Title: Cállate
Drabble Challenge: Backstory drabble
Prompt: What any or all of the Turks picture when they think 'home'
AN: The language choice comes from Rude's Japanese voice actor saying he always imagined Rude to be Hispanic. Unfortunately, I speak no Spanish, so the Spanish may not be correct. I specifically left it in Spanish, because it's Rude's POV, and for him, that "dialect" is also "home."
"No me importa lo que haces, pendejo!"
And then the sound of sobbing.
Every day, coming home from school, it was the same thing; some variation on a theme-his father's drinking, and his mother's tears.
He stayed in his room. It was safer there, a little quieter. It was easier to stay in here and try his best to ignore everything. He stayed there, until the yelling turned into screams and the screams turned into silence with only the occasional sound of blows, and then there was a door slamming, and only the muffled sounds of tears.
Rude wiped his face and finally crept over to the door, and out, into the living room, where his mother was crying.
"¿E-e-e-es-es-est-es-estás b-b-b-bi-bi-bien, mamá?" he managed to finally stutter out, the words, like they always did, tripping half-formed and clumsy out of his mouth.
His mother looked at him, disgusted. "Cállate, mocoso inútil! Ni siquiera se puede hablar sin tartamudear! Cállate hasta que pueda hablar correctamente!" she snapped, wiping a trail of blood off the corner of her lips as she threw the closest thing she could find at him, and Rude, breath hitching, fled back into his room without another word, and vowed not to say anything else, not until he could finally do it right.