A/N : This story is gonna be a little longer than I planned, yay! Maybe around 7-10 chapters? I don't know. Anyway. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF RAPE. PROCEED CAREFULLY.
"Thanks again for giving me a hand with the girls, Violet. This used to be their mother's specialty, and I still don't know the first thing about makeup." David Littman chuckled as he looked over at his children, all ready to go trick-or-treating around the neighborhood on the most awaited night of the year.
Violet followed his gaze, and couldn't help but smile. The three younger Littman children had decided to dress up as Spongebob characters; at the end of about an hour, she had managed to help the father get the costumes on and the faces painted to look as close to the cartoon characters as three children could.
Holly was Spongebob. Taylor was Squidward. Ginger was a dolled-up version of Patrick. And Austin was already settled in front of the TV, almost more excited for a few hours alone at home than his siblings were for their night of trick-or-treating with their father.
"It was kind of fun. I like… I like doing this." She shrugged, smiling softly as she watched Ginger spin around in her pink shirt and green flowery shorts, her long brown curls tied in a high ponytail. "I'm pretty!" She'd exclaim, giggling, and it all brought Violet far too vivid flashbacks of another girl who wanted to be pretty for Halloween. She hoped Addie was okay, wherever she was – surely the sweet, albeit nosy, girl who liked to play with the Harmons' dog deserved much better than an eternity in that haunted house.
"Doing anything fun tonight, kiddo?"
"Yeah, I'm going to a club with a friend."
Violet had only agreed on letting Hayden take her to the club for two reasons. One, she had no idea where else to go on the one night a year she could actually leave the house, and roaming the city alone with no place in mind sounded like a humongous waste of her limited time. Two, from the state her mind had been in recently, few things sounded better than getting inebriated and losing herself in loud, repetitive music, maybe even in the arms of a stranger.
After nodding respectfully to David's recommendations – really, the same ones her parents had given her a thousand times; some things don't change even after you die – the blonde excused herself and practically skipped out of the house to meet Hayden, who was already waiting for her in a tight purple dress that made her own slightly mismatched black ensemble seem like a nun's habit. Not that it mattered. When you only get to go out once a year, you focus on the fun, not on how you're dressed.
It was, in fact, the only night when the house was almost completely empty. Everybody had someplace to be, something to do, someone to visit; even Moira took the opportunity to go tend to her own very personal life. Even Tate – whose days and nights in the past several months consisted mostly of dwelling silently in corners of the house, face buried in whatever book he could find just to keep his head busy – had retreated to his favorite spot at the beach, still completely silent as he curled up against himself and listened to the ocean.
Unbeknownst to Austin Littman, whose sole focus was on the scary animes he had found on Netflix and was devouring one after the other, the only people in the house besides him were Beau Langdon and the Montgomery couple, and unless somebody made the basement and the attic wheelchair-accessible, how would he ever know?
When the first trick-or-treaters came, he gave them some of the candy his father had set aside in a bag for that purpose. The second group received theirs with a side of grumpy face, and by the third time someone knocked on the door, Austin was beginning to think it really hadn't been that good an idea to stay home alone in the first place.
Upon opening the door, he found a pair of young men, maybe five or six years older than himself. They didn't seem dunk, but their eyes were… Strange. Overly focused. Austin had learned enough in school and the movies to know alcohol wasn't the only chemical that could mess with a person's mind, and he hated the look of the situation – but the two boys didn't really appear to be looking for trouble. The tallest one, whose pale skin and blue eyes almost made him look like he'd come straight out of a movie, shot Austin a very friendly smile as he leaned against the doorframe.
"Hey there, buddy… Can I use your bathroom? My place is a 30-minute walk from here and I'm about to burst."
Without giving it much thought, Austin shrugged and made way for the pair, shutting the door behind them.
"Here you go, sweetie."
"Thank you, Mrs Lady With The Funny Hair!" Holly giggled, peeking in her pumpkin-shaped plastic pail and finding it already half full. She'd be taking leftover candy to school for weeks now, and the perspective made her grin even wider.
"Holly!"
"That's okay, Mr Littman. My little boy used to hate my hair too. Said it looked like the old lady in the Sylvester and Tweety cartoon."
Both adults chuckled, the three children far too entertained with their candy to pay much attention to the conversation.
"How old is your little boy now?"
The woman sighed audibly, her gaze dropping to the floor beneath them.
"Should be thirty-two."
"Should be?"
"Timmy died in high school. Shot in the liver by his best- his only friend."
Before David could express his condolences, the woman excused herself and closed the door.
Austin knew he had made a mistake.
When he pointed the taller boy to the bathroom, there was already a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Even more so when the other – a scrawny Asian boy not much taller than Austin himself – made his way very silently to the kitchen, and he only noticed it when the teenager was already holding a frying pan with a thoughtful look on his face.
What a weirdo.
At the sound of the flush, the Littman boy turned around to face the blond who came out of the bathroom, a mischievous smirk on his face as he glanced over at his friend, then at the TV.
"Hey, that's Dragonball!"
"You like it?"
The teenager sat unceremoniously on the arm of the couch, apparently forgetting he wasn't at home.
"I used to love it when I was… Uhm, younger. What's your name, kid?"
"Austin."
"I'm Tim. That's my boy John over there."
John, the Asian boy, had let go of the frying pan at what appeared to be a silent command from his friend. I'm onto you, dude. I watch CSI.
And yet nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.
In a second, Austin was on the floor, his wheelchair knocked over by John. This has to be a jo—fuck it, even if it is a joke, I'm gonna scream. But as he opened his mouth to scream, he couldn't get more than a pitiful little mewl out before a rolled-up dish towel was shoved in his mouth, too large to spit out.
As much as he tried to shove the two away, it was useless, and everybody in that living room knew it. His wrists were quickly tied back with what he could only assume was a stupid zip tie, and there he was – completely defenseless on the floor of his own home, his heart thumping so hard he almost didn't hear the next words from the taller boy.
"A tiny hole for a tiny dick, Johnny. As I promised."
A soft, defeated sigh escaped Tate's lips as he lifted himself off the ground, wondering when exactly he had thought coming to the beach had been a good idea. The salty air, the smell, even the once soothing sound of the ocean now seemed to mock him. A fragment of what he had once been. A battered shell of a boy who once had hoped to become something – anything – other than a high school kid with a big mouth. Now he did nothing, wanted nothing, saw close to nothing; worst of all, thought and felt far too much for his liking.
When you've done as much damage as he had, thinking is never a good thing. Feeling is even worse. The more it sunk in, the weaker he became, to the point where it limited his every move. He was weak. A boy gone wrong.
The beach had Violet all over it now, and he couldn't stay for another minute. Not really seeing a point in going anywhere else – all the bookstores within walking distance were closed; he had no money for a cab, and if there was one thing he could count on his mother for, it was bringing home new reading material. Anything else was pointless, and so he walked back to the house with heavy steps, just in time to see a very familiar face just around the corner.
The face saw him, too, and both the boys smiled.
"Timmy?"
"Tate!"
"How've you been?"
"Oh, you know, dead and stuff." Timmy lifted his shirt to reveal the bullet wound in his abdomen, and Tate was hit by a wave of nausea at the sharp, still new memory. Granted, it wasn't new in age, but he had just recently begun to remember it.
"It's cool, man, really. I have my fun. Here, this is Johnny."
The Asian boy waved shyly from a safe enough distance.
"Johnny lost his virginity tonight." The blue-eyed boy nudged Tate, wagging his brows with a mischievous smile on his face. "I helped."
As he caught up with who used to be his best friend, Tate only grew more confused. He and Timmy hadn't really known each other too well in life; really, all they did together was experiment with drugs and talk about music. But they'd been close, to an extent; hell, it was the closest he'd ever been with anyone until Violet came along. Tate remembered looking at the boy numerous times and seeing a reflection of himself, maybe even a guideline sometimes. Timmy knew better than him. He was better at not getting caught, better at planning their cheating schemes, even better at terrorizing the freshman boys.
Tate wouldn't willingly admit it, but he had sought his friend's approval many times when they were alive. Even now, when the boy brought up the topic of the shooting, he did his best to pretend he was proud – even as his heart seemed to shrink inside him, as he grew more and more disgusted with himself, he pretended to be proud of what he'd done. Deep within, pathetic as it was, he still somehow wanted the admiration of the boy he knew was better than him, always had been, and always would be.
Austin was certain there was no more hope for him that night.
His jaw had gone numb long ago, the dish towel keeping it stretched painfully and keeping him from making any sound, even if he wanted to. And he had at first – he'd tried to scream, he'd cried so hard he thought he'd pass out from not being able to breathe, but all that came out was a series of muffled whimpers.
Everything else hurt like all hell. His arms and back were rigid, every muscle aching from the position and the tension, the zip tie cutting into his skin. But none of it was worse than the pain in his ass; every last nerve seemed to be on fire, and the more he thought about it, the worse it got – he didn't know which was more intense, the pain or the embarrassment.
Not to mention his father would have to come in and find him like this.
And Taylor and Ginger and Holly.
Fuck.
And just when he was about to go into yet another mental breakdown – what, maybe the hundredth so far? – he saw another older boy approach him, and heard a loud gasp.
This isn't Dad.
But it's not one of those two either.
The boy had blond hair, longer and more disheveled than Tim's, and his eyes were a dark, endless brown. But as he crouched and inspected him without saying a word, Austin saw his attacker all over again.
"Look." His voice was quiet and subdued, which the Littman boy found to be something of a relief. "My name is Tate. I'm gonna take that thing out of your mouth, but if you make noise that attracts the neighbors, I'll disappear and you'll be alone here, okay?"
It sounded like more of a warning than a threat, and in any case, Austin didn't think he'd have the strength to let out any significant sound. He nodded weakly, and in a second the gag was off, his jaw mercifully free to snap shut.
"You probably don't want to get touched right now." Tate remarked, and just the thought made Austin shiver visibly. "But you need some help taking care of… All that stuff, right?"
That he did. But he needed his dad. But letting his siblings see him like that… The embarrassment brought the tight knot in his throat over the edge, and as he began to cry again, he noticed Tate had disappeared.
What the…
The next thing he knew was that his hands were free, and he only had a few seconds to freely move his arms before the older boy was back – not just back, but appearing out of thin fucking air.
"What the fuck are you?"
"I could answer, but it'd confuse the hell out of you. Let's just say I'm here to help, alright?"
"Can you help me clean up without touching me?"
Tate nodded.
"I think I can even get you dressed and on the chair. But you'll be floating a lot. Don't be scared."
It was hard not to, but when you're twelve – really, when you're any age – and you've just gone through the most traumatic event in your life, a little supernatural experience isn't the worst thing you'll face.
And so Austin floated his way to the bathroom, and what was left of his clothes was removed without so much as a touch to his skin. He didn't mind it so much; the strange boy with the powers had already seen his bare, bloodied bottom and equally bare front, so to have his pants and shirt off wasn't that big a deal. He'd be in panic later on. When he thought about this moment – and he'd think about it for years to come – Austin would muse over how easy it would have been for Tate to take advantage of him in this state, but not now. Now he was numb, and numb was good.
As the bathtub filled with warm water, Tate picked the softest underwear and pajamas he could find in the drawer the boy indicated, and it wasn't long before Austin was in the tub, wincing at the sharp sting of the water on his injured ass.
"You okay to wash?"
"Yeah, my hands work just fine..."
The soap stung more, but it felt good to be clean. It felt even better to be dry (and even in that state of mind, the novelty of being patted carefully by a floating towel doesn't just go by unappreciated), decently clad in his pajamas, and safely seated in his chair again. And only then – only when the boy was clean and dry and dressed – did Tate ask him the question.
The question.
"Who did this to you, kid?"
The growing numbness in his chest was making it hard to even remember what it meant. He'd know it later, he'd know it painfully well, but now he just wanted to forget and sleep.
"Austin, come on. Tell me."
"They gave me their names. Just first names."
Tate waited, tapping his foot as he looked down into the boy's eyes.
"Well?"
"One of them was… Tim? Tim. And the other- the one who- who did the- the thing… John. I don't know last names."
At the mention of the names, the blonde's eyes lit up with something Austin couldn't name – but it wasn't just bad, it was frightening. And it was just as frightening when he disappeared, not to be seen again that night.
Not to be seen again at all.