, but you shout like her. Guess you're just like us, huh?" He laughed at that, and Nicky wanted to cry at how disgusted he was.

"Look, c'mon, can we just try?" the man asked, finally finished, and Nicky actually paused to think.

He had come here for closure, but found himself even more angry. But it wasn't to say that he wasn't surprised by what he found. He hadn't expected to see his biological father again, let alone in a much more pleasant disposition, if it could even be called that. But he wasn't yelling at Nicky every two seconds, and seemed to be willing enough to talk.

He came for closure, and he was going to get it, damn it. Or at least a start.

"Fine," he spat, once again shouldering past his father, who let him the second time around, watching him stalk down the hall, "I'll call the next time I drop by. Or whatever."

"Don't wait nine years to drop by again, okay?" his father called down after him, "I might be dead by then."

For the first time in nine years, Nicky wasn't entirely pleased by that thought. Progress.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I wasn't so sure about this chapter being where it is, but I thought about it, and I figured that I would get the chapters of closure and more of the painful emotions out of the way so that Nicky can actually start to heal. If you saw at the beginning of the chapter, I touched upon an idea that Nicky hasn't quite found for himself, but it will soon enough, you know?

There were a lot of things pointed out within the chapter, but they were pretty obvious, so I won't restate them here, but I hope that this chapter wasn't too...all over the place for your tastes, I know it was really fast and not really cohesive, but I wanted to show that people don't always forgive right away.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!