Baldroy - PAIN
The day he buried his parents, there was the stab of hollowness in his heart, and he wanted to keep it hidden. He did not want to show that a boy of 8 would grieve his parents and be strong to his twin sisters. Be the brave man. Be the big brother. Protect. Protect. Protect…
His sister Lilly died that winter, leaving him and Violet. He did the best he could, made arrangements with the local church, brought a small wooden box. The priest smiled sadly and took it. He stood and stared at the too small box, holding his sister. His other one weeping as she had done for their parents, and he stood, still. Protecting her. Protecting her from whatever would came next.
And then he got into a fight. And another. His anger, boiling too close to the surface. He would walk the streets, his sister close, clinging to his coat, trailing. He would look and see the mix of pride and fear in her eyes. He would hold her when he came home, bloody and his eyes swelling. She would clean his wounds. And he would pretend it was the pain of the fresh wounds that made him cry. Not that she was 12 and he was 15 and he was tough. So tough that a man from the military finally caught him and held him against the brick wall, breathing stale cigarettes and smoke into his face. Growling. Join and fight. Be brave. Protect his little sister.
He joined and he watched Violet cry as he rode the back of the wagon, off to camp, off to war, off to be brave and protect and inflict pain. He wanted to cry and hold her. He wanted to tell her it was worth it. It would be over soon. It would be… something other than painful.
He saw her once more as a nurse, moving as an angel, looking over the charges. And their eyes met, hers wide in shock, his almost shut because of the painful bullet wound in his side. Once more Violet took care of him. Took him to the outside, sat with him. Sang to him. Read to him. Laughed with him. The other boys found it hard to believe such a pretty woman could be related to him, and he threatened anyone who would look at her. But then she gently told him she was engaged, a Captain. A nice man. A man who loved her. A man of kindness and wealth. And she sent him a letter, inviting him to the wedding.
Violet was beautiful and he cried, openly, and without fear. Finally, someone had found peace, happiness, freedom from the pain. Because one of them was happy. Finally.
And then he saw his new brother-in-law's sister. She was a vision. So beautiful. And he wasted no time to ask if he could court her, no matter she was a widow, and had been one for only a few months. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to be happy with her. And the next spring, his sister expecting her first child, he married. And the pain washed away as he stood in front of his bride, so happy. So happy… and ready to face the storm when he was called back to the field.
Except the field was in his backyard. And the only one left standing was him.
The light faded as he dropped to his knees, his beloved wife and sister, his new family… gone. All gone. Taken by a force too powerful, to big, to much. And he slaughtered each of the monsters who slaughtered his happiness. Pain was too much, too deep, too raw, too much for him to contain. So he hunted. Shot lesser men in the head. Put them down like dogs. Accepted money from bloody hands to make his hands even bloodier. He was ruthless. Fueled by the rage, the pain, the agony of the cries. Of his sisters standing beside their parents grave. Of his sister as she was held and he watched from afar as her body became limp. Of his wife, grasping and gasping as she was shot in the back. Of his world becoming nothing but pain and numb.
And he stood in the middle of the bodies, blinking and realizing he had made a mistake. His pain had caused him to go to far. Set his gun on a man who wasn't guilty. Set his gun on a woman who was weeping for her child. Set his gun on his on head and was ready to face the beyond. To stop the pain.
But a figure came. A figure begged him to come. And he bought a ticket, set across the sea, ready for the figure to collect him on the docks. And he stood, in a world that seemed to be going on around him, without him, not sure what his pain was. Not sure he even knew what it was anymore.
"Bardroy."
"Yes sir!"
"I will be collecting you, now. You have a new place to call home - a new family to defend."
"I… I didn't do a good job before, sir."
"The past is that - past. You have done some bad things, and I can't condemn you. Only your ghostly memories can. But I have a young master who needs you. And I think you need him."
And he looked down at the boy as he got off the carriage. So young. So hard. So much pain in his eyes.
And Bard saw himself - his life - in that one glance from Earl Ciel Phantomhive, a boy of 11, already so much in his past, so much in his future. Bard knew he indeed had a second chance. And he didn't want to let the boy down - he did not want to let the little boy he was down. He would make the child grow into a man, a man who didn't have to dwell on the pain. A man who could find happiness, despite the pain.
Bard climbed the hill, a bouquet of flowers, blue, pink, and yellow, and he looked down at the bundle and sighed.
"Hello my sweet ladies. Hell got a few more bad guys. I know it doesn't bring you all back, but it evens the scales a bit more."
And he watched as the flowers danced on the wind, spreading over the waters and he imagined the petals were floating back home, back to America. Back to where his beloved family laid. Back to where his pain had started.