This, like "Before Going to Hell and Back", was a dare by a friend (the same friend in fact), that is why it seems so different from the things I usually write about. Since I do not ship this pairing, I finally decided to make it a hurt/comfort story.
The Only Thing
He was in his small room, six-years-old again, curled up against the headboard, crying pleadingly. In front of him, his stepfather, Gregory was unfastening his belt, just before of his eyes, smiling maniacally, with such a lust in his gaze that would have frighten anyone, let alone the child that was there, whimpering desperate and uselessly.
Suddenly, the person before him changed. The metamorphosis started slowly, first the eyes, the hair, and then too fast, Gregory's factions changed into ones well-known and loved–his brother's, Pollux's.
He stood there, smiling mockingly at him, his arms crossed over his chest, looking taller than he really was. His body was the one if a twelve-years-old, his actual age, while Castor's continued to have the physiognomy of a child.
He sighed in relief. It was his brother, Pollux. He was safe now. He dared a trembling smile, raising his small hands, gesturing him to pick him up, and jumping, clinging to his chest, sobbing into him.
"Oh, Castor" Pollux said. He froze. That wasn't his brother's voice. Pollux would never talk to him like that. That was the voice in which Pollux talked to a pray. "I'm glad to see you too."
He shakily separated himself from his 'brother' and looked into his eyes. They were cold, stone-hard and held lust and a maniac glow.
He felt a deep pain in his chest, one even worse than any stab he had ever received. It was a stab, it really was, one exactly over his heart, one that was called Betrayal and that had killed Trust.
His brother neared him, taking his chin in his strong hands and forcing his terrified eyes to face his, which held no mercy.
"You thought I would stay by your side with no price at all, Castor?" He said, with that horrible voice again. "Oh, you didn't think that, did you, little brother?"
He couldn't breathe anymore. The pain was so bad, the fear was so huge. That was his brother, and he was talking to him like Gregory had done so many times before, with hate, with an even voice, but an even voice that he had learned to fear because right after it came the pain, those unnamable actions that haunted him in his nightmares and hurt him, after that voice came his touch, one touch that was supposed to comfort him and that he was supposed to feel safe with but that seemed so lascivious that it utterly froze him with fear.
"I'm only taking what was always mine, Castor" Pollux continued saying, as he neared him and suddenly planted a kiss on his small mouth. "I hope you can understand it, brother, it's not my intention to hurt you" he continued kissing him, while Castor whimpered and sobbed; he started to descend, kissing his neck "but if you don't cooperate and you want it to be like that, I'll have to hurt you. I don't want to, do you, little brother?" He asked, faking a sweet tone.
That was his older brother, that was the only person that had always protected him, the only person that had offered a hand for him, the only one that had stayed by his side, the only one that he trusted, and there he was, hurting him, doing the things he'd sworn he would never ever allow anyone to do to him. He denied, crying even harder. "That's nice, Castor" he said, his voice stoic this time. "Do me a favor and take out your clothes, would you?" He ordered more than asked, taking off his shirt as well and unfastening his belt.
That image was so familiar, so familiar to him. That horrible fear, that something that wouldn't let him breathe, that pain, that feeling of betrayal, those tears falling helplessly from his eyes.
It was so familiar and yet so strange. The person that was about to hurt him was the only one that he trusted not to. It was his brother.
"Pollux" he whispered pleadingly "Pollux, please, Pollux" his voice sounded so shaky, so weak.
"Hush, Castor" he said, and for a moment, his voice almost sounded comforting, but that look in his eyes made that image tremble. "I'm not going to hurt you" Castor wasn't so sure.
He started to touch him. First his legs, then his thighs.
He felt so dirty, so dirty and so weak and so useless.
He knew what was coming next.
He woke up with scream, trembling. It had been that nightmare. Again. It was his stepfather, hurting him, making his way through his small body, making him feel broken and useless.
He sat in his bed, not realizing he was crying until the tears began falling from his cheeks to his chest. He couldn't help it. He felt so helpless, so forsaken.
It wasn't just a regular nightmare. It was a memory. It was something that had happened some years ago and now haunted him.
He looked around, scared. He was at the camp, in Dionysius' cabin. Judging by the clarity of sky that entered the round window he could tell that it was just around seven in the morning. And Pollux was gone, probably in the woods, watching some birds or squirrels.
Suddenly, the door form cabin 12 cracked as it open rapidly.
"Castor you should have come. See, I was watching this woodpecker and then-" he raised his eyes, seeing the broken expression of his brother and hearing his sobbing. His own expression changed into a sorrowful one.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice strangled. Castor only denied. "Was it him again?" He inquired, notes of hate into his pronunciation, but not directed to his brother. Castor nodded shakily. Pollux tried to repress a tired sigh but wasn't completely successful.
"It's okay, Castor, calm down." He said, in an even voice, trying to bring his brother's attention to him. Castor only denied again.
"It was different" he said, desperation in his voice.
"What do you mean it was different?" Pollux inquired, scared.
Castor hid his eyes from Pollux's gaze in shame. He couldn't tell him. How could he ever . . ?
"Castor!" Pollux said, bringing his brother's attention to him again, notes of urgency in his voice. "What do you mean it was different?"
The boy only started crying even harder. This wasn't the Pollux of his dream. This was his actual brother. He should have know by the concern in his voice. That nightmares, even if they were memories were just nightmares, dreams that did not necessarily meant what could be seen in them.
He had to tell his brother. If there was someone in the camp, someone in the world that he trusted, that was his brother Pollux, and if it weren't because of that dammed nightmare, there would have been no-one in the world whose presence he would have wanted more than Pollux's.
More crystal tears covered his eyes. He wanted so badly for Pollux to hold him, he wanted to cling to him and to hear to his soft voice whispering comfortingly that everything would be alright, that he would always protect him and would always stay by his side when he needed something, like he'd done since he had learned to talk. He just wanted to feel protected and loved. The only one that ever made him feel like that was his brother, the very same person that he had just dreamt of hurting him.
"Castor" Pollux repeated, this time almost pleadingly "tell me what happened."
He nodded. He had to tell Pollux. He had to. He was the only person that could comfort him. The only one.
His voice sounded shaky, and each word took him a lot of willpower.
"It was him, Pollux" he bitterly. "It was him. Again" his sobs suddenly cut his words off, but he managed to recover soon enough. "But suddenly" a hiccup stopped him, while tears continued rolling down his cheeks "suddenly it was you the one that . . . the one that did it" Castor said, fearfully, crying even harder.
Pollux heard his brother's declaration in complete shock. How could Castor . . .? How could he think that he'd ever . . .? He stepped back, his face contorted with pure horror and disgust.
He wanted to turn around, to turn around and leave. If Castor could even think of him doing something like that, then there was no point in him staying, nothing.
But then he saw his brother's expression, desperate, forsaken, one of pain and fear.
That touched him instantly, making him change his mind in seconds.
How could he even think of leaving seeing his brother like that? How could he? It was not Castor's fault. Whatever had happened, it was not Castor's fault, anyone could tell by his desperate expression.
He walked forward slowly, regretting having even thought of leaving his little brother to suffer alone. He sat by the side of the bed and kindly took Castor's trembling body into his arms, feeling him stiffen against his will when the physical touch came.
"It's okay, Castor." He said fondly. His brother only cried harder. "Shh" he whispered, pulling him closer to his body. "It's okay."
"You would never . . .? Never . . . Would you?" Castor managed to say throughout his sobbing, leaving the unsaid words hanging in the air, though Pollux could understand what he'd meant all too well.
"Never" he reassured, not feeling mad this time, just worried. "Never."
Castor could only cry even harder, hiding his face in the curve of Pollux's neck, clinging to him desperately.
"Calm down, Castor" Pollux whispered, as he started rocking his brother. "It's alright. It's over now, okay? Over. I will always protect you." He promised, as he started drawing soothing circles in his back.
Slowly, Castor's cries began to shush, until they stopped. He fell asleep again, still clinging to his older brother, in a silent plea for company.
Pollux sighed heavily, as he started remembering.
His stepfather was an alcoholic, a psychopath, that man was sick.
Ever since he had entered in his life, he'd been rude, disrespectful to him, but it was fine, as long as his brother was safe, whatever he had to endure was fine.
He had to protect him, he was weaker, smaller, fearful, shyer. Though he was sure that even if he'd turn to be out differently he would still feel the need to protect him, for the simple reason that he was his small brother.
True to tell, it wasn't really his responsibility to take care of Castor—it was their mother's, but she was too busy not caring to realize what was going on. And the next one in the line was Pollux.
He had to protect him: he was his small brother and that was enough reason. Sure, they were just a couple of minutes, but the difference wasn't really about the age, but about their personalities.
Unlike the Stolls, and though they were actually twins, Castor and Pollux were the complete opposite of each other. The elder, Pollux, was extroverted, easy-going, more active and a lot better at sword training that his brother. Castor, on the other side, was shy, timid, almost fearful, kind to the point he hated fighting. And that was the important thing when a threat appeared. One would stand up and fight while it was likely that the other one froze from fear.
Maybe, if things had been different for them, they could have molded their characters in a different way, but overtime, a tiny difference became a huge one, making ages unimportant when the capacity of one to take care of the other was judged.
It was when they were both six years old that their mother met their soon-to-be stepfather. Not a romantic date, of course.
They met each other at a bar entrance, way after two in the morning, and they got to talk to the other one because they were far too drunk for the security guys to let them in.
Cornelia invited him to her house, offering him a place to pass the night and the opportunity of a person to be with too.
Around three or four in the morning they arrived to her small apartment. Drunk as they were, it took Cornelia more than five tries to open the door, and when they finally made it in, there was a lot of crashing as they couldn't make it through the furniture and the things that were thrown in the floor.
Neither of them seemed to notice the noise, but it was enough for the children to wake up.
They were scared. Each time their mother came in drunken, each time she brought new people, each time she did this, they feared her. But it wasn't uncommon that she did.
The only thing they could do was cuddle next to each other. Castor started crying. Pollux hugged him even closer and promised him it would be alright, that he would protect him–like always.
It was true–he would protect him. Yet it was also a lie–there was nothing he could do for doing what he had just promised.
Finally, they went back to sleep.
They woke around seven or eight, but knowing that the adults were still asleep and that their mother would be mad if they woke them up, they stayed in bed. They didn't even dare talking.
When midday came, Cornelia and Gregory –since that was the man's name– woke up. They hadn't slept well and the lack of sleep, plus the high rate of alcohol in their blood made their heads prick and hurt.
"Castor! Pollux!" Cornelia screamed, suddenly remembering she had kids.
They both hurried down the stairs, aware that when she drank she became way more impatient.
They made it into the living room holding hands, their eyes glued to the floor.
"These are my children" Cornelia groaned.
She knew that when their pseudo-couples learned this it was likely that they fled. No young man wanted to be in a casual relationship with a woman with children. They didn't want children. Neither did Cornelia.
She had become pregnant after a night with a lot of alcohol in a party. She was drunk, so was this guy, they started taking and then went too far. She couldn't remember his face; she didn't even ask his name.
She didn't want to have the kids, but she didn't want to practice an abortion either. She didn't want to raise the children, but she didn't want to give them away for adoption either.
In the end, she had the children, and decided to raise them. They were born in June, during Gemini's time around, and that was the reason why she had chose such names.
Keeping the children with her hadn't been the wisest decision, as proved when she still went drunk, when she became impatient and simply hit them, when she forgot that they existed or when she simply didn't make anything for food and they had to come up with something alone.
"So you have children" Gregory stated more than asked, not even bothering to hide that lascivious smile of him. Cornelia didn't notice how he looked at her children, as if they were food or something, Castor didn't either, but Pollux did. And hate and fear started boiling in his blood right then.
"Yup, twins." Cornelia said, the past night's alcohol making her voice sound harsh. "This is Castor" she stated, pointing the boy ", and this is Pollux" as an answer, they simply nodded, Castor still avoiding the adults' eyes by looking at the floor, but Pollux was more worried by each passing second next to that man.
"Boys, this is Gregory" continued Cornelia. They nodded again, avoiding his eyes.
"Nice" Gregory said.
After that, he departed, but promised Cornelia that they would see each other later. Cornelia offered her department if he ever needed a place to stay.
Pollux had hated him right then, he'd known that guy was up to trouble, but his mother either never noticed anything out of normal, or simply didn't care enough.
Gregory moved to their small apartment a month or two after he'd met Cornelia.
He had nowhere to go, and Cornelia had instantly offered her house, too excited with the fact that there was a guy that was actually interested in her, even if she had children. He had even said to her that he 'Wanted to be the father that they lacked of', that was the closest to a declaration that she'd ever received, and she instantly thought that this man was her perfect one.
Pollux hated him. He wasn't even able to point out why–he simply did.
The bad treatment started after a week of living with him. Gregory hit him. It was a slap, a slap given in front of her mother that she simply and plainly ignored. Her boyfriend was way more important than her children.
He'd cried that night, tears rolling down his still-red cheek. It wasn't just out of pain–it was because somewhere inside his childish mind he'd believed that his mother would do something to protect him. She just stepped back. 'Pollux, darling, obey Gregory please', she said, completely ignoring her child's tears.
That had continued for awhile, until one afternoon, Cornelia had left him, Castor and Gregory alone.
Gregory hadn't thought twice what he did that night. Until then, he had only hit him, but that night he done something that was even worse.
He'd hurt him nonetheless, but it was a different kind of hurt. It was something that years later he'd found out to be called rape.
That night and the next morning, everything hurt. He could only recall vaguely what had happened, with Gregory ordering him to take out his clothes and obey him, but it was enough. He didn't want to remember.
That night, Castor had been asleep and hadn't known anything, same as the next ones. Pollux didn't say anything to him. If Gregory wanted to hurt someone, that someone had to be him. The moment he tried to hurt your brother he would have some serious problems.
That worked for a month or two. He didn't even try asking for his mother's help, as he knew he would receive none. He just hid it and did as ordered.
It was until Castor found out. He'd find him crying, after Gregory had done it once more and was about to leave.
Castor had been so scared, so confused, looking from Pollux to Gregory and then back to his brother.
Pollux denied, gesturing for him to leave, but it'd been too late. There it was, that hideous look in his eyes.
He'd done it again, but not to him. To Castor. To the only person that he wanted to protect more than himself. To the only person that he wanted to be safe in the whole world.
As fast as it was over he'd taken Castor's trembling body into his arms, just like he was holding him right then, almost a decade before. He'd promised that he would never allow it to happen again–he would protect him.
That night, he'd dreamt of a camp and a sign that said "New York".
They left the house the next morning. It remained a complete mystery how two six-years-old had managed to leave Maine and had arrived to New York and then to Camp Half-Blood safely.
Pollux had been the one leading, but he really couldn't tell why or how they had made it.
He'd had dreams. He dreamt of a name or of a place, like a building or a field, and then found it in real life and followed the path he'd followed in his dream. That was the only logical explanation he could find for their safe arrival.
He couldn't remember clearly when they'd crossed the barriers and entered the camp. He just vaguely recalled being told to pass the night at Cabin 11.
The first days had been really difficult. Mr. D, apparently the principal or something had been out, and they had stayed in Hermeses' cabin until he came back an recognized them.
It was a shock–to discover that they actually had a father and that he had been so interested in their safety that he had even recognize them. He had been the one sending him dreams, too, guiding him through the unknown places and keeping them silently away from danger.
Still, back to when they'd first arrived to the camp and right then, he couldn't help but feel betrayed–if Dionysius cared so much, why hadn't he picked them up earlier? Why hadn't him taken them to the camp before everything happened, why hadn't he protected them as a father should?
He'd continued to call him Mr. D even when he was allowed to call him by his name.
He'd discover he was very good at sword fighting and archery. Castor wasn't as good.
True to tell, slashing monsters seemed great, but the real reason why he wanted to train and to became a better fighter was to protect his younger brother. And so he did.
They fought side by side, they learned to depend on each other and to trust the other one to do what they were not able to. They literally trusted each other with their life.
They had never heard anything about their mother again. None mentioned her. Neither did they mention him.
It was only when something like a nightmare or a sudden feeling brought back the memories that they went back to remembering that.
Pollux didn't usually have nightmares. He had some, now and then, but they were just that, nightmares, nothing important, nothing to fear; memories, at the most, memories of something that had long-since happened.
He had to protect his brother–that was his only thought, the only thing that kept him going. He couldn't afford crying due to something that had happened when he'd been six-years-old.
He smiled fondly at the figure that innocently clung to him in his sleep.
Everything he had done was to protect him.
That was the only thing he could do–promise him he would ever be there for him. That he would ever protect him.
That was the only thing that he could promise without lying. The only thing that he could be sure of. He would never let his brother down, he would never forsake them like their mother had or abandon him to his luck like their father had.
He would always protect him. That was the only thing that he was able to assure.