Alexander Hamilton was tired.
He stared down at his work; despite the fact his exhausted brain couldn't make sense of the words, his hand continued to move, the scratching of a quill against parchment was the only sound in the room. He wasn't sure what time it was or day, or even what this paper was for but he didn't care. He continued to work. The house was quiet; such peace is a rarity with eight children running around (though, Lord knows he would never trade that for anything in the world) and he wanted to take advantage of the tranquility while he could.
He paused his writing to take in the silence, laying his head in his palm, and closed his eyes. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to rest for a minute–
SLAM!
The door to his office flung open and Alexander's heart nearly stopped from the sudden intrusion. He jumped in his seat, nearly knocking over the inkwell, eyes popping open to see his eldest son standing in the doorway, whose normally kind, youthful face was clouded with rage, frustrated tears peeking out from the corners of his eyes.
"Philip, what–?"
"I need your help!" The young man blurted out. In less than a second, his son had appeared right in front of him and slammed his hands down on his desk so hard a few items toppled over. "I have no one else to turn to!"
"Why, what's the matter–?"
"He has to pay! I just can't settle until he takes it back! I mean–"
"Who's he?" Alexander asked, confusion mounting. "Philip, I have no idea what you're talking about–"
"Pops, if you only heard the shit he said about you, I doubt YOU would have let it slide and I was not about to-!"
Alexander put his hand against his son's mouth, effectively cutting off the rant. "Philip, please slow down," he said, laughing slightly at the teens dramatics. "It seems that you have an interesting story to tell me, and it would be beneficial to both of us if you'd start from the beginning, okay?"
Philip stared at his father for a few minutes, before giving him a stiff nod. Alexander removed his hand with a relieved sigh. 'Good. Now," he gestured to his son to take a seat in a chair across from him, "What happened, son?"
Philip continued on, he still rushed his words, but Alexander was able to catch onto the conversation. He told him about a young man named Eacker who insulted him, he told him how he confronted him in hopes of receiving an apology and was refused. All the while, Alexander frowned deeper.
"So, I need some advice." Philip finished, meeting his father's eyes. "I know school won't teach me, so you're my only option. Please, pops, this is my very first duel–"
Alexander went still.
A chill ran through him, almost as if someone had dumped a bucket of icy water on him, freezing him down to his core. His throat felt raw and it was difficult to swallow. He stared at his eldest; his large bright eyes silently pleading for assistance, cheeks flushed with emotion.
It…it would be fine, he told himself. After all, most disputes die before anyone could shoot. The chances of his son being killed is quite slim. Besides, he's doing this for him. He just wants to defend him, there's nothing wrong with that?
And yet–
His brain automatically supplied images, each one more horrifying than the last; Philip caked in his own blood, the light in the boy's eyes draining as he's holding his son's body while his dear wife wept brokenly beside him.
"...No."
"W-What?" Philip stammered, eyes widening in surprise.
"I said, no." Alexander repeated, his voice growing stronger. "You will not be dueling. I don't know what happened and I'd be more than willing to listen and provide an alternative solution if that will help you feel better, but I will not permit you to duel."
"I have to!" Philip insisted. "I can't let him get away with what he said about you!"
"Philip, I'm sure whatever this Eacker fellow said, it isn't worth risking your life."
"What about honor? Our legacy? "
"Legacy?" Alexander scoffed in disbelief. "You want your legacy to be you dying in a duel over a petty insult?"
"I already called him out! If I don't show up I'll be branded as a coward!" Philip argued, desperately.
"I'd rather you'd be called that than for you to be dead, son." Alexander rebutted, unmoving. Philip opened his mouth to fight back, but Alexander held his hand in refusal. "No. You will go to this young man and tell him you've made a mistake. There will be no more talk of dueling."
"This isn't fair," the curly haired boy whined. " You've dueled before! You were even a second!"
"That I was," Alexander admitted, "but I had been young and foolish back then, and I had no one to correct me." He gave his son a meaningful look. "But you do, and so long as I'm here I will not let you follow the same path of recklessness. It's a no on the duel. End of discussion." With that, Alexander returned to his work, completely dismissing the matter altogether. Philip continued to stand before him, his entire body trembling with rage.
"F-Fine!" The teen yelled, stomping his foot. "If you won't help me then I'll just have to learn on my own!"
"Absolutely not, I forbid it." Alexander said firmly, leveling his son with a glare.
"I came for your advice, not your permission."
"Philip." Alexander warned.
"You can't stop me," he hissed, taking a step back. "I'll deal with this on my own, so you just go back to writing your stupid papers!" With that, the teen turned on his heel and walked away.
"Get back here young man, I said no." Alexander called out to the moody teen who promptly ignored him.
"Philip!"
The only response his son gave was petulant glare over the shoulder.
With rapidly draining patience, Alexander leapt to his feet and yelled, "Philip Hamilton, so help me; if you take one more step, I promise you'll regret it!"
At this, Philip did stop in his tracks. The room went quiet, and Alexander was worried that he went too far. He almost never raised his voice to any of his children, especially his eldest, out of fear that he would become a tyrant just like his father.
Another solid minute of silence passed before Philip turned his head to look at his father. Then, without breaking eye contact, he took a single deliberate step forward.
So, that's how it's going to be, is it?
Disappointment and anger resurfaced within him. He slapped down his 'stupid papers' and strode over to his son, quickly taking him by the arm and dragging him back to the middle of the room.
"H-Hey!"
"Believe it or not, I am helping you, Phillip. You're just a boy, you do not know how dangerous dueling is. Too much at risk. It is simply not worth it."
He made Phillip stand in front of him, eyes never leaving the pouting face. "It appears I have been too lax with you lately. That's no one's fault but my own, one that I aim to correct. So, I'm going to give you one last chance-" He pulled the teen closer until their faces were inches apart. "-Drop the topic and the attitude, right now, or else."
Philip very nearly screamed out 'or else what?' but the stern look on his father's face caused the words to die on his tongue.
"Fine," he huffed with more bite than intended, crossing his arms and glaring at the far corner. He desperately wanted to argue his point further but something told him that this wasn't a fight he was going to win.
Alexander narrowed his eyes at the flippant response. "I mean it, Philip. Do not pursue this matter any further." He placed a finger underneath the boy's chin and forced him to look in his direction. "Philip, I want you to promise me that you won't duel."
"But Father–"
"Promise me."
"...Okay, I promise," he relented, shoulders slumping in defeat. Clearly, he wasn't going to get his way right now.
"Good." Alexander nodded, smiling for the first time during this whole exchange. "Now, will you please leave me to my work? I'll see you at dinner." Without even waiting for his response, his father ruffled his hair and returned to his desk.
Philip stood there for a full minute in silence, hurt and annoyance swirled inside him. Feeling completely ignored, he turned on his heel and left his father's office in a huff.
Philip shut the door to his room with a loud bang, his body shaking with suppressed rage. He resisted the juvenile urge to flop on his bed and kick and scream into his pillow. Instead, he settled for throwing himself into a chair, rested his head on his desk, and brooded.
That conversation did not go the way he planned at all. He thought for sure his father would agree; he's been in his fair share of duels in his youth. How could his old man be such a hypocrite? Not to mention he can't remember a time where his father refused him anything. The unfairness of the situation made his blood boil.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a scowl. Now what? If he doesn't show up, Eacker will never let him hear the end of it. Especially since he issued the challenge in the first place. He'll never be able to show his face around school again.
Your father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, are you.
He stood up from his chair, furious and started pacing around his room. No, he has to do this. He will not be a disgrace to the family name.
Promise me, son .
His father's words echo in his head, but the guilt was no match for possible shame of backing out. He gritted his teeth and pushed back his father's face and warnings.
What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?
"Philip, are you okay? You seem distracted."
Philip looked up from his plate startled, but he quickly morphed his features into an easy-going smile. "I'm fine, mother. I'm just a bit tired is all."
His mother nodded, but she still looked concerned. She kept an eye on him for a few more moments before her attention were diverted by one of his younger siblings.
Philip sighed with relief and went back to poking at his food, stomach in knots.
Every once in a while, his parents or siblings would say something, and he would laugh or respond appropriately but he was sure that everyone could tell his mind was elsewhere. Namely a certain office that was completely off limits to anyone other than the man it belonged to.
The teen forced a forkful of food in his mouth, the taste felt completely bland to him, too wrapped up in his guilt and anxiety to enjoy his meal. He was very nervous, but he couldn't show it. Lest his scheme falls apart completely.
His plan was simple; act as though he was retreating to his room for the night, steal his father's pistols and wait for everyone to settle and then sneak out to meet Eacker. Once it was over, he'll crawl back in, put the guns back and nobody will even know.
Foolproof.
Or at least that's what he's trying to convince himself. There are too many uncertainties that even he can't ignore. Namely how he didn't know the etiquette of dueling. Though his mind assured him that was the least of his worries and he should focus on leaving the house undetected, so he left those problems for later. For now he should just bide his time until he can sneak away and put his plan into action.
He peered up at a nearby grandfather clock, it's been twenty minutes since they all sat down. His father was usually the first to excuse himself, so he could retreat into his office and work some more, though sometimes he stays a little longer to chat with the younger ones. From how engrossed he looks at James and Williams' story, it appears tonight is one of those nights. Perfect.
His whole body felt as though it was vibrating, he looked around frantically hoping no one was watching him too closely. Patience , he told himself. Just a little bit longer, act normal.
The clock ticked in background, his sister laughed, he drummed his fingers, utensils clicked against the porcelain, his leg jiggled underneath the table, a cough; he twitched.
Not even a minute passed, and he broke his vow.
"May I be excused?" He asked, his chair screeching as he pushed it back. Everyone in the dining room stopped and stared at him.
"Is everything alright?" His mother said, eyes knitted in concern.
"Yes," he assured, smiling slightly. "I'm just not feeling well. Nothing serious!" Both his mother and father nearly leapt up. "I'm just more tired than I thought, so I'm going to turn in early."
Both parents stared at the teen, eyes still clouded with worry. Sweat began to gather at the nape of his neck, but Philip forced his face to remain neutral. His heart hammered against his chest and he was certain everyone could hear, why else was his siblings shooting him strange looks. This wasn't going to work, he was done for and he's going to miss his chance.
"Okay," his mother relented, smiling softly. "Make sure you go straight to bed. We hope you feel better."
Philip smiled, holding back the relief that was threatening to burst from him.
He bid his family goodnight as weakly, but not too weakly, as he could and made his way out the dining hall. A small, victorious smile as his face.
Unbeknownst to him, his father had his eye on him the whole time.
The second the office door closed, he set to work finding the guns. He bounced around, searching every corner of the room; his father's desk, pulling out books on the shelf, and rifling through papers, careful not to make too much noise and to put everything back where it was so as not to arouse suspicion.
After a couple of minutes of fruitless searching, he let out a frustrated huff. Where are they? He's searched every nook and cranny and found no sign of the pistols.
He sighed and tapped his foot in thought. He's looked at all the places that would make sense to hide. Obscure, but easy to…access.
Wait.
Philip craned his neck and looked at the very top of the bookshelf. Just barely visible behind a row of novels was the corner of what he assumes is a box.
Grinning widely, he pulled out his father's chair and used it to reach the top of the shelf, heart thumping in his chest as carefully maneuvered around the book barrier and pulled a large wooden chest.
…With a lock on it.
"Shit," he hissed, looked at the door and listened intently for any incoming footsteps. He groped around where the chest sat, looking for a key but only found dust and he didn't see anything reassembling a key while he was searching.
Philip placed the box on the desk, arms crossed, expression soured. Damn it, he really doesn't have time for this. His dad could walk in at any moment, and he'd never see the light of day again if he's caught. He bit his lip, brow furrowed in thought. No choice, he'll have to take the chest to his room and break the lock there. He'll put it all back when he returns.
Confident, though slightly nervous, in his decision, he put his father's chair back and tucked the box under his arm and made his way toward the door and slowly opened it.
–And came face to face with his father who wore an unamused look.
Philip wanted to scream but somewhere along the way, it got lodged in his throat and all he could create was a sound that was a cross between a wheeze and a choke as he scrambled back, face rapidly losing color.
"Well," Alexander started, coolly. Seemingly oblivious to his son's terror. "You must truly be tired to mistake my office for your bedroom."
Several swears floated in his head, but he didn't dare to utter them out loud. He gulped audibly and shook his head. "No? Yes! I-I mean…" He clumsily hid the chest behind his back, a crooked smile on his face. "I forgot something when I was in here, and I thought I should grab it before I retired for the night."
"Oh, did you now?" Alexander said as he leaned against the door frame. On the surface level it was a casual pose, but Philip knew this was just his father's way of 'subtly' cutting off his escape route.
"Y-Yes," he took another step back. "It's for…" as he frantically thought of an excuse, he tried to calculate how fast he would need to be to slip past his father and make it to his room unscathed. "... School." He finished, weakly.
"School." Alexander parroted back; a single eyebrow raised.
"School."
Father and son stared at each other in silence for a moment. Philip sweated under the older male's gaze.
Alexander broke the standoff with a soft humorless chuckle. "Give it here, son." He said, holding out his hand.
"B-But–!"
"Now."
Philip flushed at the command. With shaking arms he removed the box from behind his back and gave it to his father, eyes glued to the floor the whole time.
"Forgot something, did you?" Philip cringed and scuffed his toe against the wooden floor, feeling like a naughty child that just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Pops, I–"
"Philip," his father said, calmly. "Go to your room."
"I was just–!"
"No," This time, there was an edge in his father's tone. "I don't want to hear your excuses." He put the chest on a stand near the door. "Go up to your room and change into your nightshirt."
Philip spluttered, eye's going wide in disbelief. "Y-You're sending me to bed?!"
"After our talk, yes."
"But Pa!" He wished he could say it didn't come as a whine.
"Philip, bedroom, nightclothes, in that order, now. Do not make me drag you upstairs myself."
Philip knew he had already pushed his luck enough. The teen walked out the door, eyes downcast, ignoring the curious glances from his younger siblings as he trudged up the stairs to his room.
For the second time that night, Philip paced around his room, though it was out of nervousness rather than anger.
His dark curls bounced as he moved back and forth, night gown swishing with each movement (though he detested willingly reducing himself to a childish state, he didn't want to know what would happen if he refused to obey,) arms crossed, gnawing on his bottom lip, cursing himself all the while. After a moment, he realized moving around isn't calming his nerves and plopped down on his bed with a dramatic huff.
Wonderful. His already miniscule window of opportunity has shrunk to nonexistent, he would be lucky if his family didn't lock him in his room for the rest of the night.
Philip glared down at his sock feet, feeling far younger than nineteen. Eacker was probably halfway across the river by now and he was stuck here about to be scolded and sent to bed. He bathed himself in anger and indignity, much better than focusing on the shame at disappointing the man he's looked up to all his life.
Eventually the indignation wore off and all he was left was anxiety. What was taking so long? The teen pulled his knees close to his chest, no longer caring how young he looked. Was Pops really that angry with him? That caused the frustration to return. He was merely defending his father's name. Protecting their family's honor. Where exactly was the harm in that?
His father was overreacting. He would have been fine.
He would've.
Convincing himself of that is a lot harder than it should be.
Ten minutes. That's how long it takes for his father to make his way to his bedroom, but to the teen he had felt he had been stuck here for ten years.
He knocks but enters without prompt anyway and Philip is too nervous to voice his complaint. The older man stood in the middle of the room, dressed more comfortably and casually than before, shirt rolled up to his sleeves, arms crossed and face set in a calm but determined expression. Philip stood up the second the door had opened, and he pulled himself up to his full height, forcing his arms to mirror the intimidating stance, hoping to appear as man who was trying to commit a good deed, but clad in his nightgown he knows he is only a boy in the man's eyes.
"Before we begin, is there anything you'd like to say?"
Yes, yes there is. After he had gotten over his outrage over the whole thing, he had formulated a response. A speech, one might say. His defense about this treatment and how he's done absolutely nothing to warrant it. His father wasn't the only one in the family who was good with words and it was time to prove it.
Too bad the stern stare caused the words to melt in his throat like snow on the first day of spring.
"No." He said, jaw locked tight. "I think I made myself pretty clear already."
"Indeed, you have," Alexander said. He took a step forward and it took every ounce of courage to not step back. "You've made it quite clear you have no respect for the rules I've laid out for you or my authority."
That wasn't fair. His anger became a cracker in a babe's fist; crushed to almost nothing with but a few crumbs stubbornly stuck to the skin.
"Like you have room to talk about adhering to rules." He muttered, sulkily.
"You're not like me."
"I know." Shards of glass stabbed his throat and it hurt to swallow them. His eyes burned with unshed tears and he forced the liquid back down.
Silence engulfed the two Hamilton men. Philip glared at a speck of dust on the floor, as if it was the reason why he was in this mess. The room suddenly felt way too hot, his stomach twisted almost painfully. Despite there being no danger, he wanted to run.
"You're being ridiculous." He said, annoyance and desperation scraping his voice. "I didn't even duel."
"No, you were just caught lying and stealing."
The teen kicked up the defenseless dust, with a face rivaling the sun, teeth practically glued together as if he had swallowed a jar of paste. Unfair.
"It appears," Alexander started, and Philip wished for silence again. "We are at an impasse. It seems that I must teach you the basics."
"Basics?" Philip parroted, baffled. "What basics?"
For a moment, his father said nothing. The cool expression made his insides flip and he couldn't begin to understand why.
"Tell me something Philip, what do you think no means?"
He blinked, slightly thrown. "I, well, it means don't do it, I guess." He stuttered, internally cringing how ineloquent he sounded.
Alexander nodded. "Correct, and has the definition changed at all since you've been in school?"
Shame burned his ears and spread down to his cheeks. "No."
"I told you no, didn't I?"
"...Yes."
"So why did you think it was okay to disobey me and try to go duel?"
"That's because–I only wanted– You would've–!"
Sentences were built and then demolished before completion, his foundation for a valid reason was shaky and he no matter how long his mind searched, he found he couldn't actually justify his actions.
Philip's face was completely red and turned his gaze to the ground, squirming in place as he twisted his hands behind his back, wishing he could just disappear and not have to bear that disappointed gaze any longer.
Alexander moved toward his son and gently lifted the trembling chin and was greeted with tear filled eyes. He ignored the ache in his heart at the sight.
"I asked you a question, son." Alexander said calmly.
"I–" Philip hated how his voice was choking up already. "I just wanted to defend you," he whispered.
"I know," Alexander said gently. "But that's not why you're in trouble and you know it. You deliberately disobeyed my orders and tried to lie to my face about it. Not only that but you gave me your word that you wouldn't duel, and you broke it without a second thought."
Philip's eyes once again returned to the ground, wanting to desperately melt through the floorboards.
"Were you even remotely aware of the consequences that would follow had you gone through with this?"
"It's legal in New Jersey–"
"I'm not talking about legality, Philip, I speak of life and death." The teen tried to look away but Alexander forced their eyes to maintain contact. "You could have been branded a killer. A murderer. Your life would have been ruined. That young man's death would have followed you until your own. You do not want that kind of weight on your conscience."
Pool of tears welled up in the bright eyes but through sheer force of will, they did not fall.
"Not to mention, your own life. Do you have any idea how devastated your mother would be? Your siblings? Me? "
A single strand escaped from its cage, and he gently wiped it away.
"Philip Hamilton, there are no words to describe how losing you would break me. I…truly don't think I would be able to go on. I'd lose my mind. You are my pride and joy. No parent should have to bury their child." He pulled the young man close to his chest. "Please do not ever make me or your mother experience that."
"I'm sorry." He whimpered; his voice barely audible against his father's chest. He slowly pulled away and wiped his face. "I won't do it again.".
Alexander stared down at his eldest, his expression unreadable but internally he was completely torn. He wanted to tell him that all is forgiven and to just simply warn him to never do this again.
But, he knew he couldn't.
He's always let his children slide with more than he should, but this is one of the rare times that he knows correction is necessary. Though the thought of punishing his child killed him, he would rather have that than his child being killed.
"No you're not," Alexander said not unkindly, his insides twisting at seeing Philip's face crumple, "but you're going to be. I'll damn well make sure of it."
Philip emitted a low whine at that, but Alexander turned a deaf ear to it.
"I had hoped it would never come to this, but it seems you've left me no choice." He walked to the teen's bed and took a seat at the edge, gave the young man a stern look, motioned him forward with one hand and firmly patted his knee with the other.
"Come here, son."
It took too long for the signal to register in his brain and far longer for him to react appropriately. "You don't mean–?" His face reddened and quickly backed away until he hit the edge of his desk. "Father, you can't! I'm too old for… that! "
"I can and I will. So long as you live under this roof you will never be too old to be punished."
"Father, please! I-I'll call off the duel! You don't have to do this." Philip begged from across the room.
"Oh, that's a given, son." Alexander assured. "But I told you; this isn't just about the duel. You broke your promise to me and attempted to steal my guns so you could disobey my orders. I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect, young man."
"Please, don't! I'll listen from now on, I swear!"
"Then come here please." Alexander gave his knee another firm pat.
Philip looked positively helpless. His cheeks burned rouge as he bounced in place, desperately wracking his brain for a way out of this. He looked behind at the window and debated on jumping. Surely leaping from a two story height and risking a broken bone or two was a much better fate than what awaited him. He shot a glance at the door, considering the unthinkable…
"Philip, I'm warning you; if you try to run. When, and I do mean when, I catch up to you, I'll put you across my knee then and there, regardless of whether your mother and siblings are watching." Alexander fixed his blushing son with a daring look. "So, are you still willing to risk it or are you going to stop stalling so we can get your spanking over with it?"
Philip went silent, his red face scrunched up in anger and horror, before his entire body sagged with resignation. He bowed his head and shuffled over to his father with the grace of man heading to his execution. Alexander fought to keep his expression from softening.
After what felt like an eternity, Philip stood in front of his father, quaking with nerves. A firm hand wrapped around his thin wrist and was gently guided over the awaiting lap, his torso resting comfortably on the bed, probably the only part of him that will be comfortable during this whole thing, he thought miserably.
Philip sucked in a breath when he felt his nightshirt being hiked up, the thin material bunched around the small of his back. Just when he thought he couldn't feel any more childish, his drawers were swiftly yanked down to meet his knees.
"Pops!" The young man whined into the covers, the tips of his ears flushing a bright pink. "I'm not a child!"
"Yes, you are." Alexander said. "You're my child, your mother's child, and I will not permit you to do something that will cause you harm."
"I already said I won't duel, Father!"
"Good to hear," Alexander replied, wrapping an arm securely around the boy's waist. "Glad we have one matter settled, but we have plenty more to discuss."
"But–!"
A firm smack effectively cut off his protest.
"No buts," another swat, and he gasped at the sting. "Since I'm unable to get through to your head, we'll try the other end and see if that yields any results."
"Please!" The swat landed on the middle of his butt; he sucked air between his teeth. " You don't have to do this!"
"Yes," Alexander said, solemnly. "I do."
With that, his father's palm began its rapid assault. Philip yelped and jumped as if a live wire was forced into his back. His Pop's large, calloused hand struck every surface of his bare posterior and he gritted his teeth, face growing hotter with each swat. This was so humiliating. His body shook from the herculean effort of not squirming, his entire frame rigid as he breathed heavily, toes drumming against the floor. The pain wasn't excruciating but it was far from pleasant and the ache was progressively building, turning into a burn that itches.
Philip buried his burning face in his arms and tried to ignore the fact that he was almost twenty years old and getting his bare bottom smacked. Trying not to think about how Eacker was waiting for him in Jersey to face him like a man and instead he was over his father's knee like a little boy.
For the most part he is able to not worry about all of that, because the sting in his backside quickly becomes his main focus.
"Father, please, I'm sorry!" He cried out, after the palm attacked the same area thrice.
"I'm sure you are," Alexander commented. "Sorry that you were caught. Sorry that you are over my knee."
"I was just trying to help!"
"I neither asked," a sharp slap on his left cheek, "nor needed," a matching one on his right, "your help, young man. Do not try that excuse with me. Not after you willingly disobeyed my orders."
Philip held back a cry at the harsh tone, but he couldn't stop himself from tearing up. "Will you please stop!"
"I will stop when I'm certain you've learned your lesson."
"I–OW! I have! I won't duel again, ever!"
His promise falls on deaf ears. Or perhaps he couldn't be heard over the spanking, either way, his dad continues to light a fire on his ass. Yelps were becoming more frequent and it was getting harder to say this wasn't having an effect on him. His legs upgraded from twitching sporadically to kicking, hands desperately grabbed a hold of the blankets to keep from reaching back and shielding his backside.
"Hold still," Alexander ordered, gripping the wriggling teen.
"I can't!" Philip hissed. "It hurts!"
"I'm sure it does," the older man said. "Though I imagine a sore bottom fares much better than a bullet wound."
"I think I'd rather take the bullet." The young man moaned, dramatically.
From the sharp exhale through the nose, his father didn't share his sentiments. Alexander raised his leg, causing the taunt skin to stretch, the hand quickly began to mark the new uncharted territory.
"Ow!"
"Clearly you haven't grasped the severity of your actions if you're able to make crass jokes like that."
The teen nearly argued that he wasn't joking, but his self preservation finally kicked in and only offered a pathetic mewl in response. His father went silent, a rarity, his palm doing most of the talking, much to the young man's dismay. He suffered about another minute of this torture before the hold around his waist loosened.
"Stand up, son."
Philip didn't need to be told twice. He catapulted off his father's lap, and smoothed down his nightshirt, face red and quickly wiped away the few years that managed to escape. To his further humiliation, he realized that his undergarments had been kicked off. He stood there, trying not to pout and rub his stinging rear.
"Go fetch me your hairbrush."
"W-What?" Philip said, eyes widening.
"Your hairbrush. Bring it to me." Alexander repeated, plainly, as if he was still at the table asking for someone to pass the salt.
Philip gaped at him, heart plummeting. "Pops."
"Now, please."
Philip's brain protested vehemently but his feet moved on their own accord. He slowly made his way to his dresser where the instrument of torture innocently laid dormant. He picked up the, far too large, oak brush and pouted.
He briefly wondered what his father would do if he suddenly tossed it out the window.
Once again, he made his way over to his father, taking slow steps to delay the inevitable. Before long he was standing before the man again, trembling slightly as he held out the brush, eyes fixated on his feet.
The brush was taken out of his hands and in less than a second, he was back to laying over a pair of legs, torso flushed against the bed, nightgown pushed out of the way. The cool wooden surface tapped his already sore cheeks. Heart pounding with nervousness, he shut his eyes in preparation for the first blow.
He honestly didn't know what made him cry out, the ear-splitting crack of wood meeting skin or the pain.
His father gave a few 'easy' pops before continuing the rhythm he made before and peppered his poor bottom with heavy swats. The makeshift paddle easily covered both cheeks at once, creating an even burn, leaving no area unscathed.
Philip no longer cared; he flailed wildly and howled. Nails clawed uselessly at the comforter, pulling them back to reveal sheets which he tried to rip into as well. Legs swung up and down, almost as if he was trying to swim away and he writhed over his father's lap so furiously that had he had not been held, he would have rolled off.
It hurts like hell, and he wasn't afraid to admit that anymore.
He was pulled out of his despair by the sound of muffled giggling. He glanced up, eyes wet and shining and was met with a sight more terrible than his situation.
Three of his younger brothers; Alex Jr, James and John, were watching from the doorway.
"I told you!" Alex whispered, gleefully to the two younger boys. John and James stared at their older brother, dumbstruck.
Philip's face turned the same shade as a tomato. His wriggling increased tenfold and desperately pushed himself up, trying to hop off his dad's knee. His attempts at escape were for naught. Alexander pushed him back into position, a leg wrapping around his kicking ones, trapping them in place, the cursed brush descending the entire time.
The three boys continued to stare, transfixed and Philip contemplated dying.
"Get out of here!" He tried to growl but it came out as an embarrassed wail, his entire body flushing red. His father landed a particularly hard blow on his thigh and he let out a high pitched yelp. Alex's smirk grew wider and James silently mouthed, 'what did you do?'
"Boys." Their father called, not once pausing the spanking nor did he turn around. "I'd be more than willing to give you the same treatment as your brother if you find this so amusing?"
Before Philip could blink, his brothers disappeared, his door slammed shut and he could hear feet pounding down the hall. The teen flopped his head down on the bed, already resolved to never leave his room again when this was all over. His shame was pushed to the corner of his mind when a flurry of swats landed on his upper thighs. Tears had long since rolled down his flushed cheeks, droplets splattering on the cloth, a sob made its way out his throat.
"Am I getting through you, Philip?"
"Y-Yes!" He wailed; his thoughts of pride had vanished.
"Are you ever going to think about doing something this foolish ever again?" The brush went back up, alternating between the left and right cheek.
"No!" The teen blubbered.
"What about disobeying?" Alexander pressed, hand falling a bit more heavily. "Lying? Stealing?"
"No! Never! I'll be good forever!" He was too out of his mind from pain and guilt to feel embarrassed about the childish promise. He would happily offer anything if it meant getting this spanking to end.
"Good. Then let us wrap this up and we'll speak no more of this." His hips were raised again, toes skittering on the floor, and he had barely begun to process how vulnerable he was when the brush attacked his sit spots and under curves. Areas that he knew will sting for a good while every time he sits down.
His body completely gives up; he laid there limp, drained, tears erupting from his eyes like geysers and snot running out like faucet being left on. He just didn't have the energy to fight the final wave.
And just like that, his father ceased fire. Philip sobbed in relief when a hand rubbed his back, his nightgown already back in its proper place. He was carefully lifted up off the knee, a tingle traveled through his stomach, now that it was no longer pressed against the bed, some of the feeling returned.
Once he was upright, still on his fathers lap, he threw all decorum to the wind and wrapped his arms around his father's neck and proceeded to weep, loudly. Strong arms wrapped around his shaking frame, making him feel secure and young.
"It's over. It's all over. You took that so well, I'm proud of you."
Philip didn't believe those words for a second, but they were nice to hear.
"I'm sorry!" He sobbed brokenly, over and over. His dad shushed him gently, whispering words of comfort into his hair and peppering his forehead with kisses.
It takes a while before he gets his crying under control and even then he still sniffles and hiccups as he rests his head on his father's shoulders, eyes feeling as though they were swollen. He still refuses to move, not wanting to leave the warm embrace.
"I'm sorry." He said again, unable to say anything else.
"You are forgiven." Alexander said, patting his son's back.
"I only wanted to show that you have someone in your corner."
"I know." Alexander sighed, sounding both fond and sad. "I appreciate your willingness to stand up for me, but I never want you to get hurt because of me. I don't think I'd be able to live with myself."
Philip hummed, his breathing slowly returning to normal. The absurdity and foolishness of his actions finally caught up to him and his face flushed deeper. He wanted to bury his head in the ground and never emerge.
They sat in silence again, though this one was more comfortable. Philip's eyes drooped as today's events began taking its toll on him. He yawned loudly and his fluttered closed for a moment, before he felt himself being moved.
"Alright, you're tired. Time to sleep."
As if a spell had been broken, his grogginess vanished and he jerked awake.
"I-I'm not." He denied, weakly. His cheeks burned once more and he attempted to return to his usual mature self.
His refusal was, well, refused and he was helpless to his father gently guiding him to lay on his stomach, pulling the covers over him. Embarrassment filled him once again. Being put to bed as if he was a toddler and not a man of nineteen.
…Oh. What did it matter? With his tear-stained face, red cheeks, an even redder backside and his disheveled appearance, he might as well be a little boy again.
Philip smooshed his face against the pillow, sleep beckoned him but he was determined to stay awake as long he could, if only to salvage some pride.
"Philip, may I borrow this?"
The teen looked over his shoulder to see his father holding the hairbrush. His hairbrush. He'll never be able to look at it without thinking about this whole incident. Borrow it? Hell, first chance he got he was going to burn it .
"Sure, pops, what for?"
His dad smiled crookedly. "I'm afraid I have a nosey little miscreant that must be dealt with." His voice rose with each word and he seemed to be aiming them at the door.
Almost on cue, Philip heard a horrified squawk, the sound of feet hitting the ground and a nearby door slamming shut. Very nearby, he only knew one kid whose room was that close to his.
Alex, you dirty rotten– His face, neck and ears burned crimson.
"Don't worry, he won't say anything." His father promised, giving the hairbrush a showy twirl. Philip would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little schadenfreude for what was about to happen.
Alexander leaned over and planted a kiss on top of his curly hair. A wide smile on his face, Philip couldn't help but return it.
"I love you."
"I love you too." Heart warm, he turned back over and closed his eyes. He heard a huff of breath and the flame that illuminated his room was snuffed, enveloping him in a calm darkness. The door to his room opened and clicked shut and he sighed, of dueling and Eacker no longer permeated his thoughts. His backside ached something awful, but he supposed that was a small price to pay for a peace of mind. Sitting was going to be downright hell, for a good day or two. He might even consider sucking up his pride and bringing a pillow down at breakfast.
His eyes popped open when he heard the sound of cracking wood and yelps. It was muffled by the walls and doors, but it was still unmistakable.
…Better bring two. He thought, half amused and half sympathetic.