Hello, readers! Welcome to my first fanfic. I'm going to warn you now: THIS WILL INCLUDE multiple TRIGGERS! Im not going to take an hour to list them, but there's a lot. I didn't really take much time to look through for errors, but as I was writing, I kept an eye out, so there shouldn't be any. But please, if you notice any, feel free to tell me. Now, without further ado, Part 1, Chapter 1
April 13, 2005
"Mommy? Wake up! The bad man is gone!" You call, and shake your mother's limp body. "Wake up. Please wake up, mommy. Please... wake up... nobody's gonna hurt you anymore" you whimper, pleadingly. You know she is dead. You know the red liquid pouring from the gunshot wound, and covering your hands is blood. But you don't want to believe it. Mommy is just sleeping, you think to yourself. That has to be the answer. Mommy wouldn't die on you. You cry. Because you know she's not asleep. And you know she will never wake up.
Bro pulls you away from the body and into a hug, wiping away the tears in both your eyes and his.
"Shh. It's okay Dave. It will all be okay." But you know it wont.
What seems like eternities later, the police arrive. When they try to separate you from bro, he fights them with everything he has until they let you two stay together. You press close to him, not wanting to let him go. You two are hustled into the back of a police vehicle and carted off to the police station. But when they ask you questions, you don't answer. You never answer. you never speak. Not until that night, when you and Bro are cuddled together in one of the holding cells until the questioning is over.
"I'm scared" you whisper to him, scooting closer to him on the sheetless mattress.
"I know Dave. So am I. But we'll be okay." This time, you believe him, if only to convince yourself of that fact.
An hour later, the social worker comes. She has you and Bro sign some papers, then ushers you into a sleek black car.
When you get out of the car, you are outside of a large, run-down building that looked like a mix between a house and a school. It had a sign in front that read 'Open Arms Orphanage' in blocky black text.
"This is our new home, Dave" Bro says, with a forced smile.
"Why do we need a new home? Why can't we use our old one?" you say, the panic in your voice apparent
"The police are using it now. So we have to stay here." Bro responded.
You nod, placated for the moment, and follow the social worker into the building.
You look around. The inside of the building is just as run down as the outside. There's a couple teenagers sitting around a TV, but no children your age, and only one adult, a pale, old lady without a hint of smile lines, but plenty of wrinkles.
"Two more?" She asked the social worker, frowning.
"Yes. Dirk, thirteen, and Dave, six. Brothers, and I doubt the older will let you separate them if you tried. Heard he put up a fight with the police." The social worker said. She handed a file to the old lady then left without another word.
"Dennis! Show these two to the attic. I'm pretty sure it's empty." The old lady growled at one of the teens, who rolled his eyes, and led you up three flights of stairs to the attic.
It was small, cold despite the Texas heat, and furnished only with a worn down mattress in the corner.
"Your stuff will be here in the morning, if the police feel generous. If not, it'll be here by tomorrow. Rules are posted downstairs, you can check them in them morning. Until then, try not to cause any problems" Dennis said, then left, slamming the door behind him.
Bro held you close and led you to the bed, tucking you in.
"Sleep tight, lil bro. I'll keep you safe." He whispered in your ear, as sleep overcame you, and you fell into a nightmarish sleep.
Phew. Finally. I hate beginnings. I suck at them. As you might have gathered, this story has two parts. The first will be shorter than the second, and will cover Daves past, while the second will cover Johns present. Both will be equally sad, but the second will have happier bits. Special thanks to Karkalicious 769 for somehow getting me to actually give a crap enough to write anything, and get over the writer's block I've had for the last five or six months.