Okay, so far, this is just a try. I don't know how long it will be (depends a lot on how many people will read and review…), but I just thought it would be a nice story to write when I have a writer's block with "Watch out for the Wolfes". And since we don't know anything about Ryan's childhood, I think this might be a possibility…

I don't own CSI Miami, Ryan Wolfe and his uncle, but I do own this idea, and Duke and Doreen Wolfe as portrayed here. The title of this fiction is a line from Amy Winehouse's song "Some unholy war".

Warning: There is gonna be mentions of child abuse in later chapters

He still stands in spite of what his scars say

Chapter One

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"Where does discipline end? Where does cruelty begin? Somewhere between these, thousands of children inhabit a voiceless hell." Francois Muriac

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The first memory Ryan Wolfe had from his childhood was when he had been 9 years old. It was dinner time; he was sitting at the table, just about to put a fork into his noodles, when his father said:

"Ryan?"

Ryan raised his head, "Sir?"

"Sit up straight." Ryan put the fork down and tried to straighten his back. His father nodded and continued eating. After five minutes, he said again, "Ryan?"

"Sir?"

"You're sitting there like you had no spine. I told you to sit up straight."

"I'm sorry…"

Another ten minutes passed until Ryan's father put his fork down and said, "Get up, Ryan."

Ryan looked at his father, "What did I do wrong?"

"Get up, I said." Ryan got up. "Go to the wall over there."

Ryan walked over to the wall opposite the dining table. Now his father got up too. He went over to where Ryan was standing, grabbed his shoulder and made him stand with his back against the wall. The father pinioned his shoulders, the back of his head and his feet and his arms against the wall. Then he said, "Until you have learned how to it up straight, you can stand here." Then he walked back to the table where Ryan's mother and his sister were sitting, and continued his dinner. Ryan didn't dare to move. When they had finished dinner, he was sill standing there.

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The other memories he had were all very similar. 'Sit up straight, empty you plate, get a decent hair cut, shut up when adults are talking, clean up your room…' To clean up the bedroom was the most important thing. Ryan's father had taught him when he was ten. He had left him in the room and told him to clean it up. Ryan had taken the broom and started cleaning the floor, putting his toys and books neatly in the bookshelf. After an hour, the father came into the room, looked around, and left, just saying, "Not good enough. There's dust on the wardrobe." Ryan nodded and started dusting the wardrobes, and everything within his reach. His father came back, and again left, saying, "Not good enough. The lampshade." Ryan noticed he had forgotten the lampshade. After he had dusted it, his father pointed out that the heater wasn't clean, so he had to clean the heater. Then his father came back, nodded and said, "Just what I thought." And then he started teaching Ryan how to properly clean the room. It took him several hours. After that, the room was shining. There was no dust, nothing. You could have eaten from the floor. But Ryan was completely exhausted when he went to bed that night. Two days later, it was the same situation. And it continued over the next weeks. He cleaned his room, his father watched him. For hours and hours. Later, his father didn't have to control it anymore, because Ryan had been so worried about every little piece of dirt that he started cleaning the room everyday.

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Ryan's father, Duke Arman Wolfe, was a soldier. Lieutenant General. His father, Ryan's grandfather, had been General. Having a soldier in the family had been tradition in the Wolfe family for generations. And Duke Wolfe was determined that his eldest and only son, Ryan, would continue that tradition. When Duke had grown up, his father had early enough started to form his character by teaching him discipline in every aspect. And it had taught Duke a lot. He was a real man. And when his beloved wife, Doreen, had told him she was pregnant over a son, Duke knew he would teach his son the same values he had been taught. Discipline. Cleanliness. Manners. Strength. So that later, when he would join the army, at least those things would be in his blood already.

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Now, Ryan Wolfe was sixteen. A 16 year old teenager, the best in his class at school, quite a good sports player, and a tough guy. At least, that was what his friends thought. But of course, they didn't know Ryan's inside feelings. Rule Number One: Don't show any feelings to anyone. They didn't know about the diagnosis the shrink had given him. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. His uncle Ron, his father's brother, had found out. Of course, without telling Ryan. When Ryan had come over for holidays, Ron had invited one of his friends, a shrink, to take a look at his nephew. He had noticed it immediately, and had informed Ron, who had told Ryan. At least Ryan knew now what was wrong with him, why he couldn't stand any dirt, why he had to count everything he saw… But of course, Ryan hadn't spoken to anybody about that, besides Ron. His friends made fun of him because he was such a neat freak, but it didn't bother him too much. After all, neatness was a good thing. It was important. Ron had worried about him… But it was useless. He was alright. And the counting… well, okay, that sometimes annoyed him. But then again… How could he be sure everything was okay if he didn't count? If he left home, he just had to check if the door was locked. Four times. If his room was okay… you know, no shoes lying around on the floor. Somebody could fall over them and break a leg, or an arm… And he was only satisfied if he had checked it four times. Four times was okay. He was okay. He had to be. Just what would his dad say if he knew that his son was obsessive-compulsive? Ryan had begged Ron not to tell his dad, and Ron, Ryan's closest friend ever since, had promised. After all, Ron knew what Duke was like. And he didn't care for family tradition. To him, his nephew was like a son. And whenever Ryan came over, Ron tried to make life easy for him. Showing him Miami, just how easy-going life could be. No cleaning, no sitting up straight, no such things. And every time, when Ryan's holidays were over, it broke his heart to see him go back to his father. But Ryan never complained. Not once. Though Ron could feel that Ryan, despite what he pretended, was scared of his father. And as soon as Ryan was leaving Ron's apartment, the boy was on his own….

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Ryan was half sitting, half lying on his bed, reading Sherlock Holmes, when the voice of his father echoed through the house.

"Ryan??"

Ryan got immediately up. Making his father wait was never a good idea. He walked down the stairs and arrived in the living room, "Sir?" The father was sitting on the couch. Ryan had bowed his head, waiting for his father to say something. He had learned a long time ago not to say anything more than necessary. He would wait until his father address him again.

He didn't have to wait long, "We're having guests for dinner tonight. I expect you to behave. And tell your mother to cut your hair. It's too long."

Ryan nodded, "Yes, sir." The father walked away.

Ryan waited until he was out of the room, then he sighed. His hair was too long. It was barely 2 cm long. He shrugged and walked over to the kitchen were his mother was already preparing the soup, "Ma'am?"

"Yes dear, what is it?" Doreen Wolfe was a beautiful woman; long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, slim and slender. Ryan had inherited her features pretty much. She had the same way to move. Now she smiled at her son.

"I… My hair…" He motioned to it. His mother sighed.

"Just go upstairs to the bathroom, will you? I'll be there in a minute. The hair clipper is in the bottom drawer."

Ryan nodded and went to the bathroom.