Title: How to Get Away with Murder

Summary: They thought they could do the unthinkable and go about their lives, but now the Hollingsworth children will have to learn How to Get Away with Murder. AU taking place after Firestarter.

Characters: Miles, Frankie, Hunter, Mrs. Hollingsworth, various others.

Notes: Check the end of the chapter.

Warnings: Major character death, abuse

Conflagration I

March 9th, early evening

Things were getting out of hand ever since he set fire to that hallway in Degrassi.

Those were the thoughts crossing through the mind of Miles Hollingsworth III as he stumbled into his room. He couldn't breathe, his arms were shaking, his eyes felt itchy and irritated but he would not let himself cry. The door slammed shut behind him in a slam that seemed not at all different from the thunder of the raging storm outside as he flopped into bed, rage leaving his body and flowing into his pillow as he pounded it with his fist. Returning home from Tristan's he had been happy – until entering the front gates of his house to see his father sitting there with his family, pleasantly chatting away as if what he did yesterday had not occurred. The thought sent Miles into further rage and he screamed into his pillow drowning out the ear cuddling scream in fluff. But he was not crying. "I will not cry over that monster," was the only thought in Miles' mind as he ignored the moisture on his pillow.

He had been happy returning from Tristan's with hope in his heart that their friendship wasn't completely over – that Tristan might still be willing to be his friend after all they had been through. That's what made Miles' heart stop every time he thought of Tristan. He cared. Truly so. Yes, Tristan was mad at him for still having feelings for Maya; but, after some thinking, he was willing to be friends with Miles despite that. And the joy Tristan felt for him when he told him that his father had finally left his family alone made Miles feel warmer than he had in years. The memory of the smile they shared as they knew they would be friends for life felt like a dagger cutting into his heart. That moment, that happiness, was all Miles had really wanted. Then and there. But like everything else in his young life, his father ruined it.

He drove home from Tristan's with smile on his face, singing out loud the awful music that blared on the radio in joy over what his life would bring tomorrow. Oh, sure, two hundred hours community service wouldn't be fun - although it was more than fair for setting fire to a school. But he was happy. He was closer to his siblings than he had been in years. His mom was finally listening to him about the emotional and now physical abuse his father had rained down on him for years. He had friends that cared! Maya's faith and forgiveness in him in the days leading up to the fire had saved his family. Tristan had forgiven him and they were back to being best bros similar to the relationship he had with Winston, but with a deep care the other boy could never accomplish. And maybe, just maybe, something more. Not that he could think about that now. The rage his father brought out in him always drove him away from those he cared for.

For a moment, just a moment, he thought that he was done with that rage forever. But that hope was lost the moment he walked into the front gates of his home. Giddy from his talk with Tristan, he had sped home as fast as he could in the raging storm. And now he dashed up the stairs to the patio his family often ate at while doing his best to dodge the rain that pelted his hair and dug like ice into his shirt. And then he saw him. His father sitting at the dinner table with his family through the window on the patio that led into the little used dining room. His father sitting there, laughing, chatting with his family like nothing had ever happened. What he did yesterday. The unforgivable act that he thought ended things for good for his mother. Despair tore through him as he burst through the door, the ice cold rain no longer the coldness that pained his chest.

"What is he doing here?" Miles demanded an answer in a hoarse roar. His entire family looked at him, his siblings rustling in their seats. This wasn't going to end well, they knew. And Miles' heart broke. The crushing despair that tore through him when he saw his father in the dining room. That wasn't from seeing his father, but the knowledge that his father was the end of his happiness that had carried him through the day. His hopes and dreams - of going back to school next week with friends, of having a future, of having a home he could come home to and be happy – all gone. Similar feelings tore through his siblings too; he could see it on their faces. Maybe, just maybe, they thought, their father would come back and love him. And Miles was shattering that. Worse, they knew it wasn't his fault, but their father's. Their father would never love them again like he had when they were six and seven year old children. At the table was a shadow of a man who cared only for money, for reputation, for the power that came with being the mayor.

Miles' heart and stomach were in his throat, and he swore the water dripping down his face was from the rain. His mother spoke. "Miles," she said gently. "Miles. Calm down. I know you're upset. We all are. But this is for the best. We can be a happy family again."

Miles couldn't even look at her face. He knew if he did, he would snap at his father. Kill him here and now with the fork in his hand as he ate nonchalantly, ignoring the drama of his causing as he ate. His posture spoke volumes; that he was too good for this; that this was his family; that they would obey. So he avoided letting his gaze fall on his mother's face not wanting to see the mark his father had left there the night before. A mark his face bore as well. And now he couldn't ignore the dull throbbing under his eye. It had been there all day, but he hadn't noticed it except for when Tristan had asked was he okay. And he had smiled and said, "I'm fine Tris." The joys of the day had dulled the pain, but now here he was with the man who had caused the pain. All of it. His whole life.

And he stared at his father. The urge to throw up wracking his nerves as he tried to breathe. And then his father smiled. "Sit down Miles," he said. "Enjoy this fine meal your mother made for us." He waved his arm over the table as if presenting a work of art. A gesture saying 'mine.'

Miles' head was a fuzzy mess. His face held the warmth of fire as he looked at his father and felt a disgust he never had before. And he ran – promptly into the corner of the table sending the surface shaking. Glass and metal clattered at the disturbance. And his father looked at him and for a split second his eyes said 'you fucking screw up,' before reverting to the visage of the caring father that so captivated his mother.

Recovering from his stumble he ran. And then he was in his room, on his bed flinching at every crash of thunder in the stormy night. And he had never been so afraid in his life. He would never be happy. He would never be away from his father. Ever since the fire he had lost hope. In everything.

And then he gave in and cried himself to sleep.

He woke up and his room was iridescent blue. Light and shadow moved and if he were younger he would have sworn they were monsters as the loudest crack of thunder he had ever heard tore through his ears. That thunder had woken him up with a crackle so loud it was as if the storm were in his home. His body ached from what felt like an eternity of heaving as he cried into his pillow.

And his eyes darted toward the door to his bedroom as he heard glass fall and shatter in the hall. He stood up tentatively, slowly as he felt his body's lack of energy. Starved of joy. "And food," he muttered placing his hand over his stomach. Another reason for his nausea.

He crept towards the door and opened it slowly, peaking out, wanting to avoid his father if it were him. He found his mother picking up a shattered lamp. "Mom, you okay?" he asked, noticing the lethargic way she moved.

"Ma-Miles," she muttered, turning towards him.

A flash of anger filled him but turned to concern. "Are you high?" he asked, reaching a hand out to steady her.

She shrugged him off as gently as she could in her medicated state. "I'm fine. I just needed some help to sleep," she slurred.

He reached into her pocket to remove the bottle of pills. He sighed, "That's not exactly what these are for." Then he pocketed them, thinking, "with the day I've had…." And shuddered in disgust at the thought of downing the whole bottle and ending it all. Maya would never forgive him. Tristan either. And he smiled for the first time since getting home.

He lead his mother to her move, opening the door and letting her handle it from there. "Sleep well," he murmured before heading down the hall towards the kitchen. His stomach burned like acid, the twisting hunger gnawing at him. He pulled out his phone. "1am, too late for pizza," he brooded with a sigh.

The light of his father's study was on. "Bastard is still here," he thought in anger. He walked past the door as quickly and quietly as he could manage. Crossing through the living room, he entered the kitchen. He opened the fridge and almost groaned in desire as he saw left overs. He smiled, noting the Miles scribbled over the wrapping of the food. Frankie's doing no doubt. He pulled the wrapping off as soon as the food hit the counter gorging on a bread stick resting on top. Half the food was gone before he felt the need to drink.

Retrieving a drink from a fridge he turned back to his food to find Hunter standing at the door way. If not for the flash of lightning illuminating the room he would have appeared to be the grim reaper as he entered the room with a hoodie on and only his nose and lips sticking out of the hood.

Miles smiled at him, doing the best big brother smile he could muster. "Want some?" he offered, indicating the food. Hunter only grunted in response as he approached the refrigerator. "Oh, come on, talk to me," Miles pleaded gently. "I'm sorry for starting a problems at dinner. You know how it is. I know you feel how wrong it was for him to be back too."

Again, Hunter only grunted. And then feeling Miles eyes baring into the back of his head, he replied. "Yeah, I guess." Short, to the point. Very hunter. But his voice sounded off, almost as if he were talking through a mouth full of food.

"You okay?" Miles asked. "Your voice sounds funny?"

"I'm fine," Hunter mumbled, hand shaking as he reached for the refrigerator door.

"Ha, you don't sound it," Miles said jokingly clasping a hand on Hunter back. And froze as Hunter stiffened, a hiss of pain leaving his lips. "Hunter?" Miles questioned.

Hunter ignored him.

Frowning, Miles grabbed Hunter lightly by the arm and spun him to face him. Miles stomach twisted, the pleasantness that had filled him as he ate turning to agony as he pulled Hunter's hood down. The yellow light of the refrigerator reflected off of him and he could barely make out injuries on Hunter face. Bruised cheek, busted lip, a small amount of dried up blood on his ear, and a look of shame and self-disgust on his face.

Miles froze, backed away in shocked a bumped into the island behind him. "He… he…" Miles sputtered. "He hit you?"

Hunter looked down. "It wasn't your fault, don't worry."

"That does matter!" Miles said strongly, putting his hands on Hunter's arms in reassurance – and regretted when Hunter hissed. Oh, his father would pay for this.

"This is wrong. I could take him hitting me… hitting Mom… But I won't… let him do this to you," Miles said, voice catching in sadness but not in doubt.

Hunter's eye shot up to him in fear. "Don't do anything rash. Don't make him mad. I stood up to him, that's why he did this." Hunter's voice was dead. The only feeling Miles could hear in it was fear.

Miles was breathing heavily now. "Go back to your room Hunter."

Hunter's started to protest but Miles stopped him with a hand gently in the air and eyes pleading 'trust me.'

Miles thought for a moment. Doubt twisted his stomach and he wondered not for this first time this night what it felt like to not feel like he was being eaten inside out. But his voice feigned confidence. "Don't worry, I won't do anything I will regret. I promise you, he'll never hurt you again."

His mind was racing as he watched Hunter walk back to his room - limping slightly now, he noticed. He couldn't let this happen. His life had been hell for years ever since his father decided he had to be the perfect son to be worthy of his love. Things were happening too fast! For years things had progressed slowly. At first his father found fault with everything that he did. This lead to years of arguing that his family blamed on puberty. It then progressed to the point where he was sent to boarding school to toughen him up away from family – but he had never felt more alone and seeking attention wherever he could find it leading to his suspension due to his promiscuous activities and eventual arson.

Then he was sent back home where he had the best and worst times of his life this last year. He made friends for the first time since Chewy when he was 5 – and promptly lost them all at the hands of his paranoid self-pity driven into him by his father. He was always the failure to his father. And at last his father's abuse became physical at the announcement of his sexuality – whatever that was other than the perfect, heterosexual son he could show off at his country clubs. It wasn't even his sexuality that upset his father. What made him mad was that he couldn't control his son. His father had tried to twist his sexuality into a good thing, but he was just using him. As always.

In these past weeks his father's abuse became violent, reaching the point where his sibling sided with him over his father. The breaking point. The fire that sparked the storm raging in his house – the storm raging inside him. His father had hit his brother. Taken his abuse to one of his siblings. And he would not stand for it. His mother was no help; returning to him after the violence he had inflicted upon her; ignoring the years of abuse he had suffered.

It had to end. For good.

And he was spurred into motion in a rush into the living room. The bookcase was in front of him full of various books and knick-knacks his mother had collected. Nothing of value, though she would claim they were invaluable exclaiming "10,000$ a piece!" He shook his head in displeasure. He loved his mother, but she was woefully mistaken in what she should value in life. Not that that was his concern at the moment as he pulled the bookcase away from the wall creating a space for him to reach his hand behind. His hand brushed metal as he released the straps that held the gun in place.

Cold metal dropped into his hands, and he saw his pale hand contrast to the shining black metal as lightning lit the room. He trembled, thunder rocking him to his core as the gun bounced in his hand. Pulling his hand out from behind the bookcase he held the gun at his side. He took a deep breath, legs wobbly and ready to give out on him. He felt cold and afraid. A different fear from earlier when he lied in bed angry at his father and the world, trembling at every roar of thunder he thought might be his dad at his door. That fear was warm, hot and full of rage. This fear was cold, ice cold. The fear from earlier made his blood boil and want to act. This fear chilled him to his core, made him want to shut down, fall to the floor and cry. But that would help no one. His family needed him to do this.

He put the gun in front of him, reaching his left hand over to check the gun. Bullets? Check. Safety? On – for now. Check. Can he fire this? "I'm about to find out," he thought aiming the gun at thin air. He crushed any lingering thought of thanks towards his father for teaching him how to shoot. Now was not the time. That would haunt him later. He shuddered one last time before putting the gun in the back of his pants and began his walk towards his father's study.

His brained raced for an alternate solution but as soon as he found one he crushed it. No, his mom would not brave up and stop their father; she would not sacrifice her material possessions until one of her children was a bloody mess on the floor. And even then…

Turning his father into the police wouldn't work. He had the contacts and the resources to cover it up. Then he would pretend to be the loving father again before striking out at some minimal provocation. His family didn't deserve to live under that reign of fear.

Turning it over to the media would merely postpone his career. He would apologize then feign familial love as his wife pressured his children into going along with it. And he would destroy Miles for it either way. There was one way he would be happy at the end of all this. One way he could guarantee long lasting security for his family. No one deserved to live with a monster.

Now, he was near the door to his father's study, dim golden light peeking through the cracked door. Pushing it open with his left hand, he spoke softly. "Dad?"

His father slammed his pen down, a crack of anger on the desk, before realizing his mistake. "How can I help you Miles?" he spoke condescendingly. "Shouldn't you be in bed? You did after all go and cry yourself to sleep like the child you are?"

Miles ignored him. His reign of terror was over. "I want you to leave. Now. And never come back." His hand traveled down his back, reaching the cool metal only slightly heated by his body. His finger flicked the safety.

His father cackled in tandem with the thunder as lightning lit his silhouette on the window. He had never looked so monstrous to Miles and it took every last bit of strength for him to not collapse to the floor and apologize. But it was love for his siblings, love for his friends and maybe, for the first time ever, love for himself that kept him steady.

"Leave? My house? We've been over this Miles. This is MY house. MY family. I do everything for you? And you demand love? Respect? Common decency? This is my kingdom and you have to earn that here, you spoiled failure of a son. You can't do anything right. You even had to go and like boys! Was it that hard to shove your dick into girls? How about that blonde girl? Seemed like a nice gold digger, what I always wanted for you! At least I can control that. Or that Zoë girl? I hear she likes…"

"Shut up," Miles roared, raising the gun in his right hand pointed directly at his father's face. He was crying now. The first, last and only time his father would ever see it. His arm was shaking violently but he did his best to hold the gun steady.

His father's eyes went wide, then shifted to anger which quickly turned into humor and he laughed. "Really? You think you can shoot me? Put that gun down. You couldn't even punch me the other day. Fucking faggot. You're a failure. That's all you'll ever be. You were supposed to be my pride and joy, but you're a failure. No one will ever love you…."

Thunder roared once again. Miles barely heard the sound of the gun. Wouldn't have known it actually went off if it weren't for the searing pain in his ears and the blood illuminated by the lightning dripping from his father's skull.

Miles fell to his knees, dropping the gun to the floor in a clatter. And as he collapsed to the floor, unable to breathe, he couldn't stop crying.

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed! I really wasn't planning to post this for a few weeks due to the complex nature of covering up a murder, however, this is a very strong chapter that is the basis of the story and I feel little change will occur between now and finishing the writing with relevance to the content of this chapter. There's also the fact I haven't slept in a long time so I'm being impulsive and posting this early \o/ Being that it is early there will be a short time before I post more chapters, but once I start posting it should be more regularly.

A/N 2: This story is very, very loosely based of the TV show How to Get Away with Murder. Primarily, the story will deal with how the Hollingsworth children bond over covering up this mess.

A/N 3: I will delay posting this on A03 until everything is finalized.

Let me know what you think!

Also, I wrote a 'trailer' of sorts for this fic. Let me know if you think it would be good to post that as a chapter 2!

Posted: 1/30/2016. Revised: -