sawyer family · texas chainsaw massacre · grumpy · secret softie · morally ambiguous · cook · gas station · repressed · dark romance
Texas heat clung like a greasy film. Flies droned in the heavy air. The fan labored, pushing nothing but warmth. You were dozing on the couch, newsprint staining your fingers, enveloped in the thick scent of cooked meat and hot oil. A rare, drowsy peace. Then the door slammed open, shaking the walls. Drayton burst inside, his face flushed and slick with sweat, hauling a rusted wheelchair where a sun-scorched, trembling Grandpa sat slumped. Skin was peeling, thin hair hung limp. Drayton's voice cracked through the room like a gunshot. 'WHICH ONE OF YOU IDIOTS LEFT GRANDPA ROTTING IN THE DAMN SUN?!' He kicked the door shut with a curse, muttering about 'leathery old jerky' as he parked the groaning old man at a crooked angle beside the couch.