tw for injury slash hunson being a dick
"So… I think maybe you were right."
Lady smiled. "That's the best thing I've ever heard. You telling me that I'm right. Wow. Marceline likes you back, then?"
"I think… maybe," Bonnie let herself admit, and then she flopped back down onto the sofa with a sigh, "I don't know. It's all the mixed signals again. We were kind of flirting the other day, but I haven't spoken to her since. Usually she just comes over, and she always replies to my texts within the hour, but it's just… silence. Maybe I freaked her out."
"Maybe she's just busy," Lady shrugged, "I can drive you to her house, if you want to see her. She might have had like, super songwriting inspiration or something and needed to shut herself off from everyone to focus on it."
"Ordinarily, I would say no," Bonnie said, biting down on her bottom lip, a sudden, unfamiliar urge of recklessness taking her over. "But maybe I should just go over there. If she's already weirded out, I might as well just tell her. It'd get it off my chest, right? Either way, I'd feel better eventually."
Lady nodded. "Yeah. Come on, let's go."
"I'm going to text her, just to let her know," Bonnie said, sending the text in question. She'd sent another text, a screenshot of a funny post she'd seen on her bi-annual Facebook scroll, but Marceline had yet to respond. "Alright. Let's go. Am I really about to tell my crush I like her?"
Lady bumped against her. "Proud of you. Do you want me to wait for you while you go in?"
"I don't know. I might just stay with her, if things go well." Bonnie considered. She didn't want to get her hopes up. Not when the radio silence from Marceline's end wasn't sending the best sign. "If they don't, then… yeah, maybe wait. And then I'll text you or something."
"If it means anything, I don't think it could go badly," Lady said as she followed Bonnie out of the house and towards her car, "like, even if she doesn't feel the same way, I don't think she'd be weird about it at all. It's obvious that she cares about you."
Bonnie thought about it, and if it hadn't been for all the ignored texts and the complete silence from Marceline over the last few days, she would've believed that. Admittedly, she had a bad feeling about going over there, because there had to be some reason for Marceline to ignore her the way she had.
All she managed to get out to Lady as she got into the car was, "Yeah. I suppose so."
Pain.
It had been the only constant in her last few days. She stayed curled up in bed, occasionally testing her movements, always getting that sharp shot of agony in her ribs. There was a crack in one of them – she'd felt it when she was feeling a little braver. The doctor she'd seen had said it would heal naturally in three to six weeks, and they couldn't do anything other than advise her to take lots of painkillers and make sure to attempt some movement.
All movement hurt. She'd forced herself to get up and grab her ukulele, something that wouldn't be heavy on her ribs but loud enough for her dad to hear when he walked past her bedroom door. She wanted him to know that he couldn't take that away from her. Whatever he did to her, she'd never stop playing music and doing what made her happy.
The bedroom door opened and as a reflex she turned over. A searing pain shot through her side and she let out a pathetic whimper, but it was nothing compared to the hurt she felt when she saw Bonnie, stood there in shock, with her father smiling his sickening smile.
"As you can see," Hunson said like she was some exhibition in a zoo, "Marceline can't do anything right now."
Bonnie rushed to her side once the shock wore off and Marceline just wanted to fall into her warm, gentle arms and never ever leave them. Bonnie was safe. She was always safe. She felt Bonnie's soft, gentle fingers touch the bruising on her ribs. "Oh my god, Marcy, what happened?"
Her father's smile grew, just like it did right before he always laid the first hit. That's when she knew why he'd brought Bonnie up here in the first place. For this. Just one more torture method to add to his repertoire. He might not be able to take music away from her, but he could take Bonnie. She knew it was revenge for when Bonnie had spent the entire night defending her. She knew that he wouldn't let her get away with that. "Tell her what you did, Marceline."
In a perfect world, Marceline would tell Bonnie the truth. She'd tell her that it was her dad who did it then the cops would be called and there'd be some kind of happy ever after ending where the good guys won.
It wasn't a perfect world.
In the hopes that her father could see how much she hated him, she spat out, "Got in a fight."
She couldn't look Bonnie in the eyes as she forced the words out. Couldn't see the eyes that had always believed in her, always seen the real her, fade in disappointment when she realised that all of the rumours were supposedly true.
Bonnie's hand left her ribs and Hunson broke the quiet. "I'll show you out, Miss Butler. I'm afraid not even company such as yours could fix her. A bad apple, I suppose. Best if you just keep away, you wouldn't want her dragging you down."
Footsteps receded, her bedroom door closed, and Marceline waited until she was sure Bonnie had left to cry.
Bonnibel stood on the doorstep and waited for someone to answer. She'd waited until Hunson Abadeer had gotten in his car and driven away to approach the house once more, because quite frankly, she didn't believe the lie that Marceline had told her earlier. Not for one second would Bonnie believe that Marceline had been in a fight. No way.
No. Bonnie had something much worse in mind, and she felt queasy at the thought.
The door opened and Marshall smiled at her. It wasn't as excitable as his usual grins. "Hey. If you're here for my sister, she can't really-"
"I don't care," Bonnie pushed past him and made her way up the stairs, not bothering to take her shoes off. She let it be a small revenge of sorts.
She pushed open Marceline's bedroom door and looked down at her miserable, broken best friend. She looked like she'd been crying, and when she saw Bonnie, her eyes widened with confusion. With absolute finality, Bonnie said, "I don't believe you."
Marceline blinked up at her. "What?"
"I don't believe that you got into a fight," Bonnie said, and the look of utter surprise on Marceline's face was so heartbreaking that she just wanted to scoop her up into her arms and hold her until she believed in herself as much as Bonnie did.
Marceline's voice was so small and quiet when she asked, "You don't? But what about… you know, the rumours and stuff?" and Bonnie's heart snapped in two.
"I don't care about the rumours. The people that spread them don't know you like I do. I don't care that you walk around giving people death glares and wearing dark clothes and acting all punk rock and too cool. Because it's all redundant." Bonnie felt like she was going to cry even though she really shouldn't be the one doing that. She had to keep it together for Marceline. "God, Marcy, you're the most kind-hearted person I've ever met. You might keep that little fact to yourself, but it's true. You're so good. So sweet. So thoughtful. And I don't believe for a second that you'd ever go out fighting people."
Marceline's mouth worked, and she looked so shocked it hurt. "Bonnie, I… you really think that?"
"Of course I do," Bonnie took her hand and held it tight, as if that would make Marceline feel what she felt for her. She took in a breath and made herself say it. "I need you to tell me the truth. Tell me who's hurting you. Who's been hurting you this whole time, because those aren't bruises from band practice and I never should've believed that stupid lie in the first place."
Marceline didn't meet her gaze when she mumbled, "Nobody's hurting me."
Bonnie reached out, and so, so gently cupped Marceline's jaw and made her look her in the eyes. She tried to make her gaze as comforting as possible and hoped that the tears threatening to spill weren't too obvious as she asked again. "Who?"
She heard Marceline sigh, and felt so much weight come out with it.
"Dad."
Bonnie's hands shot up to cover her mouth in shock, and the tears finally spilled over. Of course. It made so much sense. She hated herself for not seeing it before. When she'd suspected Ash, she should've questioned more. She'd always known that Marceline and Hunson didn't get along, even before she and Marceline were friends. She should've seen it. Why hadn't she seen it?
All Bonnie managed to get out was, "We have to tell someone."
"No," Marceline was quick to shut that down and Bonnie couldn't comprehend why. "Nobody would believe me, anyway. He's in a position of authority with a squeaky-clean reputation and friends in the right places and I'm the rebellious punk who supposedly gets into trouble all the time. Telling someone isn't an option. I can handle it."
"Marcy, this isn't something that you can handle," Bonnie said, because how could she want to stay in an abusive household? "We have to tell… I don't know, child services or something."
"I'm eighteen in October. It's pointless." Marceline waved her suggestion away, and all Bonnie could do was look down at her broken, bruised friend with an aching heart. "If… if I were an only child, then maybe I would've told. But I can't just mess up Marshall's life like that."
"Oh my god, Marshall," Bonnie realised, "does he-"
"No," Marceline quickly cut her off, "It's just me. Marshall doesn't know anything, and I need it to stay that way. It would mess up his whole life. They might split us up and I don't want to lose him, he's the only real family I've got. You can't tell anybody, Bonnie."
As someone who had lost nearly everyone in her real family, Bonnie could understand that. She didn't know what she would do if something happened to separate her from Uncle Peter. But it still didn't feel right, keeping something this awful to herself.
"But I can't just…" Bonnie ran a hand through her hair, a nervous tick she must've picked up from Marceline, "I can't just let my best friend stay in a situation like this."
"Come here," Marceline patted the space in the bed next to her, and carefully, like she might hurt her just by getting in, Bonnie laid down next to her. "It's not as bad as it looks. It's not normally this bad. I'm good at avoiding him and I'm good at keeping out of the house. I only have to deal with it for a little while longer. The moment we graduate, I'm leaving and I'm never going to see him again."
"Not as bad as it looks?" Bonnie practically squawked. "He broke your rib, Marceline. You have to do something, tell someone. He can't just get away with that."
"He just went a little overboard this time because I'd avoided it for a while." Marceline shook her head. "I can't tell, Bonnie. I'm not going to fuck up my brother's life because he caught me a few times, and you can't tell anybody either. Please. I can deal with it."
"Clearly," The bitter comment fell out before Bonnie could stop it, and she quickly apologised. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just feel so… useless. It's just supposed to… like, you speak out, and it's supposed to get better, right?"
"Not in the real world, Bonnie," Marceline sighed, "sometimes, bad people win."
Bonnie asked another painful question. "How long? How long has this been going on for?"
Marceline bit down on her bottom lip, almost like she was considering lying. But then she just sighed and mumbled, "Since I was ten," and Bonnie felt sick. Seven years. Nearly eight. And nobody noticed. "After mom died and I came back here after living with Simon for a while. It was- I'd missed him a lot, and I wrote him this stupid song about how I loved him, and he just… snapped."
Bonnie touched her ribs again, making sure to be so careful. She didn't want Marceline to associate any kind of hurt with her. "Has anything this serious ever happened before?"
"He broke my arm once. He loved that." Marceline muttered bitterly. "Couldn't play any instruments for six weeks. Kept me wonderfully unhappy. That's kind of why I try to be as happy as possible regardless of whatever he does to me. It's the little revenges that count. He wants me unhappy so I'm easier to mould into whatever he wants, so you best believe I'm going to try my damned hardest to be the happiest person alive."
Despite the situation, Bonnie managed a joke. "Is that why there's a ukulele in your bed?"
"Yup," Marceline laughed, and then winced at the pain it clearly caused. Bonnie's smile slid from her face, and she knew that Marceline noticed. "Bonnie, I really need you to just… keep this to yourself. It's really important that you don't tell anybody, and that you're not weird about it. I can't lose my brother."
Bonnie sighed. She couldn't betray Marceline's trust and go behind her back, especially for the reasons she'd stated, but it didn't feel right to keep it a secret. She promised herself that she'd figure out a way to get Marceline to tell someone herself, and didn't know if she was doing the right thing or not by replying, "Okay. I won't tell anybody. Just… tell me how you plan on handling this?"
"Keeping out of his way. Trying not to tick him off." Marceline said, and it didn't sound like the most solid of plans. "It's really not as bad as it looks. Just… every month or so. If he catches me."
Bonnie remembered the black eyes and felt infinitely guilty when she remembered she'd actively mocked Marceline for that first one, back when they didn't like each other.
"Really, Marceline? A black eye?" She'd scoffed at her. "You know, when people told me you got yourself into fights, I planned on giving you the benefit of the doubt. But apparently, you're no better than the rumours about you. Shouldn't have expected anything, should I?"
She felt physically sick at the memory. And then she remembered what she'd done a few days before that, and her heart dropped to the floor. She thought she might throw up.
"Oh my god, Marcy, I'm so sorry," The tears welled up before she could stop them, "I- I told him you weren't pulling your weight, back on that first project, and then a few days later, you had a black eye, and I was so horrible to you about it. That was my fault-"
"No, no, Bonnie," Marceline slowly pulled her closer for a hug, and Bonnie saw the way it hurt her, the way it made her wince, "It was never your fault. It's his. It's always his. He would've found some other excuse to do it, anyway."
"God, I can't believe I was so… petty," Bonnie spat the word out and felt for Marceline's hand, holding it tight, "I should've thought-"
"What, that my dad is an abusive dick who'd use any old excuse to take his anger out on me?" Marceline retorted, and Bonnie wondered why Marceline was the one comforting her right now. "It wasn't your fault, Bonnie. So please, forget about that. Out of everyone in my life, I know for a fact that you're one of the few that would never do anything to hurt me. Don't let him taint that."
Bonnie wiped away the tears and nodded. She shouldn't be the one crying right now, she knew that much. Tearfully, she asked Marceline, "Can you walk?"
Marceline frowned. "I… it'd hurt, but yes."
"You're coming to my house. And you're staying there." Bonnie folded her arms across her chest and put on an attempt at her stern teacher face. "I don't… I don't want you to be here with him."
"I can't just casually move in with you, Bonnie," Marceline said, "he'd notice and as long as I'm under eighteen he'll drag me right back home. And it's alright as long as I'm not here alone with him. I told you, I stay out as much as I can, and if he's home, I'm probably not."
"I don't care," Bonnie said, some of her usual calm bleeding through the worry. "You're at least coming with me now. Let me take care of you."
It was a temporary solution, but it was something. Bonnie would figure something else out when she wasn't feeling so ill about the whole situation.
She didn't know how she convinced her, but Marceline just looked at her for a few moments and then nodded. "Alright. Fine."
Bonnie helped Marceline sit up, tears stinging at her eyes when Marceline cringed as she moved. "I'm sorry, um, just… sit there for a minute, I can get some stuff for you. Like pyjamas and your toothbrush and all of that."
And of course, because Marceline couldn't let a simple rib injury stop her from being inappropriate, she said, "Don't forget the panties."
"Oh, shut up," Bonnie blushed, "Get them yourself, you distasteful arse."
Marceline laughed, then cringed, and then tried to get up. "Alright then."
"No, no, stay there, I was kidding," Bonnie rushed to her side, dropping the backpack on the floor in her hurry to get to Marceline's side. Despite her embarrassment, she said, "I'll… I'll get everything you need. Just stay here, okay."
She gently squeezed Marceline's hand and when she looked in Marceline's drawers for the aforementioned item, naturally the older girl said, "So you wanna touch my panties, then, Bonnie? Should I be reading into this?"
Bonnie rolled her eyes. Even though she'd gone over to tell Marceline how she felt, she didn't think she could dump all of that on her as well, so she tried her best at a sarcastic response. "Inflate your own ego all you like, Marcy. Doesn't make it true."
"That's a yes," Marceline determined as Bonnie stuffed everything in her backpack and zipped it up. She went across to the bathroom and got Marceline's toothbrush, her deodorant and that perfume she always wore that Bonnie loved the smell of.
When she walked back into the room, the bag all packed, Marceline asked, "Can you get my bass? The red one. I can go without all the others for a couple days, but I don't wanna leave my bass here."
Bonnie nodded, and carefully took it off its wall hanger. It was heavier than she'd expected, and she made sure to keep a tight hold of it. The last thing she wanted to do was drop or smash Marceline's favourite bass. "Do you have a case for it?"
"The hard case is in the closet," Marceline nodded towards the doors, Hambo tucked under her arm, "thanks, Bonnie. How exactly are we going to get to your house? I don't know if I can drive."
"Does Marshall have a provisional license?" Bonnie asked as she dragged the case out and laid the bass safely inside, "I'd assume so, since he mentioned failing his test. He can drive. You have a full license, so I'm sure it's acceptable for him to drive as long as you're in the car."
Marceline raised her eyebrows, "Sounds slightly illegal, but okay."
"I don't care how many laws I might be breaking if it means I can keep you safe," Bonnie replied, clicking the clasps closed on the bass case. "I'm going to take all of this out to your car and tell Marshall that he has to drive us to my house. I promise I won't break your trust and tell him why. Where are your keys?"
"On the hook by the door, downstairs," Marceline said, and Bonnie nodded, shouldering the backpack and hauling the big heavy case. "Hey, Bonnie?"
She turned around despite how heavy the case was in her hands. "Yes?"
"I don't want this to change anything between us. I don't want you to act all… weird and watchful. I know that it's a lot to ask, and it's a big secret I'm asking you to keep, but…" Marceline sighed, "I just don't want it to ruin things, because I was so scared it already had when dad made me lie to you earlier. But I just… don't want you to treat me like I'm something that's going to break. Because I'm not."
Bonnie carefully put the case on the floor and crossed over to the bed. She hugged Marceline gently, and against every single one of her instincts, she mumbled, "I won't. I'll still call you out when you're being an arse and hug you tight and match your sarcasm with even more sarcasm. But I am going to be looking out for you and doing everything I can to make sure that this never happens again."
She felt Marceline's arms move around her shoulders and slowly pull her closer. "Okay. Thank you."
Bonnie just held her for a few more moments, a worried sigh passing through her lips. "I hope your dad burns in hell."
Marceline laughed softly, and when Bonnie pulled away from her, there was actually the ghost of a smile on her face. "Me too, Bon."
"Okay," Bonnie stood up, and because she couldn't help herself, she brushed Marceline's messy hair back from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She used 'reinforcing positive touch' as her excuse. "I'm going to take the stuff to your car, and then I'll be right back to help you downstairs."
She was halfway to the door when Marceline called her back again. "Bonnie?"
Dramatically, she rolled her eyes, "What is it now?"
"Just…" Marceline sent her that soft smile again, "thank you. For everything you do."
Bonnie felt that stab of heartbreak again because she felt like she wasn't doing enough. "You don't need to thank me. Just treating you the way you deserve to be treated."
She grabbed the case and pulled the backpack onto her back again, and when Marceline said, "Bonnie!" again, she laughed despite everything and backtracked for the third time. Sticking her head around the door, she asked, "Yes?"
"Nothing," Marceline stuck her tongue out, "just wanted to annoy you."
"Mission accomplished, then," Bonnie rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile, "if you call again, I'm not coming back."
But naturally, when she'd made her way to the top of the stairs, Marceline called, "Wait, Bonnie! This time it's important."
Dragging back again, her response was dripping with sarcasm as she met Marceline's gaze. "Really? Okay. Go on, then."
"Oh, I don't have anything to say. Just wanted to see if you'd come back." Marceline shrugged and smiled that soft smile. "And you did. Which was important, 'cause it means you care. You can go now."
Bonnie sighed dramatically, but she couldn't feign annoyance when Marceline was smiling at her like that. "If you hadn't clocked onto the fact that I care about you by now, I'd be more than a little concerned. Now, this time, I'm serious. Zip it. I have to take the stuff out to the car."
Despite what she'd said, she still waited at the top of the stairs for a few moments in case Marceline called.
The house was quiet when he opened the front door.
It almost always was. His daughter's car was in the driveway, and she was in no fit state to be going anywhere, anyway. His son's shoes were by the door, so he knew that he was home.
Hunson took off his own shoes and smoothed down his tie. Casting a glance towards the stairs, he walked past them, into the kitchen, and made a hot cocoa. While the microwave hummed as it heated the drink thoroughly, he got two painkillers out of the medicine cupboard and waited for the drink to be ready.
He knew Marceline liked hot cocoa when she wasn't feeling well. It was something that Simon Petrikov had done for her when she was younger, and he had carried it on. It was important for her to realise that he only did the things he had to do from a place of love. And he did love her. She was his little girl, and he didn't like it when she made him punish her. He just wanted her to be better, wanted her to live the life Elise deserved and not waste time entertaining these stupid delusions of musical success.
Elise understood that. She was a creative, but she had a real job and real goals. She didn't walk around thinking she was going to be the next musical superstar. She understood that it was a mere hobby, not something to throw everything else away for. Elise had lost her life by allowing Marceline to entertain those delusions and sending her to those silly piano lessons. Hunson was merely trying to stamp the interest out and instil Marceline with practical values. He wouldn't let her throw away her life when Elise had lost hers so suddenly.
Hunson thought that Bonnibel Butler would have been a good influence on her. That was his reasoning for putting them together in class. She was everything he wanted Marceline to be, and if he gave her a positive role model, someone of her own age to emulate, maybe she would straighten up her act. But instead, the girl merely encouraged her. He'd understood that much with the way she'd spoken back to him and talked about how his daughter's ridiculous passion was inspiring.
Hopefully, the message he'd made clear to her earlier would keep the Butler girl away. She was a lovely young woman, and Hunson doubted someone like her would continue to hang around with his daughter when as far as she understood, Marceline was going out fighting people.
He pushed open her bedroom door. "Marceline. I apologise for bringing Miss Butler up here before but-"
He paused. Her bed was empty and her infernal bass guitar was gone from where it usually hung on the wall. He placed the two painkillers on the bedside table with a frown. Her car was still in the driveway, and she can't have walked anywhere carrying that guitar, not with that injury.
He walked across the hallway; the mug still clasped in his left hand. Opening Marshall's bedroom door, he demanded, "Where is your sister?"
Marshall smiled sheepishly. Though he was irresponsible and could do with improving his grades, Marshall was nowhere near as wilful and stubborn as his sister. Marshall did as he was told, and while he had silly musical interests too, he understood that it was a hobby and hadn't joined his sister in that ridiculous band with that irresponsible Keila girl and those two repugnant boys. Hunson was already working on securing him an apprenticeship in his friend's company, because university wouldn't be for him. Academia was one of Marshall's shortcomings.
(Yet another disappointment for him with Marceline. She was highly intelligent, yet she was throwing it all away for some silly guitar. He'd seen that B on her report card.)
"Oh, uh," Marshall said, "Bonnie came back and took her back to her house. She wanted to look after her, I guess."
Hunson frowned. So Miss Butler hadn't been swayed away. Did she know something more? No, Marceline would never tell her, he knew that much. Her own brother had no idea. But Bonnibel was an intelligent girl… maybe she'd made some assumptions. She wouldn't understand that he was only doing what was necessary. She would see the bruises and think that he was a deadbeat, lowlife who abused his daughter because he hated her.
No, Hunson was different from parents like that. He did what he had to do because he loved his little girl and wanted her to stop entertaining silly, childish delusions and grow up. Miss Butler would assume the worst, if she assumed anything.
That wouldn't do at all.
