AN: I've written for Bandstand oneshots in four days and I love this show so much

Wayne was fine. The war was over, he was back home, he loved his wife, and he loved his children. His life was good, and he was fine.

He'd set his family in a routine, and once he did, everything seemed to fall into place. He had three steady gigs: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 9 PM, at various clubs. He didn't know the bands he played with very well, but that was just as well with him. They played a planned set together, got paid, and left.

His routine was steady at home, too. He'd wake up at a set time, they'd have breakfast, his life would leave for work, his kids would go to school, they'd all come home and have dinner. It was a good routine. Solid. The household ran like a well-oiled machine, and it made everything easier.

Wayne spent most of his day practicing. He'd play the trombone for a few hours - partially for practice, and partially to get his mind off of... other things - and then take it through a thorough cleaning process. He didn't know exactly why it needed to be so clean, but he knew there was a logical reason, so that's what he did.

Every afternoon, he would field-strip his gun. He would take it apart once, to clean it, reassemble it, and then he would repeat the process. He took it apart and put it back together, timing himself every time, trying to get faster. It made him feel safer, in a way. He knew he still had a handle on the weapon, and that he could use it if he ever had to.

When he was stripping his gun, he felt accomplished. That was what he was used to doing every day, that was what he did every day while he was gone. That was one of the ways he knew he was doing things right. Continuing that made everything feel right.

His kids took the bus home from school every day, so he didn't have to do much in that respect. If he was in the garage when they came home - which he usually was - they came and said hello to him, and were usually content to take care of themselves. Everything worked out fine.

One day, though, a day when he was just going through the routine as usual, he started to notice that maybe things weren't working quite as well as he thought. He heard his wife, Alice, coming back in from work, and went to greet her at the door, and while she looked tired, she seemed happy enough.

"Sorry I'm late."

"That's okay." Wayne said with a slight smile, just happy to have her there. He loved his wife.

"Did you help Grady with his homework?"

His smile faded. Shit. Had he been working on his gun for so long that he'd forgotten about his son's homework? He shook his head.

"I didn't have time."

That was his excuse, but it was a lie, and Alice knew it, too. He could see it, she looked... disappointed.

They looked at each other for a moment, each of them knowing what was being left unsaid, but neither of them saying it. Then his wife nodded and left, presumably to go check on their children, and he was standing in the hallway alone. He cursed himself. How could he have forgotten about his own son?

He thought the routine was working. He thought everything was okay. Maybe the routine was the one messing things up.

Maybe it was, but he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't change it. If he tried, he would fall apart, with nothing left to hold onto. So he kept at it. Because he had to.

Wayne wasn't fine. His family was starting to rip at the seams. It wasn't fine. But he pretended it was.