Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Incest, Non-Con, Crime, etc.


I awoke with a violent wave of nausea. Blearily, I looked shifted and was immediately bombarded with a malicious stab from behind. Before I could contain it, a moan slid out. "What… What happened to me?"

My father sat in the old, wooden rocker behind my bed. It had been in our family ever since my older brother, Brock, had been born. "The nurse said that one of the students attacked you. Do you remember the encounter at all?"

"No." I answered immediately. It came out much too fast, too harsh. Both of us knew that it was a blatant lie. "Did you come and take me home?" The answered seemed obvious, but I had to know for sure.

Much to my shock, my father shook his head. "No, actually. I received the call around noon and offered to come in, but the nurse said that another boy had offered to take you home. You wouldn't let go of him, she said."

A dark blush dotted my cheeks and I had to look away. "So, he came by here?" I was almost afraid to ask. Normally, on the rare occasion that I actually made a friend, they were scared away by the residents of the halfway house.

"Actually, he lives here." Now, that caught me off guard. "His name is Randal Orton. He's our newest resident. In fact, he only arrived this afternoon. He was enrolled in the school and that's when he met you."

"You didn't tell me that we were taking in another resident." I looked down nervously. I had never told my Dad about what went on behind closed doors. He was so supportive of these boys; it would just break his heart.

"I didn't know myself. As it turns out, he was released early due to his good behavior. If you're up to it, his room is just down the hall. I'd like you to show him around the house. Make him feel at home."

"Yeah, sure Dad." I swallowed hard and nodded. To be honest, I didn't really want to leave the warm comfort of my bed. But I would do it for him, because he had sacrificed his entire life for me. "Can I take a shower first?"

He nodded. "Whatever you want, Johnny. Once you've shown him around, come down to the kitchen and have the leftovers from lunch. You didn't eat at school and I want something in your stomach."

I nodded and forced a smile, thankful that he didn't see through my façade. "Okay, Dad."

He looked me over once with his careful eyes, before he dismissed my attitude as teenage hormones and made his exit. When the door clicked shut behind him, I looked down at the bloodstained linen awkwardly. The stains weren't terribly obvious and were mostly beneath me, which was why my father hadn't noticed. However, the fact that they were there at all made my stomach sink. Wade certainly had done a number on me. It wasn't the first time.

Carefully, I rolled onto my side and slid my feet off of the side of the bed. With the ease of a man who had broken every bone in his body, I stumbled to my feet. My balance failed me almost immediately and I was down on my knees, my head near the trashcan. The nausea returned and I scrambled forward a little bit more, only to vomit in the tiny bin. My stomach rumbled and I wondered how it was possible to be hungry and nauseous all at once.

When I finished, I tried to stand once more. This time, it was a little easier. Pain tore through my thighs and my lower back and I moaned, noticing for the first time that the flow of blood had started anew. Frantically, I searched for something to staunch the flow. The only thing available was a ratty, tattered white towel. And as much as I hated to ruin the one white thing left in this hellhole, I yanked it off of the shelf and put pressure on the wound.

Behind me, there was a trail of tiny droplets of blood. I would have to wash them before they set into the wooden floor. Taking care to not jostle myself more than I had to, I sat down on the toilet seat and turned my head up toward the ceiling. There was a nasty tangle of cracks there. The bathroom on the third floor had had several leaks over the years and it had taken its toll on the ceiling. Disinterested, I turned away.

There was a knock on the door. I knew it wasn't my Dad, because he would be downstairs in his office by now. I didn't want to think too hard about who it could be, even if I had an inkling about who it was… "Who's there?"

"Dad sent me to make sure you didn't fall and kill yourself in the shower. Seeing as you're able to respond to me, I'm assuming that you're alright." Brock's cold, uncaring voice came from the other side of the door.

"I'm just fine, Brock. No need to bust one of your few brain cells actually pretending like you care." I shot back, but I was only so brave because there was a door between us. I never would have said that to his face.

Brock snarled on the other side of the door. He had started in on the steroids in the tenth grade and, mixed with his bipolar depression, he tended to have particularly violent bouts of 'roid rage. "You're a little shitter, you know that?"

I closed my eyes. I would have to back off if I wanted him to do something for me. "Hey, Brock?"

"What is it, you little shit-head?" He hissed back. I could tell that he was seconds away from leaving me alone.

"Can you head downstairs and grab three Tylenol from the medicine cabinet? I can barely move."

Brock laughed coldly. He didn't agree to my request and I had a feeling that he had no intention of doing so. "Why the fuck would I do that? It's your own damn fault that you can't defend yourself. You deserved it."

I sighed. His words had absolutely no relevance, I knew that. I had learned a long time ago that there were too many one-sided relationships in this world. You give and give, but when you need something in return, nobody is there for you. It hurt to think that my older brother, someone connected to me by blood, could be on the other end of that one-sided relationship. But then, could I ever expect more from an asshole like Brock Helmsley?

Once the flow of blood slowed down a little bit, I rose and turned on the shower. Dad had once told me (for what reason, I can't remember) that ice water slowed down the flow of blood. If I was going to show Randy around this hellhole, then I could at least look halfway presentable. My stomach twisted again and I worried if I would puke for a second time, but managed to control myself. I would have to take an antacid later, though.


I hesitated for a moment, knocked on the door, and waited for Randy to answer it. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry, I…" I stuttered out. "My Dad told me to come and show you around. Did I interrupt something?" I asked sincerely. Years of life with my brother had taught me that the worst of punishments were born from interruptions.

Randy shook his head. "Not like there's anything to do around here, other than homework. So, to answer your question – no, you didn't interrupt anything." Randy stared at me levelly.

"Then, um… I guess that we will start the tour, then." I told him.

I wasn't really all that impressed with our halfway house, so it was difficult to enthuse about it to Randy. However, I did my best. It was in disrepair, so I showed him all of the little quirks that the house had. For example, you can't take the main staircase down from the second to the first floor, because there was a hole in the stair and you'd miss it if you didn't know it was there. It was better to take the back staircase, which let you out in the kitchen.

Of the three floors, Randy was most interested in the main floor. There was a library, my Dad's office, the kitchen/dining room, the living room, and the study. Randy instantly gravitated toward the study, which was a spacious room with floor to ceiling windows. It was so open and warm. I was fairly certain that this was the only room in the house that hadn't fallen victim to the effects of weather and time.

We entered inside the study and I watched with a smile as Randy looked around, in awe at the size of it. I almost missed the nearly non-existent knock on the door. "Well, if it isn't my baby brother's savior…"