A/N: I'm not sure if this is supposed to be following Brendan's death or not, but each of these chapters are going to be dedicated to someone in Brendan's life whom has made an impact on him, no matter how big or small. I haven't decided how many chapters there will be yet. The last chapter may be in more than one part, as I'm sure you can imagine which young man that will be dedicated to ;) this is going off the basis that Brendan and Emmett are the same age, so from the years mentioned you can work out how old Brendan was yourself. He was born in 1979

The title is taken from a Johnny Cash song because yeah, Brendan Brady loves Johnny Cash and the song fits. 'Everyone I know goes away in the end and you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down, I will make you hurt.'

Seamus Brady

Seamus Brady. My father. The man that shaped my life, my very own flesh and blood. The stereotypical role of a father is to help their kids with their homework, to take them to football practise, to lovingly take the piss out of them and play fight with them, to nurture them and encourage them, to 'have words with mum' when she's being to stern, to teach you about women and sex and slip you a beer when mum's not looking. That's dad, right? Not my Da. Not Seamus Brady. My father is a monster.

There are things no person in the world should be exposed to. Things that no person should ever have to go through. Abuse, in any way shape or form, is one of them. Not only that, but a parent's job is to protect you from that, to defend you against any dangers of the world. The last thing a father should be is the man who subjects you to something so horrific that you can never move on.

It's possible to take a person's life away without actually killing them. I would know.

Saturday August 15th 1987 – 'Where it all started'.

"Can't we play something good this time, Bren?" Cheryl blinks up at me with her chocolate brown eyes, the wind gently tousling her blonde hair. I smile and shake my head.

"We can play hide and seek if you really want..." I try and please her, sitting down on the edge of the grass, kicking the sand with my pink wellies. She pushes her toes into the sand and sucks on her forefinger, considering this.

"Okay…" She giggles. "But I want to hide first!"

"I know, I know!" I jump up, suddenly filled with joy at my amazing idea. "We can mix our games!"

She blinks and just looks at me. I start dancing around her a bit, laughing with joy, kicking sand along as I do so, my white sheet gently billowing behind me, passing off as my cape.

"No, listen, I wanna play superman, yeah…?" I try to explain myself, grinning proudly at my amazing idea. "And you wanna play hide and seek…."

"Bren, I don't wanna play superman! We always play superman…" She pouts and looks disappointed. My sister is right, we do always play it, but that's because I love it. Because being superman is like the best thing. I get to be like a man who can fly and save people and 'everyone' loves superman! He's my hero…

"No, I know… so… so you go hide! And pretend like you've been kidnapped! And my job is to come and rescue you because…. Because I'm superman!" I grin and jump up and down excitedly.

"Um…" She pauses and bites her lip before nodding and grinning. "Okay! I'll go and hide and you come and save me, Superman!"

I grin and nod, sitting down on the little grass verge, drawing patterns with my finger in the soft sand of Southport, breathing calmly. I start counting to 40, as she squeals and runs away across the beach. The sun is beating down, hot and relentless. I'm wearing sheets of sunscreen but it doesn't stop the heat from irritating my skin, coating it in a thin layer of sweat, burning the surface of my arms and legs. The breeze coming in from the sea is cool, causing the sweat on my skin to dry within seconds of it forming. Not that I notice any of this while I am there. I'm too young and too caught up in my own thoughts to think about something as mundane as the weather. All I know now is that it is warm, I'm on holiday in a different country (it's only England but…) and the weather means me and Cheryl can play well on the beach.

"37, 38…." I yawn. "39…40!"

And then I jump up. I'm in action, full superman mode. I grin to myself and feel like a real hero as I start running across the beach, my wellies sinking into the sand, my 'cape' billowing out behind me.

"Cheryl…." I call out. "I'm coming to rescue you!"

I laugh to myself and start searching the beach. She may be younger than me, but she's a damn good hider. I like it, though, the hunt. Makes me feel more heroic. I jump over little logs and rocks, scouring the beach for some sight of my little sister. And then I find her, squeezed carefully behind a little rock. I jump in front of her and reach out my hand to help her free.

"I found you…" I grin and pant for air, putting my hands on my knees, laughing. "I win!"

She pouts at me and then plays along. "You saved me Superman!"

I nod and pull her in for a hug and we stand on the beach for a few moments, just hugging. Because she's my little sister, and I'd do anything for her. Though she's a girl, and you know, girls have germs. Apparently. Least that's what the boys at my school say, but Cheryl's a girl and she's my best friend…

We play again but this time I hide and she finds me almost straight away, crouching in the long grass. And then we're called inside by Da, told we need to come in because lunch is nearly ready. We run inside, dusting the floor of the holiday home with sand as we both tumble breathlessly into the kitchen. Instantly, the smell of cake mixture fills our nostrils and we both grin. Nana is stood by the worktop, mixing bowl in one hand, spoon in the other.

"You're making cake!?" Me and Cheryl both ask simultaneously.

"Brendan, take this silly thing off in the house…" Cheryl's mother scolds lightly, untying the sheet and taking it off. I frown and try to stop her but she just smiles and kisses my forehead, walking away.

Nana turns to us and smiles. "Yes, I am…" She stops and beckons us closer. "You want to help?"

We both go over but there's a grunt and a small, bitter laugh in the doorway. I turn to see Da there, leaning on the doorframe, smoking a cigarette.

"You're not going to help, are ye, son?" He asks and I blink. Am I not? Nana sighs and I just look puzzled.

"Seamus…" She soothes gently.

"No. Cooking is a girl's job, Brendan." He tells me, walking over. "You don't wanna grow up to be a big girl like your mother and your Nana, do you?"

"I just wanna bake…" I try to plead innocently, staring up at him.

"My son is no woman, Brendan." He snaps harshly. "Now go upstairs and play with your toys, for god's sake."

I bite my lip and glance at Cheryl, who's messily stirring the cake mixture, giggling. Nana is watching us both cautiously. I nod slowly and run past Da, heading up the stairs. I run my hand across the wall as I run down the upstairs corridor, pretending that I'm running to save someone again, like superman…

I start playing with my toys and I hear a noise. Da is in my room. I stand up and just look at him. He has a look in his eyes. Something I've never seen before. They look cold. Hard. Black. Nothing behind them .I fear I'm in trouble, that my cooking antics has got me in trouble with Da and he's going to take my toys and shout at me like he does when he comes home late. But he just stops and locks the door, putting his cigarette down on the set of drawers. He comes towards me and I don't dare move. He pushes me hard so I fall….

And he ruins my life. It stays with me all my life, the little details. The smell of his old aftershave, coupled with the smell of stale tobacco and whisky on his breath. The feel of his hands on my skin. The pain. But the smell is the worst part, because it sticks with me. Because I can smell it on my skin, on my bedding, my pyjamas. Everywhere. I can't do anything, I can't stop him, can't escape. Not physically anyway. I can always escape in my head, or at least I can try.

"Lunch is almost ready." He tells me afterwards, as he straightens out his clothing, standing at the end of the bed, wiping his brow.

I do not speak. I do not respond. I do not even look at him. I can't even blink. I just lie in my bed, staring at the window, at the curtains billowing out in the wind. I'm shaking, shivering. His voice is barely audible to me and my vision is blurry. I can smell him.

"I'll call you when it's on the table…. Come down and look happy. For your Nana and your sister." I know he is watching me. "Good boy."

And he leaves, closes the door behind him. I keep staring at the window and I just cry. I cry for what feels like hours.

-OXO-

Sometimes, I talk to him. In my head. Ask him why. See if I can get some answer from him, something that makes sense. Because it's almost like I deserve it. For all the sins and crimes I've committed throughout my life… maybe I'm being punished. But, I'm not, am i? Because I hadn't done anything wrong, not when I was a child. Not when I was eight fucking years old. He has no excuse. I always plan out my conversations with him, if I would have them. But it's laughable because I know for a fact I would never dare utter a word like that to him, not ever. And I make myself sick, how even all these years later, I know I let him get to me. I know that I'm still afraid around him, that I can't speak around him.

I should be strong; I am when I'm with other people, but when it's him… I'm not. The funny thing is, he still smells the same. He still smells like old aftershave, stale tobacco and whisky. Even now, when he gets close to me, it makes my skin crawl. I can still smell it sometimes, when I'm in bed alone, or taking a shower. I can smell it on my skin. He took my life away, my whole life. I've messed about everyone who I've ever let myself love and I've destroyed so many lives. I've ruined anything good that's happened to me and I know it's all because of him. I used to leave destruction in my wake and a lot of the time, it was either to get away from him… or to please him. Because impressing him seemed to matter so fucking much for so long. I used to think that if I could make him proud, if I could make him love me, it would go away. The past would go away and he'd turn into a proper father. But the truth was, I could live my life exactly like him, following his footsteps but he'd never be proud. He would never let himself.

Friday 26th November 1993 – 'the suspension'

I fiddle with my hands, staring down at them as I sit in silence. I pick at my fingernails and carefully examine the slightly red marks branching across the knuckles on my left hand. The office is silent, nothing but the sound of a ticking clock hanging on the wall and the sound of the Head clicking his pen repetitively. I play with the hem of my shirt and the end of my school tie, wishing the ground would swallow me up. I do not dare to look up. I can't. I know the judgemental look he is giving me. I'm too ashamed to make eye contact, because I know what's coming and I know for a fact that he will not notice. He won't care. I blink and stop myself from tearing up.

"Brendan." His voice is cool, stern and there's a light urgency too it, hinting at me to meet his gaze. I shakily look up, my blue eyes vaguely reflected in his glasses. He's leaning back in his office chair, across the desk from me, relaxed and collected. He pierces right through me with his gaze. He inhales and leans forward, clicking his pen a bit.

"Sir." It's all I can say back.

"What you did today was unacceptable, Brendan." He tells me, his voice without anger or threat but with a cool layer of judgement, like I am so far beneath him, I am not worth his time.

"I know, sir." I look down and play with my hands. He deserved it, Liam Murphy, he provoked me. But of course, the Head isn't going to care about that today. I take a shaky breath and look around his office. Everything is so neat and perfect; his bookshelf is lined with education books and child psychology reports from professors and his qualifications are hanging neatly on the wall behind him. It's all very stereotypical for a headmaster's office but it's intimidating nevertheless.

"Look, Brendan, I saw you hit Liam with my own eyes. That type of behaviour isn't tolerated, and you know that." He scolds, watching me carefully. I blink and don't look at him, feeling my chest get tighter as I see the fate of my day playing out in front of me.

"Liam asked for it, Sir…" I reply quietly, fiddling with my hands. "The things he said…"

"I was on the other end of the courtyard, Brendan and I saw it first-hand. It was unprecedented. I'm ashamed to have students like this in my school. Liam's father has taken him home and you want to be very thankful that his parents haven't decided to take this further. There's a risk he might have broken his nose." He explains, putting his pen down and shaking his head.

"I didn't mean to hit him that hard…" I try to justify my actions but I know my pleas are falling on deaf ears and I can feel my palms becoming slick with sweat already. I am full of fear, I can feel it. "He just got me so angry."

"It's clear you have a temper on you, boy." The Head nods, the bitterness obvious in his voice. "You're a nasty kid, Brendan Brady."

I shake my head and look at him, pleadingly. He doesn't understand. Liam is an eejit. I can hear his voice now: "Ye know what ye are, don't ye, Brady? Yer a fuckin' queer is what ye are… I'm sure yer father must be so proud of ye… Ye make me sick, Brady." Liam had provoked me purposefully in the corridor and I had punched him, hard. Straight up in front of the Headmaster too. Then Liam cried to the staff and had me done for punching him. Had me done. And the Head is never going to listen to me, not anymore. Not after I'd nearly broken another student's nose right in front of him. He studies me, stares at me, and I know he must see it. The vague remainder of a black eye, the weak bruises on my neck and the vivid ones that branch across my wrists and arms from his grip. My Da's. They all scream at me when I dare look in the mirror so I know he must see them. It is not his job to care.

"Sir… I just want to…"

He cuts me off, "I've already informed your father. He's coming in to get you and he's going to sort you out when you get home. I think it's best left in his hands than mine."

I stare at him. I knew, of course I knew. I saw it coming. My Da's going to come in and he's going to 'sort me out'. Yeah, I'm sure he will. I have no doubt that as soon as he gets me home he's going to give me a beating, or maybe even worse because of course, how dare I humiliate him. Of course, there's always a chance he could be proud of me. I defended myself and battered a boy, which is my Da's style isn't it? He's always telling me how I need to step up and be a man. Well, I did today, didn't I?

"No, Sir, please. You can't get my Da to come in…please…" I beg, holding one hand in the other to stop myself from shaking. I swallow hard to stop tears from reaching my eyes.

"You should have thought about the consequences before you lashed out, young man." He shakes his head. "In the meantime, as I've already informed your father… you are to be suspended from this school for a short period of time."

"Suspended…?" I bite my lip. "You can't suspend me! I've got work… so much work… You see, I want to be a pilot, Sir, and…"

"A pilot? You?" He scoffs. "Let me give you a reality check, Brendan. You misbehave in all your classes, the teachers say your concentration is so poor and you're always drifting elsewhere in class. Not to mention the fact that none of your homework is handed in on time. I'm suspending you for assaulting another student. You are never going to make it as a pilot. Now you can either wait in here for your father or you can sit outside my office."

I look down and inhale. 'Never going to make it'. Becoming a pilot would mean the world to me, because it meant I could get away. It meant I could fly somewhere beautiful, with blue seas and sky. Away from Ireland and away from him. From my father.

I am left to wait outside his office, sitting on the little red plastic chair that's placed by his door for students who need to see him. The receptionist outside his office keeps watching me, disdainfully and I know she's judging me.

I hear his heavy footsteps in the corridor before I even see him. The heavy 'thud thud' of his feet hitting the ground as he walks. He just looks at me when he reaches me and shakes his head before informing the receptionist that he's collecting me. She nods and allows him. He looks at me, the anger burning behind his eyes, leaving him looking deadpan on the surface.

"We're going home, boy."

The car journey home is silent. I play with my hands the whole time and stare out of the window, trying to supress the fear raging inside of me. When we get inside, he calls out and no one is home. It's just me and him. I want the ground to swallow me up, to take me away. I want to died right here, with his eyes cutting through me as he walks towards me, full of hatred and disgust.

"Suspended…" He stops, right in front of me. "You humiliated me."

I swallow and stare away from his gaze, my breathing shaky. "Da, please. I'm sorry…" I plead, my voice weak. "He asked for it… I was defending myself… I thought you'd be proud…"

"Proud? Proud that my son is a fuck up?" He sounds disgusted. "Proud that you humiliated me and brought shame on this family?!"

He backhands me hard across the face and I whimper, keeping my face to the side, not daring to look at him. I feel the tears prick my eyes but I inhale and they go away. I am more than used to dealing with this.

"I'm sorry." I beg. "I'm really sorry, Da…"

His fist connects with my ribs so I double over and collapse against him. I choke and feel his arms wrap around me, holding me so my head is resting against his chest. I cough helplessly and just stay there, resting against him, whimpering. Being so close to him makes me sick but his hold is making the pain in my ribs less intense and I can't muster strength to move.

"Hey, shh…" He shushes my whimpers and sobs and holds me, his hand moving to my cheek to force me to look up at him. "You messed up today, you do know that, don't you, son?"

I cough and nod, staring at him. Of course I know. I brought shame on him. I fucked up again. No matter what I do to impress him, to try and be a man, I am always ruining things for this family. I ruined Cheryl's birthday party, I ruined Christmas last year. I'm the homewrecker, and I know that. This is all my fault and I know I deserve it.

"Y…yeah…" I reply meekly, sniffling to stop myself from crying.

"Yeah. Go to your room, Brendan. I'll come up and sort you out later." He tilts his head and studies me. His words sound soft and caring but I know for a fact from the way he says them and the way he looks at me that they are far from it. I know his intentions but there's little I can do about it. I fucked up at school and I ruined things again. I have it coming. I carefully, painfully, trudge upstairs and crawl into bed, holding my ribs.

I wait, and surely enough, he comes.

-OXO-

Sometimes I feel ridiculous, when I see myself around him. When I see how much I fear what he will say or do if I step out of line, even now. Because there's nothing he can do to hurt me anymore. We are both older and psychically, I am at a much greater advantage than him. Not mentally though. Seamus knows how to get to me, he knows exactly what to say or do to tear me apart, to bring me down and make me weak. The way he abused and manipulated me in the past means that whether I like it or not, he is one of the only men in the world who can see right through me. Read every inch of me. He wormed his way into the darkest corners of my mind when I was so very young and he never really left. Even now.

All the time, I wish that I was strong enough to stand up to him, to ask him why he did what he did and to tell him that I'm not the same child who he messed around and fucked up. I wish that I could be strong enough to seriously make something of myself to show him that no matter what, there's no way that I would let what he did ruin my life. But I can't because I'm not strong enough, because I know that what he did destroyed my life. And I think he knows that too. I think he gets off on it, being able to reduce a 34 year old man to cowering like a little child. Sometimes I plan what I would do if I could kill him. Or if I could fight him. I imagine myself punching him and beating him for what he did to me. Because it doesn't go away and the sight of him repulses me.

And Cheryl, bless her, she has no idea. My father is very good at looking like the good guy. He's very good at getting people on his side and luring them in. He's the best father I've seen to Cheryl, showering her with gifts, telling her how she deserves some amazing man and telling her she's the most beautiful, most wonderful girl to set foot on the earth. He's always supportive of whatever she does and he always protects her. Not to mention when she's around, he pretends to love me unconditionally and in her eyes he's the perfect Da and she can't understand for the life of her why me and him seem to get on so poorly. The worst thing she ever saw was me punching him… God, that was an amazing feeling….

12th February 1994 – 'taking the power back'

I sigh and turn away from Peter's driveway, heading home. I'd been out for a while after school and it was just after 5, the sun was setting, the array of colours slowly bleeding away to leave a velvet darkness, spotted with stars and dominated by a shining full moon. I look down at my feet as they walk across the pavement, carefully dodging the cracks as I go, laughing to myself. We'd nicked a bit of whisky from the corner shop and ran away from the Asian shopkeeper so my blood is laced with adrenaline, I'm buzzing. Of course, there's the downside that I'm on my way home and yes, I'm going to have to face him when I do get home but hopefully he'll have gone to the pub by the time I get home and I can try and sleep tonight, with a little prayer that he won't come to me tonight. There's no guarantee that he won't come into my room in the night, and that's what makes it so hard to sleep at night, well that and the nightmares, but that I stay awake waiting to hear the sound of him walking up the stairs.

I shiver and pull my school jacket around me, speeding up my footsteps to avoid the chill February air and take the couple of steps that lead up to the little house we live in, hanging up my jacket in the hallway when I get in, rubbing my hands together. I kick my shoes off and go into the kitchen where, surely enough, Cheryl's Ma is, slaving away over the stove. She smiles at me and stirs the food.

"Evening, Bren…" she smiles and I lean on the counter, still feeling a bit tipsy from the whisky earlier. "Your Da is…"

She doesn't even get to finish the sentence because the next thing I know, he's stood in the doorway, looking at me, the cigarette in his mouth smoking gently and his tweed jacket ruffled slightly with overuse. I look down and kick the floor gently with my socks, sighing.

"You're late home from school." He says bluntly, the judgement clear in his voice. I roll my eyes ever so slightly, the whisky in my veins either making me incredibly foolish or incredibly brave.

"Went out with Peter…" I reply, looking in the cupboards for something I can snack on. He walks over and slams the cupboard door shut, staring at me.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy…" He sounds angry, furious in fact and I meet his eyes, seeing the familiar blackness behind them. "You're always around that Peter… You don't even have a girlfriend. You are bringing shame on me, Brenda…"

I flinch at the nickname he gave me a few months back and I shake my head. "I told ye, I'm seeing Eileen, Da…"

"You're always with the Peter boy…" He grimaces and leans closer. "You fucking queer… You're a pathetic excuse f…"

I inhale and stare at him, turning to face him, cutting him off "Oh…? That what I am…?" I laugh bitterly, humourlessly. "A pathetic excuse for…. A man? Hm, why don't we test that theory, eh…?"

He stares at me, angry that I am defying him, that I am challenging his judgement. "Are ye asking for a beating?!" He sounds as if he is ready to kill me.

"No. I'm challenging ye to a fight… if I'm such a pathetic man…" I know I'm being stupid. I know I'm putting myself at his mercy, humiliating him in front of Cheryl's Ma, his wife. But I don't care and she knows better than to butt in anyway. He growls softly and steps closer but I don't cower like I usually do, the whisky in my blood is giving me power and adrenaline. I tilt my head and the next thing I know, my fist is connecting with his face and he's falling to the floor, his face full of fear and shock before hitting his head on the tiling. He's knocked out cold and I stare at him, watching the blood gently drip from his nose. Cheryl's Ma abandons her stove and runs to him.

"Jesus Christ, Brendan!" She shrieks and tends to him. I just stare. I hit him. I actually hit him. I'm completely stunned and mildly proud. I knocked my father out, I stood up to him and showed him that I'm not some pathetic little child. My whole body feels slightly electric with power, the feeling of it running through me. He's not in control anymore. I am. And that's what I always want. To be in fucking control so no one can fuck me up the way he did. I took the power back and there's no way I'm ever going to let him take it again.

I blink and look up, taking my eyes off my father to see Cheryl stood in the doorway to the kitchen, blonde curls folding around her young face, school uniform innocently holding her still maturing body. She tilts her head, scoffs and looks at me in shock and disgust.

"You hit him." She speaks softly.

"Chez, it's not like…" I trail off. There's nothing I can say to make it seem acceptable though he fucking deserved it.

"You knocked out our daddy, Brendan." She sounds disgusted with me. "He didn't even do anything!"

"Cheryl!" I try and plead with her but she steps backwards.

"Don't talk to me, Brendan…" She blinks and looks teary before turning and running up the stairs. Great. My 13 year old sister just saw me knock the shit out of my Da. I sigh and look helplessly round the kitchen and then look at my Da. I smile slightly. I took the fucking power back, though.

-OXO-

I think that's where it all started for me, the need to be in control, I think it all started with him. The fact he controlled me my whole childhood and there was nothing I can do… there's always that chance that if someone else has control, they can abuse it, right? They can use it to fuck you up? And how do I know they won't? My own fucking father did, so there's no one in this world you can trust. I trust my children. I trust Steven. I trust Cheryl. Anne, maybe… but I don't let people in; don't trust them because if I do, they'll fuck me over. I can't let them do that. Not ever.

So, Seamus Brady, my father…

You didn't change my life but instead you made my life. You're the reason I can't let anybody in, you're the reason I can't trust. The reason I can't love properly. The reason anything I touch turns to dust whether I like it or not. You took away everything from my childhood. I could never be one of those boys who played football with their friends or invited mates to their houses or any of that. My whole childhood was a mess dominated by what you did to me at night. I used to live my life for you… I used to do anything I could to impress you, to live my life the way you'd want me to, the way you'd tell me. Sometimes, it would be the opposite. I'd do things because the last thing I wanted was to turn into you, though I failed at that. Do you know how it feels to look into the mirror and see glimmers of the very man who ruined you staring back at you? Do you know what it feels to carry around a truth like the one I do? No? I didn't think so… you know what, in your eyes, I may not be a 'man' or a perfect representative of the Brady family, but the funny thing is… I'm more of a man than you can ever be. Because I don't need to rape little children to feel powerful. You're a monster and I wouldn't want to follow in your footsteps. I know how much you must hate me, how much you must want me to fail at life. I saw the way you looked at me when I was arrested after those allegations in the village. When you thought I'd raped Kevin. You were glad. But I'm actually getting somewhere, I'm actually becoming a good person. Becoming the person I wanted to be before you took it all away from me. I have Cheryl, I have my boys… and I have Steven. You lost, Seamus Brady. You fucking lost.

But I'd never say that to you, not ever. Because there's no point. Because you'd batter the shit out of me, or you'd laugh at me or you'd say something that would make me take it all back and doubt myself all over again. You know me. Not to mention the fact that I'm not fucking strong enough. It makes me sick.

A/N: That was the hardest chapter I think I'll have to write because, well, it's such a sensitive topic. It's hard to write anything about Seamus I think so kudos to those who manage it. Hope you all enjoyed. Review if you want. The next chapter should be up in due course. Love you guys! ^.^ *cuddles*