lunar eclipse: Hello! I don't currently have any Avengers fics floating around, but that doesn't mean I never will! I might start another one when the inspiration strikes, but currently I don't. Glad you enjoy my writing and I hope you like this chapter!
Hey everyone! So, this chapter was originally going to be much longer, but I ended up cutting it. So that means the second half of this chapter is now chapter 30 and will be uploaded tomorrow so that you guys don't have to wait so long for the next chapter. These two really flow very well together so I'm just gonna update back to back. That being said, I'll quit rambling and see you tomorrow!
I walk down the stairs, Al behind me. I yawn, rubbing my eyes as my feet slide across the stairs. I reach the bottom of the stairs and blink. The lights are all off. My brow furrows and I fumble around in the dark to find the light switch. My hands slide across the walls, Al following silently behind me. I finally find it and flip it up. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust and when they do, I'm really confused. In the middle of the room is a bunch of newspapers, a collar, and a bunch of baby stuff. Weird. I shake my head and walk into the kitchen. Dad's not in here so I try calling for him. There's no response so I don't think he's home. I search for a note explaining what's going on and where Dad is but can't find one. Maybe we're babysitting. But we don't know any babies. And what's up with the collar? The door opens and Al tugs on my sleeve silently. I guess that Dada's home now so I walk out of the kitchen to greet Dad and freeze in the hallway. Al hides behind me as I start shaking.
"Hello, boys." I shake my head, unable to believe what I'm seeing. She's standing in the hallway, a smile on her face. I don't know how she's here. She should be in prison. I get defensive, trying to protect Al from her.
"What are you doing here?" I demand, my voice shaking.
"They let me out," she tells me. "They realized that you're both bad boys and that I needed to get out to punish you."
"Where's Dada?" I ask, feeling the vomit rising up in me.
"Out," she says simply. She walks passed us and bends over. She picks up the collar and turns to face us. "Wanna play house, boys?" My heart starts beating wildly, sweat running down my neck and saturating my shirt. The chain. She's going to use the chain.
"G-Get out of o-our house," I stutter. "I'll c-call the p-police."
"No, you won't," she replies, walking over. She stops in front of me and says, "Dogs don't walk on two feet, do they, Ed?" Tears of shame prick in my eyes as I shake my head.
"No," I say softly, my voice strained. I get down on my hands and knees, Al shaking behind me. She squats down in front of me and puts the collar on around my neck.
"Good boy," she sneers. "Go sit on that newspaper while I deal with your brother." I nod and crawl over. "Do you want to be the baby again, Ally?"
"No," Al answers. "I d-don't w-wanna play t-this game. I d-don't like it." Her face twists angrily and she shoves him down.
"Al!" I cry as she rounds on me.
"Hush, dog, or I'll muzzle you," she threatens. I watch as she grabs Al's hair, Al crying out in pain. The beating starts, Al begging for her to stop or for someone to come save him. I watch for a few minutes but soon I decide I can't take it anymore. We're not little kids anymore. We don't have to take this. We can defend ourselves. I stand up on two legs and run over. I tackle her and we wrestle for a minute before she grabs the collar around my neck. I gag, Al sitting up and watching as she starts to drag me outside.
"No!" I cry, trying to get away. "Please! I'll play the game! I'll be the dog! I'll even use the newspaper! I'm sorry! I'll be good!"
"It's too late for that, you bad boy," she tells me, opening the sliding glass door. She throws me down the stars and I roll painfully down them. Multiple little bleeding wounds open up all over my body as Al hurries after us.
"Brother!" He cries. She turns to him, a scary smile on her face.
"You're next, Ally," she says, grabbing the collar again.
"Not the chain!" I scream, trying harder to get away. "Not the chain! I can be good! I'll be the dog! I'll be the dog! Not the chain!" She throws me down and hooks the dog chain to the collar. I start crying, awaiting the beating I'm about to get. I wish Dada would get home so he could prevent what's about to happen. But he doesn't. She hurls the chain at me, the metal making contact with my skin. I scream, the chain opening up my skin and dragging across my body. I throw up, the beating speeding up. She whips me harder and harder, Al screaming for her to stop.
"You're a rotten, good for nothing, piece of shit!" She yells at me. I nod. I know I am. I know that's true. My body shudders as she hits me again and I can feel my bladder give out. Of course it did. It always does when she uses the chain on me.
"Vanessa?"
I look up and start crying tears of joy. Dada's here! Dada's gonna save me! Al tugs frantically on Dad's shirt.
"Dada! Look!" He cries. "Look at what she's doing to Ed! Make her stop!" Dad's brow furrows and he walks over to us. She holds the chain in her hands, a smile on her face.
"What's going on here, Vanessa?" Dada asks.
"We're just playing house, Vic," she replies cheerfully. "Ed always likes to be the dog." Dad stays still for a moment and I pray that he's realizing that she's lying. But my heart stops as he smiles and shakes his head. Dada kneels down and pets my hair.
"Have fun with Nessie, Ed," Dada says. "You always have so much fun playing with her." I swallow, my heart beating funny as I struggle to breathe. I shake my head, Al staring in horror at us.
"N-No, Daddy," I beg, "Don't go. Don't leave me with her!" Dada just smiles at me and stands up.
"You boys play nice, okay?" He says like I didn't say anything. "Ed, don't bully Al too badly, okay?"
"No!" I scream, Dada walking away. "Dada, don't leave me! I don't wanna play with her! She's hurting me!" But Dada doesn't come back. He just keeps walking, leaving me and Al alone with her. Once Dada's out of sight, she squats down in front of me and grabs my face with her fingers.
"I told you he never loved you."
I sit up in bed, screaming loudly. Al flinches beside me and rolls out of bed, my bedwetting alarm going absolutely crazy. I stop screaming as the tears start running down my face. I dream about the chain a lot. That dog chain in our backyard was removed after she got arrested because just looking at it triggered me. But I see it all the time in my dreams. I get hit with it all the time in my dreams. I get chained to it all the time in my dreams. At that thought, I start sobbing. God, I'm so messed up. I can't even sleep at night. And because I can't sleep at night, no one in my house can sleep at night. The alarm's off now and I'm still sobbing. I'm so disgusting. I'm so pathetic. I'm so not worth anyone's time. I feel the bed shift and I glance my eyes over. Al's sitting by my bed, his face all gentle. I can't stop crying, hiccupping as Al gently pulls my face into his chest. He rubs my back and I cry into him. My shaking hands grab his clothing and my crying gets louder. I can't contain myself. I'm shaking and sobbing and I can't contain myself. I think what messed me up the most about the dream was how Dada abandoned me and Al. Everything I've been afraid of since I was six happened in that dream. Dada walked in on her beating me and he just let it happen. He walked away without even a glance backward and that's why I can't bring myself to stop crying. That's why I can't contain myself. He abandoned me.
"Shh," Al whispers gently. "It's okay. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay." Al just repeats that over and over and I still can't calm down. I can't breathe. Oh, God, I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I start wheezing, choking and coughing as I'm still sobbing but can't get a breath as I cry. Al starts rocking back and forth, doing everything he can to calm me down.
"Breathe with me, Brother," Al instructs gently. "Feel my chest move, Ed. Listen to my heart beating. Breathe with me." I try, but I can't seem to get the rhythm right. I know that if I can't calm down, I'm gonna throw up and pass out. I shut my eyes, tears mixing with snot and spit, and try to focus on Al's breathing. I try to match his breathing pattern as he starts singing;
"You and me together we'll be," he sings gently. "Forever, you'll see. We two can be good company, you and me. Yes, together we two. Together, that's you. Forever with me. We'll always be good company, you and me. Yes, together we'll be." As he sings, I finally get the rhythm right. I'm finally breathing. I'm not done crying, though. I'm still heaving as I cry, unable to get the tears to stop.
"Are you two okay?" Dada whispers from the door. I can feel Al shake his head.
"Brother can't stop crying, Dada," Al says. I hear Dada walk over and I can feel him pet my hair.
"It's okay, baby," Dada coos in my ear. "Dada's here now, Ed. Dada's got you." My lip trembles and I shake my head.
"Y-You left m-me!" I wail. "Y-You s-s-saw her h-hitting me a-and j-just left!"
"Oh, honey, that would never happen," Dad whispers. "That would never happen. I would never just leave if I saw someone hurting my baby."
"It was just a scary dream, Brother," Al says softly. "It's over now. That scary stuff's gone and you're safe."
"Al's right, sweetheart," Dada adds. "It was a dream, baby. It was just a dream. It's over now. You're safe, Edward. You're safe." I snivel pathetically and nod my head. My heart is finally beating normally. I guess that I'm safe. She's not here. She can't hurt me. Dada and Al wouldn't let me.
"I wet the bed," I say pitifully. "I'm sorry I'm so disgusting, Dada. I'm so sorry." Dada kisses my hair and sighs sadly.
"Oh, Ed," he sighs. "Oh, Edward. You're not disgusting. This isn't your fault, baby. It's not your fault. You're not disgusting. You're not. You're not."
"Dad, I'm covered in my own sweat and piss," I argue miserably. "That's pretty disgusting."
"Well, I suppose," Dad agrees quietly, "But it's the stuff you're covered in that's gross, Ed. You aren't gross."
"I don't see a difference," I inform him. "There really isn't one."
"I know you don't see one," Dada tells me, "But there is. I promise that you aren't disgusting."
"Dada?" I ask like a little kid, "Can I sleep in your bed?"
"Of course you can," Dad replies. "Wanna sleep with me too, Al?" Al nods.
"Yeah," he yawns.
"Then go get cleaned up," Dada instructs. "I'll take care of this."
"I can do it," I insist.
"Edward," Dada sighs, "Let me do it for you. I want to do it for you. The only thing I want you to do is put some dry clothes on."
"But I'm the one who peed in bed!" I argue. "I should clean it up!"
"You didn't do it on purpose," Dad says. I look pointedly at him and he sighs. "Look, Ed, I know you feel bad but this isn't like when you accidently spill something. I know how ashamed you are that this happens at all. I want to take the burden of cleaning it up for you. Understand?" I lower my head. No, I don't understand. I can't understand. Why would he want to take the burden of cleaning my own nasty mess away from me? I frown in thought, Dada kissing my hair. Maybe…. Maybe Dada does it for me for the same reasons I clean up after Al. Maybe he does because he wants to. Maybe he does it because he…. Because he loves me.
"Okay," I finally say. "I'll get dressed."
"Good boy," Dad praises gently. "Good boy." I nod and put my leg on. I stand up and dry my face with my arm. Al hurries over and takes my hand. I can feel the constant tremor raging my brother's body and I gently rub his hand with my thumb. We go to the dresser and pick out dry pajamas while Dada strips my bed. Al guides me to the bathroom and I stare at the floor as we go.
"What was it?" Al asks softly.
"The…. The chain."
"Oh," Al sighs. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I say. "It's over now."
"I'm sorry, Brother," Al says again, his voice strained. I glance up at him and I can tell he's fighting tears.
"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly.
"It's just…. She only hit you with the chain. That's not fair, Ed. You got it so much worse than I did and it's really not fair." Al blinks rapidly and starts crying. "I'm so sorry, Brother. I'm so sorry. I was so weak and helpless and you suffered for it. I'm so sorry."
"Hey, knock it off," I tell him. "I took it because I wanted to. You're my little brother and it's my job to protect you." Al keeps crying and I wrap my arms around him. He starts sobbing and I rub his back.
"I-I'm s-so sorry!" Al sobs. "I'm s-s-so s-sorry!"
"It's okay," I say, not sure what else I can do. "Please stop crying. It's okay." That doesn't seem to work. Al just starts crying harder. The floor behind me creaks and I glance back. Dada's coming out of our room with a bundle of blankets and his brow furrows.
"Is he okay?" Dad asks worriedly. I shake my head.
"Al can't stop crying," I tell him. Dad walks over and I go on, "He feels guilty tonight." Dad sighs sadly and pulls us both into a hug. Al cries even harder and Dad holds us close.
"Hush, Al," he whispers. "There's no reason to feel guilty."
"Y-Yes th-there is!" Al wails loudly. "Sh-She n-never hit m-me w-with th-the ch-ch-chain! She on-only hit Br-Bro-Brother with it! I-I w-was s-so c-clingy and h-helpless an-and he g-g-got hurt 'cause of m-me!"
"Alphonse, baby," Dada coos softly, "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't. You can't blame yourself, sweetheart. You can't."
"Dad's right, Al," I add. "It's not your fault, Al. It's my job to keep you safe. You didn't get hit with th-the… the chain 'cause I wouldn't let her. I never let her. I never let her hit you if I could help it. So don't blame yourself. I'm so happy you don't have the scars on your back I do from that damn chain."
"I wish you didn't have those scars, either, Ed," Dad says sadly. I hug him tighter and nod.
"I know, Dada," I whisper. "I know."
"I'm sorry, boys," Dad says quietly. "I'm so sorry." Al's slowly calming down now, Dad petting his back gently. He's still shaking, though. But that's not unusual for him. He's basically always shaking so I'm not too worried about it.
"Get dressed and try going pee, boys," Dada whispers, kissing us both. "I'll meet you in my room, okay?" I nod.
"Okay," I reply, Dad walking off. I turn to Al who's yawning loudly. I tug on his hand and say, "C'mon, Ally. Let's get dry."
"Mmm, yeah," Al yawns. We walk to the bathroom and when we get there Al asks, "Are you okay now, Brother?"
"Pretty much, yeah," I answer. "The chain always freaks me out but I'm okay now. Sleeping with you and Dad will make me feel safe. You?"
"I'm okay," Al says with a weak smile. "I'll feel safe, too, with you and Dada. I always do." I grin back and slip into the bathroom. I peel off my soaked clothes, throw them in the chute, and try to pee. When I'm finished I get dressed and glance at myself in the mirror. My throat gets all tight, tears pricking in my eyes as I stare at myself.
"I'm a bad boy," I whisper before opening the door and slipping out. Al goes in after me and I sit down in the hallway. I bring my knees to my chest and burry my face into them. Before I can stop I'm crying again. God, why am I such a baby? Why is all I can do is cry? I don't wanna cry any more. I really don't. I'm so sick of breaking down and crying like a baby all the time. I really am.
"Ed?"
I look up and see Dada standing in front of me. I quickly wipe my face and stand. Dad looks worriedly at me as I stare awkwardly at him.
"Honey, are you okay?" Dad asks worriedly. I shrug.
"Yeah," I mumble. "I'm just really getting sick of freaking breaking down all the time. I thought this was supposed to get better 'cause I'm in therapy. Sure as hell feels like I'm in the same place I was two years ago." Dada gives me that sympathetic look I hate and sighs.
"Edward, it's just a bad night," Dad tells me. "You and Al have been really stressed recently and that's why you're so unstable right now. When life goes back to normal, you'll feel better again, I promise."
"Okay, but when will I be able to handle it when my routine breaks?" I ask pathetically. "When will I be able to handle you leaving without becoming a zombie who can't even remember to shower unless he has a freaking sticker chart?"
"Ed, I don't know," Dad tells me. "I don't. But what I do know is that you're not in the same place you were two years ago. You've improved so much, sweetie." I look at him miserably.
"You mean it?" I snivel, wiping my face again.
"Have I ever lied to you?" Dada asks me. I grin weakly and shake my head.
"No," I answer. Dad walks over to me and pulls me into his side. He kisses my cheek, his beard tickling my face. I laugh lightly and Dada tickles my sides. I laugh and push him away, Al exiting the bathroom.
"That's my boy," Dada says as he tickles me. Al giggles and watches, a smile on his face.
"Daddy," Al says, grabbing his free arm. "I'm sleepy. Let's go to bed now."
"Sounds like a plan, Ally," Dad says, allowing Al to pull on his arm. We get to Dad's room after grabbing Chico and Lamby from our room and get into bed. Al sighs contently as he curls up next to Dada and I hide further under Dad's covers.
"Dada?" Al asks sleepily.
"What, Al?"
"Can we go fishing on Saturday with Granny and Winry?" Al asks.
"I'll ask Pinako if she's free," Dad answers. "If they aren't, we can go just the three of us. How does that sound, Al?" Al nods tiredly.
"That'd be good," Al yawns.
"Would that be good?" Dada asks, kissing his forehead. Al nods again.
"Yeah," Al says, practically asleep now.
"Sweet dreams, Al," Dad says softly, brushing hair out of his face.
"Dad," I say, Dad glancing over at me. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to apologize for, Ed," Dada replies.
"You have work tomorrow and I've kept you up so long," I point out.
"It's okay, Edward," Dad assures me. "Please don't apologize again, honey. There's nothing you have to be sorry for." I disagree, so I keep my mouth shut. There's plenty to be sorry for. Waking Dada up 'cause I'm screaming bloody murder is one thing to be sorry for. Pissing in my bed when I'm almost sixteen is something to be sorry for. Acting like a big fucking baby is something to be sorry for. Keeping Dad up to ungodly hours every night is something to be sorry for. But I don't want to keep Dad up any longer by arguing with him so I keep my mouth shut. Dada smiles at me – that smile that makes the skin by his eyes wrinkle and I smile back. He kisses my forehead and says,
"Sweet dreams, Ed," he whispers. "I love you so much, kiddo." I yawn and close my eyes.
"Love you, too, Dada," I reply, drifting off to sleep.
Last night was terrible. Now, I didn't have another nightmare but that one wore me out so much. I was so shaken up by it that I don't think I got more than, like, four hours of sleep total last night. Normally, I wouldn't be too upset about that 'cause I could take a nap after school. But today's Wednesday. It's group day. And I can't skip group day. Not 'cause I'm tired, anyways. If I was sick, well, I'd consider it but I'm not so I can't. I promised myself (and more importantly, Al) that I was gonna tell our story. I can't wuss out 'cause I'm a little sleepy. I can't do that – not to Al. He deserves better than that. So I'll sit through school and tell my story even though I'm exhausted and cranky and really don't want to. I pick at my cereal, Dada and Al talking quietly about something. I don't really know. I'm not listening. I really can't listen right now. My mind's someplace else. My mind is where my story is. That deep dark place in my heart where all the horrors that I went through live. That's where my mind is right now. It's there 'cause I'm telling my story today. The summer Dada got married to her, she created the game that she liked to play the most and that's all I can think about.
"Ed?"
I blink, my family staring at me. I glare at them and demand, "What?"
"Al was just telling me about how he might have to tell part of the story today," Dad says.
"Huh?" I ask, dumbstruck.
"Well," Al begins nervously, "It's just if you're gonna talk about what I think you're gonna talk about, then there's something that I need to talk about."
"What do you think I'm gonna talk about?" I scoff, crossing my arms. Al visibly swallows nervously and shrugs.
"Y-You kn-know," he stammers. "That one game. You kn-know the o-one." I blink and lower my gaze to my lap.
"Yeah," I say softly.
"What game?" Dad asks, his voice wavering. I look up at him, my heart beating funny. Dada's never asked about the abuse. Ever. It's just something we don't talk about. I can't believe he'd ask that. I open my mouth to answer, but the words get caught somewhere. The bubbles push them up against my throat and I can't tell him. I can't reply.
"Well, um," Al tries, his whole frame shaking. "I-I…. It was…."
"We don't talk about it," I say sharply, shoving my spoon into my cereal. They both look at me and I say, "If you wanna know so bad, sit in on group while I'm telling the story."
"Why can't you tell me?" Dada asks like his feelings got hurt. I glare at him and shove my bowl away. It crashes to the floor and I stand.
"Because it's all your damn fault!" I yell loudly. "We don't tell you 'cause you don't give a fuck! You never have! We suffered 'cause you've never cared about us!" I hurry out of the kitchen and grab my backpack. I'm walking to school. I can't stand to be around Dad right now. I slam the door behind me and stomp down the sidewalk, fuming. Do I really think the abuse is all Dad's fault? I really don't know. Somedays, I don't. Somedays, I know Dada did his best but in the end was deceived by her just like all our teachers and doctors were. But somedays, I hate him. Somedays I blame him with everything that's inside of me. Somedays there's this fire inside, a fire that he set 'cause he abandoned me and Al when we needed him the most. So somedays, I blame him for the whole thing with my entire heart.
"Brother!"
I groan and turn around. Al's gonna lecture me about how I shouldn't be mean to Dada. Al's such a Daddy's boy, it's annoying. I gasp and shake my head. Al's not annoying. I shouldn't think that. Al makes it over, panting, and I stare at him.
"What?" I ask.
"I, uh, wanted to walk with you," Al tells me. I blink. That's not what I was expecting.
"Oh," I say. "Um, okay. C'mon." Al nods and we start walking. I glance over at him, unsure of what he's thinking about. While I can't read Al's mind, I get pretty damn close. I can read everything else about him. His face, his body language, his tone – even his sighs. That's pretty close to reading his mind, I think. But this morning, I can't seem to read him. I don't know what he's thinking about.
"If you don't want me to tell it, I won't," Al tells me after we get out of our neighborhood.
"What?" I ask like I didn't hear his sentence.
"If you don't want me to tell that part of the story, I won't," Al repeats. "I know how hard it is for you." I glance down at my feet. Yeah, it is hard. But I can't deny Al the right to tell our story. He needs to just as much as I do.
"You can tell it," I say softly. "I'll set it up then you finish, 'kay?"
"Mmm, 'kay," Al answers. "If you're sure."
"I am," I say seriously. I look him in the face and say, "I wanna tell our story so I quit running from it. I wanna tell our story so that someday, maybe I'll have the courage to tell Winry what happened to us. I wanna tell our story so it'll stop chasing us." Al nods.
"Me too," he replies, his chin quivering.
"Please don't cry," I beg. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not gonna cry," Al tells me with a weak smile. "I'm gonna hold in my tears until later. God knows I'm gonna cry when I tell the story." I nod.
"Probably," I agree. "I hate that damn game." Al looks off and nods.
"Me too."
"Hey, Al?" I ask timidly.
"Yeah?" He answers in question.
"Is…. Is Dad mad at me?" I ask guiltily.
"No," Al replies. "His feelings got a little hurt, that's all."
"What'd you say to him?" I ask.
"I told him that the reason I don't tell him things about it is that I don't make him feel more guilty than he already does," Al tells me. I look down guiltily and Al goes on, "Then I told him that you don't tell him things for the same reason, but that your feelings get confusing sometimes and that's why you yell at him. I hope that's okay. That's what I think happens, anyway. I know that while you do blame Dad, you don't think it's all his fault." I nod.
"I don't," I say, "Mostly, anyways. Somedays I don't but other days…. I don't know. I can't sort it all out, still. It's like my feelings are a jumbled mess of rubber bands or some shit like that. They get all tangled up inside of me and snap when I've had enough. That's when I lash out at Dad and say shit I don't mean."
"I know," Al replies. "I'm the same way 'cept I don't explode usually. I mostly cry 'cause I'm a big friggin' baby."
"I'd much rather cry than blow up at people I care about," I inform him. "It sucks to explode like that all the time." Al smiles and giggles lightly at me.
"I bet, Brother," he says lightly. "Just remember to count to ten, 'kay? You won't blow up if you do that." I grin weakly at him.
"I will," I reply. Al smiles bigger at me.
"Good boy," he praises, taking a page out of my book. "I'm proud of you." My heart feels like there's a space heater inside of me and all I can do is smile at him.
