Hope.
Summary. . . . . . . . . . . He's alone, scared and frightened, taken from his family and left with a man he fears. Beatings and threats keep him here, where all he can do is hope. But is hope enough?
Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . . I own Nothing, Nil, Nada. They belong to Kripke.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . Well the response was an overwhelming vote to carry on and I'm never one to displease so here's chapter two, I can only hope that you enjoy this one just as much, Peanut x
As a new day was gradually beginning to break, it's pale light filtering through threadbare curtains illuminating the peeling wallpaper and broken furniture, he woke up. Agony radiated from every inch of his body, The Man's anger had been slow in abating, his hits sloppy towards the end, his rule forgotten as his rage rose. He knew he wouldn't be attending school today, his escape for a few hours from this life, knew that The Man would make up some excuse to keep him away. He also knew he would have to be extra quiet today, knew that if he was to be heard he would be punished again for just being there. He slowly rose, no sound permitted to leave him even though he so desperately wanted to cry out as he peeled his broken body from the drying patch of blood that had begun to harden on the dark carpeting. Using the more sturdier parts of floor close to the wall he made his way to the small closet, dropping carefully to the floor, his small fingers pried back a loose skirting board and cautiously picked from behind a small tattered piece of glossy paper. He smoothed down the wrinkles lovingly before turning it over and staring at the image imbedded upon it, the memories of family life might be fading, but as long as he could remember faces, names, he knew he would never truly forget.
He placed the photograph on his lap as he tugged out one of the loose nails from the board, lifting up the edge of a damp loosened piece of wallpaper he etched in yet another line in a sequence of lines. He looked back along the set and started counting, fifty two small lines in bundles of five, one for each day he had been here in this house, beside the lines another number was etched sixty four, how many lines he had etched in other houses before this one. One hundred and sixteen days since he was taken and left with The Man. He had long since given up hope that his family would find him and take him away from here, a big part of him happy at that knowledge as it meant that at least they were safe. The Man's threatening words of the harm he would do to his brother, to his father if they ever found him had been enough for him to make him stay with his persecutor, enough to make sure he was never found, enough for him to become a ghost almost, slinking through each day, a master at invisibility, there but not. He knew if anyone were to ask his classmates about him, the responses would be a blank, the way he needed it to be if he was to keep his family safe.
He looked longingly back at the photo once more, a small part of him aching at the want he felt for the loving arm to be placed back around his shoulder, the arm that spoke of safety, and love, and home. He looked into the eyes of his brother, the one he was protecting more then anyone else, and hoped that somewhere he was happy, and safe, and loved; and that somehow he had forgiven him for what he had done. A lone tear trickled down his bruised cheek as he thought back to the last time he had seen his brother, a shudder running through him as he remembered what he had done, but it had been the right thing to do, and if he were offered the choice again he would never hesitate to make the same decision. He brushed the tear away angrily, he had to keep his emotions schooled and hidden, it didn't help and if The Man were to bare witness to them he knew from past experience how he would react, instead he pushed the wall paper back into place, and brushed kisses upon the photograph before replacing it back in it's hiding place.
He dressed quickly, pulling on the rattiest clothes he could find, he wasn't going anywhere today and there would be no point in ruining more decent clothes if He got mad at him again. He washed his face and brushed his teeth as quietly as possible, running little water into the bowl for fear of waking Him up. He couldn't go to school, and he had to try and stay out of the way, but he still had to feed The Man and do his chores; he just hoped that he could do it quickly and quietly, and The Man would still be drunk enough not to hear. He made his way back down the stairs, remembering this time where the broken, creaky treads were, pausing at the bottom and groaning as he heard snoring coming from the main room of the house, he had hoped He would have crashed upstairs making his chores easier to do. He stopped as he turned to go to the kitchen, his eyes wistfully looking at the front door and the escape route it offered, his hand automatically reaching out for it only for his brain to kick in and pull his limb back in, it would do no use to escape he would be found, and the retribution would be fierce, it had been the previous two times. No, he had to keep his brother safe and to do that he had to stay, so he turned away and made his way into the kitchen.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . So how was it? Who is it? Thanks as always for stopping by to read, will be back soon with chapter 3 which will hopefully be longer, catch you later, Peanut x