A/N:

Just an additional warning here that there is child abuse and a lot of swearing in this story. The abuse isn't particularly graphic, but I don't want to take any chances with anyone and I'd rather prepare you guys just in case. Don't say I didn't warn you, okay?

This is also my first Star Trek fic, so don't be too harsh!

Lastly, I'm no Leonard McCoy and I know little about medicine, so if there are any inaccuracies here, please excuse those and let me know. Thanks.

So with that, I hope you enjoy.

The old wooden front door is harshly slammed shut as a small, scared Jimmy Kirk is roughly pulled into the house by his forearm. His heart is thudding wildly against his chest at much too fast a pace, and although he's telling himself to remain calm, he can't manage to stifle the mounting panic at all.

He tries to wish himself away somewhere else; somewhere among the stars, perhaps. But then Uncle Frank's dirty, yellow nails claw deeper into his arm and his grip grows even tighter, dragging Jimmy away from every hope he tries to cling to and closer to the harsh reality that he's now forced to face.

It doesn't take Jimmy's genius young mind to figure out what's going to happen next. He knows his uncle. He knows what his uncle does when he gets into moods like this. Although this time he's much more furious than Jimmy has ever seen him. And though this isn't the first time his uncle has laid a rough hand on him, this is the first time he's not going to have Sam around to stop Frank and protect him.

Jimmy's on his own now.

What's worse is that he's on his own and he's absolutely terrified. Sure, Frank's laid a hand on him before, but it was normally just a push or a shove when he was in a bad mood or when the kid was too slow to fetch him a beer. Usually it was Sam who was on the receiving end of Frank's violence. Sam was always challenging their uncle, arguing with him, causing trouble…the two had never gotten along. And normally it was Jimmy behind his uncle or beside him, shouting and begging and pleading for him to stop; trying to get his uncle away from his brother but watching helplessly as the abuse went on despite his protests.

But now, as he's already despairingly reminded himself, he's alone and he knows there's no way he's going to be able to escape his uncle. The man's too strong and Jimmy's just too small.

Which Frank decides right at that moment to prove as he slams Jimmy into the wall and pins him there with one large, calloused hand against his small chest. He looms over him—dirt on his face and his clothes and the strong, pungent scent of alcohol on his breath—and leans in close. His eyes, angry and wild enough to probably scare off a Klingon Warrior, are both glaring back at Jimmy as he growls, "What the Hell do you think you're up to, boy?"

Jimmy's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. In his head, he thinks back to what his brother said to him earlier.

"You're gonna be okay. You always are. Always doing everything right…obeying every stupid order…"

Not anymore, he wishes he could tell Sam. I'm not sitting back and following anymore stupid orders.

"Nine years and I've never had a damn problem with you. Not like I did with your brother, anyway. And then you go and pull this stunt!" Frank shouts, clenching a fist and punctuating his words with a punch to Jimmy's gut.

Jimmy curls into himself, instinctively moving his arms to try to wrap around his stomach as he fights to catch his breath.

Frank pays no mind to the fact that he can't even breathe. "I told you not to get even a scratch on that car and you drive it off a goddamn cliff? Are you out of your fucking mind!" His fist collides with Jimmy's abdomen again, knocking away any air he's managed to get back into his lungs.

As much as Jimmy hates to admit it, Frank isn't a total idiot. He knows better than to aim for the places that people will see. He goes for the spots that can be easily covered so that no one suspects anything when they see the boys. When he does happen to give Sam a black eye or leave a bruise on Jimmy's face, Sam is too insistent upon trying to stop this all on his own to ask for help and Jimmy is too afraid to say a word to anyone.

"I didn't let Sam get away with this shit and I'm not letting you get away with it, either!" Frank says before he strikes another blow to Jimmy's gut.

The boy wheezes and his vision blurs. The room seems to tilt, and for a moment Jimmy thinks if he's going to pass out. But then he realizes the ground isn't moving towards him because he's passing out, it's moving towards him because Frank has let his grip on him go and his legs have given out on him. He's just falling of his own accord; collapsing because it feels like there is a hole in his stomach, because his lungs have given up, and because his legs are much too weak to support him any longer.

His head throbs as it hits the floor, but it's nothing compared to the winded feeling those three blows to his chest have given him. Curling further into himself and wrapping his arms around his chest, Jimmy glances up at his uncle. "It's a little late for that, isn't it?" he answers breathily. "Car's gone. You couldn't stop that, could you?" he says, knowing that his words will cost him. But Jimmy finds he didn't care. He isn't sitting back and staying quiet anymore.

Frank's voice is low and dangerous. "What'd you say, brat?"

"You heard me," Jimmy raggedly replies, still trying to suck in breathes between words. But at least his tone is defiant enough even as he lies curled up on the floor and staring up at his uncle. "Screw you, Frank."

"Why you little bastard!" he shouts, and then Frank kicks him right in the face. Jimmy hears a crack and his nose stings while the pounding in his head increases exponentially.

He knows Frank is going to go for another blow—where, Jimmy really has no idea and his head hurts too much to even try to guess—but he can't bother to move to even defend himself. Instead he lies there and waits for it, bracing himself as much as he can for what's to come.

"Get away from him!" a voice cries, presumably from the front door that Jimmy can't see from his spot on the ground. The voice sounds like Sam's, but that can't be right. Sam left. Sam packed what few belongings he cared to bring with him into a little backpack, swung his jacket over his shoulder, and headed off along the dusty dirt road.

Jimmy recalls passing him in Frank's car just before the police showed up in the rearview mirror, so surely Sam realized that his brother had gotten himself into some deep trouble. The younger Kirk doubts that it would cause Sam to come back home, though. Sam had been absolute in his decision to leave and never come back, regardless of Jimmy's pleading for him to stay. Sam would never return for him. He'd never return for anything.

So how could it possibly be Sam's voice he was hearing? It had to be the pain making him hear things.

He sees Frank's feet pivot as he turns around to face the unexpected intrusion. "What the hell are you doing back here? You said you were going for good and I told you to leave and never show your face here again!"

"Yeah, well I changed my mind. Now step away from my brother or else." Well that's definitely Sam…but what's he doing here?

Frank barks out a laugh. "Or else? Or else what, kid. You ain't got nothing and you're half my size. You couldn't take me on and you know it. You've already tried." Jimmy remembers that day. It had been an ugly fight and when it had finished, Jimmy had insisted on accompanying his brother to see a doctor.

"I'll call mom. I'll make sure she sees what you did and this time there won't be a way to hide it or deny it."

It's a nice idea, but all three of them know that even if Winona Kirk did care more about her kids, particularly Jimmy, she was stuck in deep space for at least another two or three months.

Frank simply laughs again. "We both know that that's not gonna do shit. Your mother's on the Nova out in deep space and she's not coming back any time soon. You wouldn't be able to send her any subspace communications, anyway. And even if you did, who's to say she'd give two shits about him?"

Sam's quiet for a long moment, and Jimmy imagines they're both just standing across the room from one another, glaring at each other.

"Just leave him alone," Sam demands. "You've done enough to him already."

This time it's Frank who doesn't speak for a moment, but finally he concedes. "Fine. Take him upstairs. I don't want to see him for the next 24 hours or I'll be sure to pick this up right where it left off."

Jimmy watches Frank's feet as he walks away and relief floods through him as he hears and feels the vibrations of those heavy footsteps fade.

"God, Jimmy, what the hell was that?" Sam says, surprisingly close to him. And then without warning he's being lifted up off the ground and carried in his brother's arms. Across the room, down the hall, up the stairs…

Sam lays him down on his bed and then leaves. Even though lying down, falling into blissful oblivion and never moving again is all he wants to do, Jimmy slowly tries to sit himself up. Lying down really isn't helping him breathe any better, and there's blood clogging his nose and running down his face that lying down on a bed really doesn't help to fix, either.

He looks around for something to use to dap at the red stream he feels dripping down his face and over his lips, but he's at a loss until suddenly Sam is at his side again. His brother helps lean him against the creaky backboard of his bed before holding up a warm, damp cloth and gently wiping at Jimmy's face.

Jimmy winces a little and then lets out a cry when Sam accidentally gets too close to his nose. Sam reaches out a hand to examine it, but Jimmy swats him away. "Don't touch it!" he snaps. "It's broken."

"Broken?" Sam echoes in surprise. "Jeez, Jimmy. He really did a number on you."

"Yeah, well I did drive his precious antique car over a cliff. And I talked back to him."

"What in the world possessed you to do that, anyway? Steal his car and drive it over a cliff! That's insane, Jimmy. That was practically asking for a death wish."

Jimmy shrugs. It hurts—just about everything hurts right now, really—and he regrets the movement immediately. "I was done obeying his stupid orders," he answers casually, thinking back to what Sam had said earlier.

Sam sets the bloodied towel on the bedside dresser and looks Jimmy square in the eye. "Look, Jimmy. You can't pull any stunts like this again. You've got to behave; keep doing what you've always done."

Jimmy stares at him in disbelief. "What? But earlier you said…"

His brother puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and gives him a firm look. "I know what I said, and I'm telling you to disregard it. I don't want you doing anything like this again. You got it?" His eyes are searching Jimmy's for an indication that he understands and that he'll listen to Sam. Jimmy doesn't want to go back to being the complacent, obedient kid he was before today, but he doesn't want to concern his brother, either.

Sam seems to realize that he's not fully convinced yet, so he goes on, his voice softer this time. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it when I said you were always doing what you were told. I just meant that you're smart and you're a good kid, and you know how to stay out of trouble. I can't do that, Jimmy. You're good at hiding your thoughts and your feelings under the surface, but me? I have a thought or opinion? I voice it. I feel angry or upset? I let people know. I can't just sit in silence like you can, and that's great for you, Jimmy. That's smart. And that's going to help you get by."

"What if I don't want to do that anymore?" Jimmy argues defiantly, and Sam frowns at him.

"You're going to have to if you have to deal with him," Sam says, nodding toward the door. "Now slide over here, I have to take care of your nose."

A flare of fear sparks in Jimmy's bright blue eyes. "What are you going to do?" he asks nervously, slowly scooting over toward Sam.

"You're not going to like it, but I have to reset it for you. It's a little crooked."

"What?" Jimmy cries out as he backs away from his brother in alarm. Sam grabs his wrists and pulls him back toward him, assuring him that it'll only take a second and that his nose won't hurt so much once he's done with it. Jimmy, of course, isn't convinced. Not to mention… "Do you even really know how to reset it?"

Sam actually looks a little affronted. "Yeah, of course I do. I wouldn't try it if I didn't."

"Where'd you learn to do it?" Jimmy asks as Sam reaches up with both hands. It's partially because he's curious as to how his brother learned and partially because he's trying to distract himself.

"Frank broke my nose once. I went to that medical clinic in town that I started going to whenever I had something worse than just a bruise or a scrape and the doctor there who had gotten to know me a little told me how. I took note of what he was doing and I remembered it in case it happened again."

"And you're sure you can fix it?" Jimmy asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow at his brother.

"Yeah, Jimmy, I'm sure," Sam replies with a roll of his eyes. "Now are you ready?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should take me to that doctor—Ow!" He lets out a cry of pain and his hands fly up to clutch his face, which is stinging and burning and just throbbing all over.

"Here, better take this," Sam says, grabbing the stained towel from off the bedside table and handing it to him. Jimmy silently takes it and holds it up to his nose and gently presses, ignoring the blood that's gotten onto his hands now.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to get you an ice pack and some pain killer," Sam says, patting him on the back as he gets up off the bed. He steps out of the room and leaves Jimmy for a couple minutes to dab at his nose.

While he's gone, Jimmy sets the towel down for a moment and lifts up his shirt. There are already some extremely ugly bruises beginning to blossom all over his chest, and when he pokes one of the spots it causes him to hiss in pain—and yeah, that was kind of a very terrible idea. Seriously, Jimmy, why the hell would you poke it, anyway?

Sam returns right after Jimmy pulls his shirt back down and watches him to make sure he swallows the medicine he's given. Jimmy's never been much of a fan of medicine. Sam hands him a cold ice pack wrapped in another towel and instructs him to put it on the bridge of his nose to help the swelling. Then Sam helps him lean back against the pillows he's propped up on the bed for Jimmy and gets up to leave.

"Wait!" Jimmy calls from the bed, and Sam stops and turns to face him. "Stay?" he asks, his voice so small and timid and his eyes so sad and pleading that damn it, Sam doesn't have the nerve to do anything else but walk back over to the bed and crawl in beside his little brother.

Sam places an arm around his brother's shoulder and tugs him closer. Jimmy rests his head against him and leans into him, seeming utterly content. Sam can't help but smile a little and place a hand on his brother's head, stroking the bright blond head of hair and losing track of just how long he sits there.

"Sam, you're gonna stay, right?" Jimmy mutters sleepily a while later, and Sam pauses.

"Yeah, of course I'm staying," he answers quietly.

Jimmy's eyes have slipped shut and he's just too sore and tired to object to falling asleep, but he manages a weak grin in response. "Good," he slurs, and he drifts off to sleep before he's even able to catch the lie.

When he wakes up in the morning, face half-pressed into the pillows and covers drawn up to his neck, it takes Jimmy a moment to remember what all happened the night before. But then he remembers Sam leaving and the car and Frank's furious eyes as he strikes blow after blow to his stomach until—

Sam.

Sam had interrupted them. He'd stopped Frank from beating him into the floorboards, and then he'd gone and reset his nose, given him some ice for it, and held him close as he drifted off to sleep…

Sam, you're gonna stay, right?

Yeah, of course I'm staying.

Of course…

His body aches, but Jimmy throws off the covers and leaps out of bed, heading for his brother's room and hoping that Sam had just gone back to his room once he'd fallen asleep.

But Sam's bed is empty, and Jimmy's stomach twists. An icy feeling spreads from his gut to his skin and makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He feels nauseous and shaky as he races down the stairs and looks in the kitchen and the living room—and thank God, Frank must still asleep or outside or something, because he's nowhere to be found inside. Not that Jimmy cares right now, because all he does care about is finding Sam—but his older brother is nowhere to be found.

After he spends at least fifteen minutes searching, growing more and more desperate by the minute, Jimmy finally resigns himself to the inevitable truth that Sam isn't here. Sam's gone.

When he returns to his bed and slinks back into the covers, he spies the note on his dresser and reads it carefully. Then he reads it again, hoping that maybe there's another way to read this that doesn't make it sound like Sam is gone for good, but…Well, it certainly doesn't sound that way at all.

Jimmy,

I wish I could stay, but I'm sorry. You know that I can't. I can't live like this anymore and I can't put up with Uncle Frank anymore, but you're smart and you're great at staying out of trouble. Better than me, anyways. As long as you don't pull a stunt like yesterday's again, you'll be fine. Keep up the good grades and obey every order, no matter how stupid you think it is. You'll get to give your own orders soon enough.

Take care, little brother,

Sam

Jimmy doesn't leave his room for the rest of the day. He doesn't even really leave his bed. He knows it's absolutely pathetic of him—and perhaps if his brother wasn't gone he'd come in and tell him to stop acting like a wuss—but he just lies there and alternates between crying, sleeping, and listening to his stomach grumble. But screw it, he doesn't care anymore.

He doesn't care, and apparently the only other person he thought who did doesn't, either.