your buddy misses you | al capone
pairing; none. just a little fic about al and his son.
a/n; this has been in my drafts for AGES despite my current interest being trainspotting. also i hope this is accurate to the actual 1930’s!! (i try my best to study well when it comes to history) the only thing that isn’t accurate is we know that the real sonny was only partially deaf, so i’m not exactly sure why boardwalk made him fully deaf. but seeing as this is a boardwalk fic, i’ll just roll with it.
plot; al is in deep thought whilst in his prison cell, listening to a familiar song that once made him smile so long ago. now it fills him with a great amount of sadness. meanwhile sonny is at home, missing his father.
gifs not mine!! (creds to fancykraken)
PLEASE DON’T READ IF MENTIONS OF IMPRISONMENT, DECLINING HEALTH, ANGST OR GRIEF AFFECT YOU!!
MASTERLIST
The harsh static of the rather fine radio Al kept in his cell filled the area, agitating him.
He was already in a foul mood. Well, not that he was ever jumping for joy in this place, anyhow. But tonight was one of those nights he truly felt alone.
Usually, having alone time in prison was all Al ever wanted nowadays. His mind had became so lost that he constantly thought everyone was out to get him, or they would be daring to challenge him.
The Syphilis had really taken its toll, and quite frankly he’d turned into a completely different man. Even before getting put in here, he had either been heavily coked up or average thoughts he should’ve remembered had been practically slipping his mind quicker than they should’ve.
Not to mention the withdrawals. Jesus. He’d gotten almost everything he wanted in here. Including the luxurious cell he found himself sat in. But that familiar white powder he craved so dearly was where the foot had been put down.
Al would never admit it, but he was ill. Fucking ill.
It hadn’t even been this bad in Atlanta. In fact, his time and wellbeing in Atlanta were relatively okay. But things had gone downhill since Alcatraz, and he knew it.
His health was awful. And when the psychiatrist he’d been forced to see in here told him that both his psychical and mental health were suffering, he almost gave her scars much too like the own ones that dragged down his face and upper neck.
They wanted to run too many damn tests for his liking to see if the Syphilis had improved after the injections despite his multiple denials, but in the end he was just seen as a stubborn bastard, so they hadn’t updated anything just yet.
Now they’d began to think he was a looney tune and briefly spoke about sending him to the psychiatric part of the prison. Some had said he was beginning to develop the mind of a twelve year old rather than a man in his thirties. And Al was furious.
Despite his health being the way it was, he didn’t care. He really did not care. He would’ve preferred to be back free once again and continued on to hide his health from those who didn’t need to know about it. Even his wife..
Even Sonny.
Sonny. The one name that still put a Cheshire Cat grin on his face.
He missed his son dearly. More than the coke. More than sitting in the Lexington Hotel getting folk to run around wild for him. He just missed Sonny more than anything really.
His boy had bloomed into a fine young gentleman. And Al was ready to slit the throat of anyone who dared to call him both deaf and dumb. Sure, Sonny might’ve been deaf. But the boy was far from dumb.
He was so different to his father. And instead of being hurt by that, Al was so proud of him. He wasn’t sneaking off despite his hearing loss and getting up to all sorts on the streets like Al did.
No. Sonny was the type who liked to sit in his own company, innocently reading a book and not bothering a soul.
Al certainly made sure his love for Sonny never went unnoticed. He’d wrote him so many times after being locked up, and every word that was put on that piece of paper was well and truly heartfelt. He loved his boy so very much. He couldn’t give two shits about how cruel others thought he was. When it came to Sonny, his heart only bled with fatherly love.
His attention was drawn back to the same crackling static that hissed from the radio once again. So much for it being the best version anyone could get for now.
Each whiny crackle that came out made Al want to scream and bang on the walls like the maniac they all thought he was. It didn’t take long before his temper overcame him once again, his fists now clenched. He had them shut so tight he swore he almost felt his blood flow momentarily change.
“DAMN YOU!” Al spat angrily, picking up a small wooden cup filled with pens and launching it at the radio with a loud crash.
It hit the floor, but it didn’t break. The static had finally quietened down. Then it stopped at last.
Al collapsed onto his bed with a sigh of relief, glad he’d let go of all the anger bubbling inside him. But he paused, and his eyes were drawn back to the radio once again.
Instead of static, the start of a song started to play. But not just any song. An all too familiar tune Al had cherished for a specific reason for the past few years now.
Life is a book that we study
Some of its leaves bring a sigh
There it was written, my Buddy
That we must part, you and I…
He lay on his back, closing his eyes. And for what felt like the first time in ages.. a big smile made its way onto his face.
Oh, Sonny..
Sonny Capone was comfortably sat back in his chair at a desk in the corner of his room. His nose was buried into another book again. One that he was enjoying a lot, actually.
Reading was probably one of the only things he still did like doing nowadays. When.. he left.. Sonny lost a lot of interest in taking part of hobbies he once adored doing before. This didn’t go unnoticed. If anything, it hadn’t helped with the stress Mae had already been faced with. Everyday she worried for her son and the toll all of this must have been taking on him.
Nights are long since you went away
I think about you all through the day…
The corners of his mouth twitched upward as he read through the paragraphs, thoroughly entertained by the story he was reading.
But soon enough, that small smile on his face became a sad frown. His eyes skimmed through paragraphs, and he then looked away, closing the book.
One of the characters had briefly mentioned the pain of missing someone. And it had actually annoyed Sonny whilst reading it. He hated being reminded of that feeling. It was constant.
He felt that way when he went to sleep, then woke up the next morning. And all throughout the day. Then the cycle repeated itself over and over. He didn’t need some stupid book to tell him what that was like. He knew. Oh.. he knew.
My buddy, my buddy
Nobody quite so true…
The night his father never came home gutted him. He had been briefly prepared by Al, but it didn’t stop the pain. And seeing his name in the papers the next morning was even worse. His mother’s cries from that day would forever haunt him. Yeah, she was expecting it too, but poor Mae had worked herself up to that very moment of finding out he’d been found guilty. Her anxiety was through the roof.
Didn’t stop the paparazzi scumbags from surrounding them in public too. Sonny was beyond furious that day. He’d sworn he felt his father’s rage overcome him for a moment.
Sonny closed the book and chucked it to the floor. Perhaps reading wasn’t helping as much as he thought. The boy exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes for a moment. He had a quick flashback within the depths of his mind. One that made him smile.
He remembered all the times his father had played the mandolin for him as a child. Despite not hearing it, he still found watching his father playing an instrument comforting.
Miss your voice, the touch of your hand
Just long to know that you understand…
There was one time that really stuck out to him. He’d been getting picked on at school, and back then he never understood why. His father had tried to teach him how to fight, but it just made his little mind spin with confusion. And in result, the boy just cried. So to make it up to him, Al pulled out that same mandolin again, awakening Sonny from his slumber.
The only way he knew his father was singing was touching his throat to feel the vibrations of his vocal cords. It was either that, or Sonny had to pay very close attention to Al’s lips. But actually being able to feel his father sing rather than hearing it, was surprisingly more comforting than anything.
My buddy, my buddy…
Your buddy misses you.
Sonny opened his eyes from the memory, wiping a stray tear that had fallen onto his cheek.
Oh, Dad..
