When Nightmares are Reality: CH1
A/N: Bad title is bad. Actually, this is more of a prologue than anything. Most of it is dream sequence. Hopefully I can actually finish this fic. Since I'm so terrible with updates. Also, this will be the last thing I write un-beta'd XD Already, I'm putting this as M for abuse. Hinted or not. It's a mature subject :P Anyway, enjoy~
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"I love you very much, Mattie," she smiled as she lovingly kissed the toddler's temple. The little boy giggled as he felt his father's hand ruffle the wavy blonde locks that matched his mother's . The boy gasped as his older brother tossed his baseball at him without warning, barely catching it as it hopped between his hands in a fumble. He smirked up at his brother as his brother's face broke out into a grin.
"Heh, good catch, Matt. Almost as good as me," he teased.
The family laughed together as they settled on the picnic blanket beneath the green apple tree in the nice park near the lake within walking distance of their white picket-fence home. Their mother, dressed in mom jeans and a soft baby blue cami with a white sweater, pulled back the cover of their picnic basket, handing each boy a hand-prepared turkey sandwich wrapped in wax paper with care. She scolded the elder brother as he shoveled the kettle-cooked sea-salt potato chips down his throat, replacing the bag in his hand with an apple. She smiled and reminded her younger son to eat his fruit as she placed a small tupperware of homemade fruit salad and a plastic child-themed fork in his hand.
They finished their sandwiches and fruits and chips to discover cookies, pies, and brownies stashed at the bottom of the basket. The father laughed and dabbed at the little boy's chocolate-stained face as he nibble at chunks of brownie. The older brother wiped the cookie crumbs from his face using the sleeve of his brand new bomber jacket, which was a few sizes too big, in order for him to grow into it. He leaped to his feet and dragged his dorky-looking father to his feet as well, tossing the ball in his free hand.
The father was a historian and a writer. He also owned and managed the small town's little library only blocks from their home and right on the lakefront. On this fine sunday afternoon dedicated to his family, he wore his usual khaki-colored dress pants held up with his favorite brown belt that complimented his brown leather Birgenstock's. He wore his oh-so familiar starched white dress shirt under a dark green patterned sweater vest. Silver wire-framed glasses sat at the usual perch on the bridge of his nose.
The father made an "oomph" sound as he failed to receive his son's throw. The other three burst into laughter as he stood up, brushed off his pants, and re-adjusted his glasses. The eldest brother laughed as he got ready for another throw.
Meanwhile, the mother held the youngest of the children in her lap, brushing her soft, gentle hands through his hair soothingly as they watched the sunset over the lake and pointed out the shapes the clouds made.
But suddenly, the white, fluffy, golden-trimmed clouds began to get fuller and darker and they began to block out the golden warm shine of the sun. The lake began to become restless, large waves crashing roughly against the rocks. The trees began to swing violently as the wind picked up and whistled a haunting tune. Sheets after sheets of rain began to pelt against the little boy's skin, leaving a harsh sting and the boy drenched. The mother was wisped away screaming by the waves along with the remnants of their picnic. The grass shriveled and turned into dirt while the nice, shiny new fence surrounding the park morphed into rusting chain-link fence edged with menacing barbed wire. The lake eventually morphed into the dreary backdrop of the dirty city projects.
The older brother grew a little bigger, dark bags circling his eyes and a permanent worried frown plastered onto his face. A fresh dark purple and red bruise was painted almost artfully onto the entire left side of his face. His now-worn jacket was patched with some bloodstains. Bandages encased his hands and wrists and part of his head, under his still-golden bangs. His glasses were cracked on one side, almost hiding the dull, hollow look filling his once-brilliantly happy eyes.
The father was no longer a happy, dorky librarian. In place of his freshly-pressed khakis and sweater vests were perpetually dirty sweatpants and a worn, once-white wife beater with rips and cuts here and there. A fierce tattoo decorated his right arm and even darker bags encircled his eyes. He was no longer freshly shaven, instead, his face seemed prickly and sharp and dangerous to touch. His sandy blond hair, was messy and oily and looked as if it hadn't been washed in months. His happy bright green eyes were now a dark and menacing shade, as if they were intent on the kill. His glasses were long lost and forgotten. Why did it matter when everything was blurry with alcohol, anyway? His fingernails and teeth were yellowed from years of smoking and an angry scowl decorating his face. The thing that disturbed the boy the most was his bloodied knuckles, bruised from rough and careless punches.
As for the boy, he felt himself grow a bit taller and thin out, his once baby-fat covered body now pale, bony, and almost shriveled. The feeling of a bloated picnic-lunch filled stomach was replaced with a perpetual hunger, eating at his stomach. His glasses were crooked and a bit too small for his face. His hair tangly and dirty with dried mud and a little bit of blood. He winced as he felt the mixture of new and old welts, cuts, and bruises hammered onto various parts of his body. Tears began to form as he felt the ache in his backside and dried blood itching on his thighs. He wanted to shout and wave for his brother's attention, hoping he'd help him, only to find that his dislocated elbow was casted and set into a sling. He shrieked when he hit the ground after trying to run, finding his knees bandaged cheaply. The rough dirt reopened a newly-healed cut that went along the boy's cheek, staining the dirt near his face with red. The moment he looked up, he saw the tip of his father's boots collide with his brother's ribs. Two screams filled the air; one of pain, and one of hopeless fright.
"Shhh! Matt! Mattie! Wake up! Matt! Matthew!" Violet eyes shot open mid-scream, immediately registering the head of blond and blue filling his eye-sight.
"A-Al…" Matthew whispered, still dazed and confused after being yanked from his nightmares back into reality.
Alfred sighed in relief and leaned back with a sigh, covering his eyes with his calloused hand.
"Nightmares again?"
"Yeah," Matthew rubbed his eyes with cold fists, pulling off the itchy old blanket at the same time. "The one where it starts with that one picnic in the park and then it turns into dad bea-"
"Yeah, I know which one," Alfred cut in before Matthew could remind him what he's been through. Stale silence filled the little room save for the steady plop of the multiple leaks in their makeshift roof.
Matthew shifted uncomfortably and decided to spit out what was haunting his mind.
"Do you think I was loud enough to give away our position to Father?" The boy bore an expression of pure terror and worry.
"No. He's too drunk to comprehend anything. We're safe. Besides, if he comes, I'll protect you. Because I'm-"
"The Hero, I know, Al. You know I don't believe in fairy tales an-"
"Your brother." Al said biting his lip, dismissing Matthew's ramble. Matthew mustered a bit of a smile and nodded.
Giving his brother a small kiss on his temple, just as their mother used to, older brother snuggled closer to younger brother, draping a protective, secure arm over him.
The younger brother sighed with a mock sense of safety. He'd sleep a little bit easier for the rest of the night.
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews motivate me to write faster! ;)
MM15