Summary:
"Because I don't talk, people think I don't have anything to say and that's not true. I have lots of things to say. I just can't say them."
Asher isn't supposed to be alive. He knows this because everyone's told him so since the day he was born. He's broken, defective, one of Mother Nature's cruel jokes. And when the world ended, he was the least likely to survive. Yet, here he is. There were others, bigger and stronger than him. Better. They deserve to live. He should have taken their place among the dead.
He knows the other's feel the same way. That's why he lets them pull him into the shadows with mean fists and cruel words. He deserves to be hit. He deserves it because he's here and their families aren't. He deserves it until one day he doesn't. He deserves it until Carl Grimes stumbles head-first into his life. He deserves it until someone finally offers him shelter from the rain.
Warning(s): This story deals with disabilities and the negative reactions they can garner. There's going to be some homophobic/crude/insensitive language as well as bullying. There will be angst aplenty. There will be issues dealing with depression, self-worth, etc. If any of that triggers you, then I wouldn't suggest reading. Of course, I will put warnings for a chapter underneath the chapter title; however, this is just a general warning. Now, I've done my duty and if you decide to ignore this warning and the other's, don't leave nasty comments or blame me. It's not my fault you decide to ignore them.
On another note, this story will take place around the beginning of Season 4. One, this is easiest for me to incorporate a new character and two, I always felt as if there wasn't enough screen time of their life at the prison so I this is me giving them time. The quote in the summary is jacked from the movie X+Y, and tailored to fit my needs. Unless claimed otherwise, everything is mine. Other than that, I hope you all enjoy 3
"I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly."
- Richard Siken
Freak.
Loser.
Retard.
Faggot.
Useless.
Stupid.
...waste of space...
WHY
DON'T
YOU
JUST
DIE?
Asher isn't supposed to be alive. At least, that's what he's been told since the day he was born. At 24 weeks and six days premature, everyone was certain that he would die, everyone except his momma. And when he actually pulled through, they felt a fool, called it a miracle. They said he was special, lucky. His momma called it fate, said there was something fierce inside him, a raging wildfire that fought tooth and nail for every breath that rattled his little chest. He was important and that's why he lived. He was her perfect baby boy and he was going to do something great with his life. It was destiny.
At least, that's what she thought until the doctor's told her he was broken, defective. After that, he wasn't so special anymore. She never looked at him with the same amount of warmth and love like she used to. And that's okay because Asher isn't supposed to exist anyway. He's just a fluke, one of Mother Nature's cruel jokes.
After all, when the world ended, he had been one of the least likely to survive. Scrawny and pale with a weak heart and even weaker lungs, Asher shouldn't have made it this far. There were others, are others bigger and stronger than him. Better. They had families. They weren't unwanted, lost little boys. They had deserved to live. He should've taken their place among the dead. But against all odds, here he is and here they aren't.
So when the other's come for him, angry and vindictive, he goes willingly. They crowd around him in the shadows, hidden by the prison wall. They shove and kick and spit, call him names and tear into him with cruel fists. And not once does he blame them, even with a bloody mouth full of gravel.
Asher deserves this. He knows he does. He sins with every breath he takes. He was never meant to exist so why is he still alive while everyone they love is dead? It's not fair. This is his repentance.
A hard shove forces the air from his lungs and he collapses against the wall, wheezing.
"That all you got, Freak?"
Asher's eyes water, pain shooting through his ribs. He thinks they might have broke something.
"Can't even fight back, can you?"
He shrinks back, pressing into the side of the prison in an attempt to make himself look small. Don't do anything. Don't do anything. He deserves this.
"You're pathetic. You can't even stand up for yourself."
Someone kicks at his leg. Asher jerks back with a whimper.
"Why are you even here?" somebody asks.
"You don't do anything, why don't you just die?"
They all laugh.
"Everyone would be happier if you did," one of them says.
"Yeah, why don't you go die, Freak?"
The other's chime in, chanting, "Die, die, die, die."
Dread blooms low in his belly. His instincts are screaming at him to do something, to fight back, to win all future fights by putting them down like rabid dogs but he can't. He can't because this is what he deserves. They need to punish him and once they do, maybe - maybe they'll feel better inside. Maybe by hurting him, all the dark nasty things burrowed deep within will burn up like a star. He can't deny them the opportunity to feel whole again. They've been through so much already. It wouldn't be right. He can't.
But no matter how much Asher tells himself that they have a right to do this to him, a right to draw his blood and bruise his flesh, he can't control his reflexes. When one of the older teenagers, the ringleader he thinks, makes a grab for him, Asher can't help but shove the hand away with a low whine.
The group pauses, hard glares assessing him. They circle him like vultures, forming a tight ring of bodies. Their lips twist into harsh smiles, shoving him back and forth. The circle parts to let the leader through before closing, a large impenetrable wall Asher has no hopes of escaping.
"Finally gonna fight back, huh, Freak?"
Asher's eyes swing around the faces peering at him, trying to find an exit. He needs to get out. This isn't how things were supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to fight back. They were supposed to hurt him and then leave. They weren't supposed to stay.
His anxiety climbs higher and higher the longer he's stuck in the circle of bodies. They're closing in on him until he barely has any room to move. The people behind him latch onto his arms, holding him down. He starts to tremble.
"Bet the freak doesn't have the balls for it."
"Ain't that right, Retard?" someone says close to his ear.
A hand slides across his chest, resting low on his belly. The heavy weight of it makes Asher's stomach turn and he thrashes against their hold, attempting to break free. He looks at the group in front of him, wet eyes pleading. His throat works frantically, trying to produce any type of sound that will make them stop. He remains voiceless.
No, no, no. Not this. Anything but this. Please.
"Why don't we find out, hm? You'd like that, wouldn't you, Faggot?"
No, no, no, no. Please, please.
The hand starts to slide lower, thumb resting against the metal button of his battered jeans. The leader stands in front of him, looking down his nose at Asher as the young boy struggles. His eyes glitter maliciously.
A garbled noise escapes Asher, fat tears sliding down his cheeks. He's shaking his head back and forth quickly, thin arms aching as he fights against the hands holding him down. He keeps mouthing 'no'.
"Look at that, the little retard is scared," one of them cackles.
Asher feels the button being undone, the harsh sound of his zipper sliding down grating his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut, teeth sinking into his busted lip. He doesn't want to see what they're about to do. Shame washes over him, a lead ball settling deep in his belly. He feels like he's going to throw up.
Please, somebody save me…
"What the hell are you guys doing?"
A new voice rings out between the empty spaces of his wet hiccups and their jeering. The group freezes, turning towards the newcomer. Asher can't see over their larger frames but he can hear the scuff of boot heels against the cracked concrete as the unknown person makes their way over.
"Shit, it's Carl," someone whispers.
At the mention of this 'Carl' person, everyone takes a large step back. Their hands fall from his arms like they've been burned and he finds himself finally free. Asher surges forward, nearly tripping over his own legs in his haste to get away from them.
He breaks through the circle with a choked off gasp, falling to his knees. His trembling hands claw at his chest, heart beating a mile a minute. His throat is closing. He can't breathe. He's going to pass out if he can't get himself under control.
In, 1, 2, 3. Out, 1, 2, 3. In, 1, 2 ,3. Out, 1, 2, 3.
Asher's lungs are on fire, they feel too big for his chest, like they're two over filled balloons waiting to pop. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out everything around him.
When the boy named Carl speaks again, his voice booms like thunder.
"What did you do to him?"
The group shifts nervously, none of them willing to come clean.
Out of the corner of his eye, Asher can see Carl stalk right up to the leader. He could have found the difference in height between the two funny if Carl didn't look so fierce, so dangerous glaring up at the taller boy's face.
"I asked you a question, Jake."
The taller boy - Jake, now that Asher has a name for a face - scowls, quickly averting his gaze to the side, cowed by the younger boy.
"Nothin'. We weren't doing anything to him."
Carl's electric eyes flash, hand snapping up quick as a viper to wind itself in the fabric of Jake's shirt. He inclines his head towards Asher's prone frame.
"You call that 'nothing'?"
Jake clenches his jaw, resolutely refusing to look at Asher.
"Yeah, I'd say that was nothing," he spits, voice hard with anger.
Carl lets go of Jake's shirt, stepping back. He's looking at the older boy contemplatively.
"Nothing, huh?"
A strange smirk flits across Carl's lips and in the next second Jake is flat on his back, gasping for air. Jake's hand scrabbles at his chest as Carl stands over him, surveying the rest of the group. Asher jolts, eyes wide as he stares up at Carl in disbelief. The smaller male had kicked out high and hard, aiming for Jake's chest. He'd dropped with a loud smack.
"That's nothing too, right?" he asks, gesturing to their fallen leader.
Everyone looks away, heads bowed. No one dares to say anything.
Carl hums in the back of his throat, gaze flicking over Asher before returning to Jake.
"That's what I thought. Now," he pauses, shooting each individual a cold look, "Some of you might think it's okay to do 'nothing' to him later on after I've left. And sure, you could. Easily. But before you get any ideas, I want you to remember something."
Carl turns back to Jake who had just got his breathing under control. He waits until he has the entire group's attention. Then, with a mean spirited grin, Carl swiftly, and viciously kicks Jake in the ribs. The supine boy cries out in pain, curling up to protect his battered torso.
"I want you to remember what I do to people like you." Carl lightly kicks at Jake's curled back, a whine sounding from the hurt boy. "And know it won't be this bad."
Asher freezes, staring into the hard pools of Carl's eyes as their gazes meet. The other boy smiles grimly.
"It will be worse."
Author's Note: Well, yeah...I'm not too sure how I feel about this. Asher wasn't exactly supposed to be groped but I kept writing and that's what happened. I dunno. I might keep the chapter the way it is or I might go back and re-write it. We'll see. I hope it was at least interesting...
Also, the scene idea was totally inspired by the movie/book Ender's Game. I apparently have no shame.