Chapter 2:

Thomas sits with his back against her chest, her arms wrapped round his small frame, holding him close. She rests her chin along his crown, leaning her lips down every now and then to kiss him along his soft tresses.

Her beautiful, perfect brother. He's finally managed to fall asleep, nestled with her upon the bed. She loves the feel of him, limp and fragile in her arms. He is so vulnerable, and Lucille knows it is her duty to keep him safe. Knows it is her only, true purpose.

Still, she knows all too often how deeply she fails at it. Father... their hideous, cruel father...

How cruelly he treats Thomas, day in and day out.

His regard for her is less than nothing, as if he does not even see her. On days, of course, his brutal temper turns towards all those in his presence, and she feels the wrath of his hatred. But it is Thomas whom Father feels true contempt for, whom he directs the full breadth of his foulness upon, beating him mercilessly and to senselessness near every day.

Lucille does what she can to stop it, staying as often as she can by his side, and spitting words towards Father to provoke, to turn his attention from her brother onto her instead.

Sometimes it works. More often, it does not. Not with him. With Mother, she finds more success. But then, it is her Mother hates most.

Thomas doesn't understand. Her brother is simple, and sweet. Too sweet for the ugliness of the world. He doesn't know how to protect himself. Isn't at all able. And so it is her duty.

At times, then, Lucille finds her own frustration at her brother mounting, that he doesn't understand. That he at times even questions her.

She can't have that. Can never have that. Does he not see it is for his own good? Everything she does. It's for him. How can she protect him if he disobeys her? If he doesn't do as she says?

She's broken from her thoughts at the sound of a soft whimper, and glancing down, she sees Thomas squirming slightly in her grip, and realizes a moment later her fingers are digging sharply into his fragile arms.

"Lu... Luc-cille..." he whines weakly, and she releases her grip, slipping her arms round his chest instead and kissing his crown once more, shushing him.

"It's alright." She says.

He fusses and sniffles a few moments longer, before finally beginning to settle again, relaxing back against her.

He's exhausted, worn thin and frail. He's never had her strength, never had her determination to keep going. It both enrages and terrifies her to think on the number of times Thomas has been struck by deathly fever, how close those times he's come to death. Terrified at the thought of losing him... enraged at the thought he might ever think it alright to leave her.

"You'll never leave me Thomas." She says, squeezing him tighter against her. "Promise me you'll never leave me."

Her brother is already half back asleep, his breathes coming deep and slow. It takes him longer than it should to answer, and Lucille for a moment feels fury.

"Promise me Thomas." She hisses.

"... I p-promise." He whispers back finally, voice quavering.

Lucille smiles then, again kissing his crown, bending forward and kissing his cheek.

"Good." She whispers back. "Good brother."

/

James glares down at the boy, his lip curled in disgust.

Thomas, his son. The acknowledgment of it in his mind alone is enough to set his blood to boiling and a profound shame to well up from his gut, nearly choking him in it's intensity.

His son, his boy, a pitiful, pathetic nothing, weak and girlish in his frailty and manner. James felt repulsed by him, enraged to be associated with him at all. Furious that the child would sully his good name so with his failure.

And there Thomas stands now, looking up at him with those big, sad eyes of his, pleading and hopeful, and James is nearly overcome with the desire to lay the back of his hand against the boy's stupid face, knock him to the floor and sink his boot into his stomach.

They're going hunting today. When James had announced it to his wife, Thomas had asked if he could come along. James had been ready to tell him no, but then his wife had started her typical complaints, about how tired she was of being the one always left to care for their brats, and James had finally relented, if only to shut her up.

He's regretting that decision already, his gaze running over the boy, his small, girlish body clad in outdoor garb, the clothes plainly too big for him, hanging loosely off his frame.

He'll lag behind. Slow things down, as he always does.

"Don't look at me boy." He snarls, and Thomas looks quickly away. It only disgusts James more to see what a coward his son is. "Let's go." He goes on, turning and heading towards the foyer. "And if you fall behind again, don't expect me to wait up for you. You're on your own then."

He hears the boy mutter a frail "Yes, Sir."

He doesn't bother to look back and see if the child is keeping pace.

/

Thomas' side aches deeply from his attempts to keep astride his father as they make their way through the dense woods. His father refuses to slow, and Thomas knows better than to request it of him.

He hopes beyond hope with each of these ventures that, somehow, he will be able to show Father that he can be a good son, a worthy son, if only allowed the chance.

But Father, each time, seems hardly to even notice Thomas' presence. Hardly can be made to acknowledge him at all, never allowing him to handle any weaponry of any kind, to really at all participate.

The only times he speaks to Thomas are to tell him to shut up and be still, and once more, the boy knows better than to disobey.

He wishes powerfully now he hadn't come along on this hunt at all, as for what must be the dozenth time, he loses his footing, falling into the mud and muck of the soft ground, barely catching himself on his hands, his palms by now scrapped raw and bloody.

Father doesn't even turn back to look at him, continuing his march forward, and Thomas feels his eyes sting with unwanted tears.

He wishes he were back home... wishes he were with Lucille.

Struggling back to his feet, his stumbles forward, pushing brush and thickets out of the way, unable to avoid them all, flinching back and swallowing down his cries as the thrashing branches whip against his face. Father, he knows, will be furious if he makes any noise to scare the animals away.

It will be several hours more before his father finally stops.

By then, Thomas shakes uncontrollably with cold, his hands and feet frozen, the skin of his palms and his face torn apart.

Father pays him no mind at all.

/

AN: Thank you so much to everyone who's read and/or reviewed so far! I really appreciate your support so much! This is an actually incredibly difficult relationship to write, because while Lucille is abusive and highly manipulative with Thomas, I also believe she really loves him. But her love is very possessive, and it's hard to strike a balance there. I hope I'm not completely butchering it, lol. I don't want to make Lucille seem like just a heartless monster. But I also want to highlight the contrast between her love, which is in a lot of ways very selfish, and Thomas', which is very loyal. And as the older sibling, and just in general, Lucille is very calculating and perceptive, whereas Thomas is very oddly innocent and naive. Anyway, enough rambling, just thought I'd explain a little where I'm trying to go with this. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you get a chance, let me know your thoughts!