Trigger Warning*

There is a warning at the start of the first chapter as this story deals with the subject of child abuse and depicts violence throughout. I felt it would have been unnecessarily repetitive to put one at the start of every chapter. With that being said I feel this chapter in particular needed its own warning as this is by far the most graphic in regards to violence against children.

*Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Chapter

Shards

The following morning Tom had decided to wait the whole meal out with them, disturbingly not in his paper. The pater didn't eat much himself but toast and his usual round of coffee but stared at the boys as they ate, particularly at Joe.

"Clear these plates." Both boys went to move but Tom put a hand on Joe's to still him. "Scotty you do it. I need to talk with your friend here." The boys locked eyes. Joe swallowed and with some reservation reclaimed his seat. The older boy watched the younger as he took up all three plates, wishing not to be left alone with this man but knew well enough that this time had to come eventually and this time was now. Tom, but for glancing at his son a time or two, kept his attention mostly on Joe.

The young Cartwright watched Scotty, moving from the room with the stack in hand. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for. All the accumulated torment he and especially Scotty had suffered on account of him was finally going to come down to this. The hammer was about to fall.

"Joe, I know what you've been up to." He said when Scotty was clear away.

The boy's stomach knotted.

"You think you can sneak around this house like a rat in the night. You think you can hide things from me. That you can do things and I won't find out but I know Joe. I always know. This is my house. It's my job to know."

The boy's face flushed and he swallowed through the lump in his throat.

"Those sheets Joe."

What?

"You can start bringing them down the front way instead of having them lie in the dirt for an hour or more getting weather worn before you decide to tend to them."

The preteen was dumbstruck. What about the bowl and decanter? What about the other jar? Nothing.

Scotty was coming back out for the serving dish which Tom handed to his boy so he wouldn't have to come around. He had just cleared the room this time when Tom scooted his chair back, gripped Joe's arm pressing it into the table and leant in to his ear.

"Don't think I'm dumb Joe." He said into him, breath falling across his neck and landing on his shoulders. "I know a lot more about your misdeeds then you think I do."

So much was said in that short statement and yet nothing at all. Joe wanted to be sick. Feeling uncomfortably trapped, he tried to pull his arm away but Tom held it down with an unforgiving weight, perhaps getting some satisfaction from the goose pimples that rose out of the skin of the scapegrace.

Scotty, coming back out offered them just enough of a distraction to break them from this moment. Tom released Joe and stood upright, wiping down his pants, then down his mouth to compose himself. He scooped up his cup and paper and walked out.

Only when the tyrant was gone did Joe clench his eyes, trying to block out the last few moments as if they didn't happen.

Scotty looked on as if knowing something was wrong. Joe didn't explain. He took a gulp and in jittery uncertain movements got up and began to help Scotty clear away the rest of the table.

~.~

A few more days had passed since Scotty's release from that hole.

Joe had made the mistake of sleeping in the next couple of mornings. It so happened that on that first morning when he felt the early hour roll around he began to rouse himself naturally but his body felt laden and then it dawned on him that he no longer had to awaken early as he no longer had to hide the sheets from Tom. This little difference afforded him that extra hour at least.

The second morning it wasn't even a conscious thought that told him why it was okay to sleep in. The weariness in his bones kept him from even waking to that level of consciousness. Both mornings he was called out on this and made to feel lazy and worthless. Tom's reasoning was, that if Joe was willing to awaken early to pull off some act of perfidy then he should be willing to wake up just as early to do the right thing.

It was on the second morning that Tom tacked onto this task the laundry for the entire house. Since Joe liked to get so messy, never-minding the workload he would put onto the pater, he would finally get to experience what it was like to have to clean up after others.

That morning, after that second lecture, he'd made the decision to never sleep in again. If only to give Tom one less thing to degrade him for.

~.~

Each day had progressively gotten harder. Tom would try to keep them busy with work and whatever downtime they had was spent on their knees. The freedom they had to themselves had become evermore diminished. Furthermore, Tom had become increasingly overbearing. He was spending less time in his shed and more time looking upon the boys and only blaming them for having to. Frustrated on the work he was losing out on. He seemed to find fault in everything they did. Nothing ever seemed to be good enough for Tom. The way he washed the clothes, supper was always a gamble, if there was food still on a dish after washing them or the table after being wiped down, Tom would find it. Any mess in the house, dirt on the floor or anything out of place Tom would find that too.

Joe stopped counting the number of times he was slapped or his hair yanked back. The boy got better at protecting his face but this would only frustrate Tom when he couldn't land a slap good enough to meet his own standards. To make up for this he began striking Joe with a closed fist where he could land one. They weren't full forced, more like quick jabs, so they rarely left a bruise. They still hurt though and often left his flesh feeling tender.

The thing which seemed to be the greatest source of Tom's conflict lately were his failing crops, which seemed to have only gotten worse and of course that was Joseph's fault too. On that second day he had even gone as far as accusing Joe of purposefully sabotaging him because, well, that's the kind of kid Joe was.

What Joe had gotten that day was a full-fledged beating. He remembers lying balled up in the dirt between those trees as Tom kicked at him. This was significant because he had never been kicked like this by Tom before. He's been kicked like this by others. During the various fight's he's been in with other kids. Those kids would give full effort into their kicks. Joe could tell Tom was pulling his. The pain from each kick wasn't so much physical as it were emotional. It just left him with a feeling of 'wrong'.

When he got tired of kicking the pater resorted to using his belt instead. The belt was what really hurt. He was helpless now, just as he was when he was in that hole, tied up and beaten. The adrenaline that came from the intensity of that beating caused the pain to swell throughout his body. He could swear that at least one of those strikes one end of the belt had gotten away from Tom and the buckle cracked against his boney back. That was the one that hurt to all-get-out. That had been Tom's last strike for the day before folding the menacing belt back in his grip and walking away, leaving Joe coward in the dirt.

Though he didn't think the kicks hurt all that bad he still found that a few bruises came from the jack-boot which he would discover later. The strike from the buckle (he was pretty sure that's what that was) had darkened to a full bruise within the hour. That one was just to the right of his spine and just above the small of his back. It was small, about the width of a fountain pen and curved. The leather portion of the belt left angry red welts but hardly any bruises at all. Just trace amounts of discoloration that would stick with him.

In this time, Tom hadn't brought up the bowl and decanter. Not once.

~.~

Joe had taken to holding Scotty at night. At least until he fell asleep.

"Can you tell me the story of Tom Thumb again?" Scotty had gotten into asking.

"Sure I can." and so he would, keeping his volume low so as not to be heard by outside ears. He'd go back into reciting the story just as before (well almost). Some details would be added which he had previously omitted and other details which he'd remembered before would slip his mind but none of that mattered to Scotty. He'd lay their quietly and let Joe recite the tail as he knew it.

The older boy would usually get about halfway through when he'd notice the difference in Scotty. His body would leaden and breathing would be heavier too. Joe would stop talking and listen to the soothing rhythm to be sure. After a few minutes he'd carefully slip his trapped arm out from underneath his companion and roll over. He'd give into a soft smile for this boy next to him and how at ease he seemed to be in these moments.

~.~

By this time, Joe had lost a big piece of himself. He still had that fight in him, which remained always just under the surface. If for no other reason than to cling to the person he once knew but was becoming evermore fleeting. He knew how dangerous it was to fight Tom but every time he made a promise with himself to keep to his own affairs, Tom would end up going just a step further. A step, which against better judgement, Joe could not ignore.

As was the case on that 3rd evening when supper had ended. He tried that day. He really did try.

The meal had turned out fine. Joe was grateful that Tom had no gripes about that.

It was after the meal when the real trouble began. That night after supper Tom sat back in his chair.

"Clear this table." The order came.

Joe went to move but he stilled him as he had done days prior. "Scotty, how about you take care of it?"

Scotty went to obey. Tom used this time to talk to the Cartwright boy.

"Joe. I'd like to believe that you're not ruining my crops out of malice."

"I'm not."

"Shhh! Let me finish. If your not then something else is not working for them. Perhaps their not getting enough water."

The boy did his best to check his bitterness upon wishing that Tom would have considered this before yesterdays beating which he was still sore from.

A crash from the kitchen broke the boy from this conflict and snapped them both around.

"What was that?" The pater barked. When Tom had gone in to look Joe followed, fearing the worst.

Scotty was staring at the broken glass at his feet.

Oh my God.

It appeared as if a plate slid off the top of the stack. Joe could guess, in the effort it took for the undersized, overexerted boy to get the stack on the countertop adjacent the sink. The plate that had fallen had remained intact. The cup that had fallen with it was in pieces.

Remembering what had happened the last time, Scotty hadn't even broken that glass and that was Tom's treatment of him. This one was completely shattered.

"You stupid boy" The boy shot his eyes to his pa's.

"We'll fix this."

"You stupid clumsy child." He said, stripping his belt.

"We'll clean it up."

"Get out of here Joe."

"Please Mr. Tomlinson."

"Get out of here!" He raged.

The boy shook and cried at his father's booming voice.

Regretfully, Joe stepped out of the doorway. Turning and pressing his back against the wall next to the frame so he could only hear the strikes. The boy's cries were heart-wrenching. He could not get involved. He could not stop what was happening to Scotty. They just had to wait for Tom to stop, then Joe could go in and scoop the boy up. His gut twisted waiting for that moment.

Somehow, somewhere along the way something had changed. There was a shriek that came from the kid that was filled with sheer-terror and Joe could no longer hear the felling of the whip.

Turning in to look the most horrific sight greeted him. Tom had Scotty's face pushed near inches from the broken shards as he had seen him do with the wet bed sheets. This wasn't harmless fabric; this was glass which threatened to cut into the boy's face.

Tom pushed down with such force that his arm tremored. Scotty was pushing back with all his might, against his father's efforts all whilst screaming in terror.

The fiends eyes were wide and dark. He was a sheer madman.

Oh my God!

The scene had taken on a frightful turn. Joe wasn't sure if he was trying to cut Scotty's face or just trying to make him think he was. He hoped upon hope that Tom was just trying to frighten the boy. He prayed for just that.

Joe's hands went to his ears and he clenched his eyes to protect himself from the horror he felt in his own heart, which the shrieks were effectively piercing.

A shriek louder than anything Joe has ever heard before caused him to look. Oh God. He had done it. He thought at the sight of the blood. He forced his mind to make since of what he was seeing.

The blood wasn't coming from his face. Tomlinson had picked up one of the largest chunks and smashed it into Scotty's head. The blood was streaking down the boy's face and the back of his neck. Scotty cradled himself, begging for his father to stop.

Joe tried. Lord knows how he tried.

Unable to withstand any more the Cartwright boy ran in between pulling at Tomlinson's arm.

"Stop!" He shouted vehemently but Tom didn't break his focus from his boy.

This time Joe wasn't just merely trying to pull at his arm. He resorted to a flurry of fist. He was going to make Tom stop. Make Tom see him. The sanguinary, annoyed at Joe's efforts, tried shoving him away but his half-hearted dismissiveness wasn't going to work this time. Joe wasn't giving in until Tom stopped. He jumped back in, cocking his arm back and with one good sized fist cracked his knuckles to the back of Toms skull. The way Tom all at once stopped told Joe it had worked. He had hurt Tom.

Getting the attention off of the fledgling was his intention and it had worked but now Tom was full-focused on Joe, getting to his feet, leaving his cowering boy on the floor.

Joe stepped back as Tom came forward fearing what would come to him. He knew he couldn't run. His intention was to get Tom's focus from Scotty. He couldn't run now that he had it. He'd have to take what was to come. The maniac snatched a fistful of hair, but Joe kept his arms outstretched flailing to ward off the attack that he was sure would come. This only angered the man more.

"You want to fight me boy? Huh?" He growled. "You want to fight me?!"

Tom pulled Joe into an embrace to still his mad movements. There was a tremor within Joe that Tom could perhaps feel. Pulling his head out of its cradle with a fistful of hair he whispered frightful ominous words into Joe's ear.

"I will break you boy." and the tremor worsened.

Releasing his hug, he swung down. The large fist met Joe's cheek before he had the chance to draw up his shield. The knock wasn't anything like he's ever felt before. He saw white. He got his hands in front of him as the floor came up to meet him. On all fours, with barely the time to register how he got down there, a painful kick came into his ribs knocking him over. Joe was doing nothing to fight Tom now. He could hardly breathe.

He was coming back in for more. He wasn't even going to let Joe get a breath. Mostly on instinct, he knew he had to get away from this madman. The ruffian vigilante scurried back until his back met the cabinet. The jackboot kicked at his thigh. Joe could do nothing more but to ball up as the man continued to kick, this time his kicks weren't being pulled.

When the fight in Joe had all been kicked away, he grabbed a fistful of hair and drug him. Joe held the man's hand that gripped his hair to lessen the intensity of the pull. His hips and buttocks scrape along the wooden floor as his feet flailed in front of him, before hitting the grounds outside and being scraped along dirt and rocks. Joe tried to get his feet beneath him but it was a fruitless effort.

He knew where he was going and he was right.

Tom had the key on some twine around his neck. He struggled to unlock the hatch with one hand. At Tom's split attention Joe was able to rip his hair free from the grip and scrambled away, though where he was going, he hadn't planned that far.

Tom opened the latch and caught the boy by an ankle. Taking his torso and snatching him upright, swinging him over the hole. Joe tried to fight but was pushed backwards down the stairs. His world off kilter as oblivion came up to meet him. Hitting the lower steps before rolling onto the dirt bottom.

Joe was in pain when he hit the bottom. Balling back into the fetal position. Tom closed the door, closing Joe in. Joe was glad to be alone. He was glad it was finally over. That was a brutal attack but now he could rest. He could lick and milk his injuries like the wounded cub he felt. There was a twinge of fear he felt for the younger boy but whatever would happen to Scotty at this point he could do nothing to help. He was on his own.

Joe was wrong though, in thinking that it was time to rest. It only took a moment more for the door to unexpectedly fling back open.

His breath hitched at the sight. Descending the steps it wasn't medical supplies he carried this time. It was a rope. Oh God! Joe betrayed himself. Fear flooded in. A moment ago Joe thought he couldn't move. Now he had to but there was nowhere to go which he realized when his back met shelf.

"When you do what you do, you beg me to do this. You ask for this Joe. Every time you defy me you scream for this."

"No." Joe whimpered and flailed, slapping at his arms as he came in, but it was not enough to ward him off. He got his hands anyways and roped them together until they were tied in tight. This, as well as the confines of this hole, was the only thing Tom did to inhibit his movements. To Joe's relief he wasn't tied to the banister. He was coward against the shelf, practically underneath it had it not been for the rice and potatoes.

"You like fights, huh?" he hit him. "You like bucking the system?" Another swing came in. "Perhaps it's because you've never met a worthy adversary." He kicked at him. "That's the problem Joe." He gripped the cowering boy by the collar and lifted him to his feet. There faces mere inches from each other. "No matter what you do, how much you ask for it; everyone's always so soft with you." The boy was preoccupied with trying to get his bound hands up enough to cover his face. The sanguinary knowing what Joe was trying to do gripped the boy with bony fingers digging into his chin, forcing the boy to face him. The boy had only fear in his eyes staring back at the pokerish man who gnashed at him like he was disgusted with the aroma of an all too delicate flower.

"You're not used to being knocked down and put in your place." He spurned, throwing him back into the shelves, the boy knocking over some jars and baskets as he fell.

"That's how you've come to be the spoiled brat you are. Well, that's not me. Not in my home. You will mind me. You've chosen to buck me but you're going to learn today. I don't roll over so easily." He grandstanded before challenging him again.

"You want to fight now? Huh? You want to fight?" He growled. "Get up!" He struck him. "Get up and fight me!" Joe didn't get up. He bawled in tight as Tom continued his torrent. All Joe could do was bundle in tight praying the blows would stop.

Tom pulled at his shirt to get Joe to face him but the boy only remained balled. He pushed away his grip perhaps realizing the boy was doing nothing in the way of fighting. Tom stood over him slowing his breath so it would come out less huffing. He made some self-grooming swipes and went up the steps.

Cartwright kept his face tucked in even as Tom sealed him in. He fought back the excruciating tears. He did not feel like crying. That would only remind him as to how week he was. He fought down the throbbing pain of sore limbs.

Tom was right about one thing. He has been in plenty of fights. But he was wrong in thinking that Joe has never been knocked down before. Forthright, he's been on the losing end of more than his fair share. None of what happened here felt like any of those fights. This one felt wrong on so many levels. He'd been outnumbered and out muscled plenty in his life but never incapacitated first. Never tied up. He's never not been able to face his opponent straight down. He felt so helpless bound as he was. Furthermore, not a one has ever been a grown man. Nothing about this was fair. It just felt so wrong. But wrong on whose part? His or mine? Was Tom, right?