Summary: Ok, so this one is a bit special, because it's a "what if…?" scenario from one of the oldest fics here of this Fandom. from Dua (Master of the AUs), Demon Child is a fic where Margaret dies giving birth and Duncan is adopted when he was really young, given the name of Valentine White, and has two siblings.
I have Dua's permission to make this little thing right here (THANK YOU, GIRL) and I really enjoyed writing it!
This takes place on chapter 13, where Duncan meets his father in person, in case you're curious of about the original scene!
It's the silence what wakes him up. He doesn't know what time it is, how long he has been asleep, and it's too dark to see the alarm clock on his nightstand. He doesn't want to turn on the bedside light because Matt is sleeping on the other side of the room and, lately, rest hasn't really come easily to any member of his family, him included.
There is also the fact that, with all certainty, he knows there is somebody else in the room.
And they are looking at him.
So he doesn't move. He doesn't yell for his mother, his father, to come safe him from the dark shadow behind him, hiding in the dark of the night and next to his closet —the one he shares with Matt, who's sleeping in front of him, safe but only for who knows how long—. He also doesn't make a move to wipe away the tears to slide down his cheeks and onto his pillow, because although the nightmare that woke him up has left him so rattled, so vulnerable —so weak— that he feels himself die a little on the inside, he knows that, for as long as he keeps his eyes closed and his breathing calm, the stranger won't know he is awake.
So even when he hears footsteps coming his way, making his heart beat so hard in his chest he fears it will implode, he keeps pretending to be asleep. He pretends that it's either mom or dad, coming to comfort him with hugs and kisses because they've heard him trashing in his bed, or that Lea is trying to sneak into his bed again, even though she says she is a big girl now and can sleep on her own just fine.
He knows it's none of them, though. They don't have claws that scratch the floor when walking, nor do they smell like blood and death. He is not sure how he is capable of recognizing those scents, but they make his stomach hurt and yearn at the same time.
The steps come to a stop right behind him. The stranger is standing still, only his brother's breathing and his as any sign of life in the room, and Valentine feels this is his last chance of savoring the calm before the storm falls. A little voice in his head knows who it is, but he is nine and the dark has always been a source of fear known to every child on this planet. He is not an exception.
He almost jumps out of his skin when a heavy weight dips his bed. The mattress and headboard creek and struggle against an added weight no child bed is prepared to handle, and Valentine bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming. He is still crying, and a squeeze to the bed sheets covering him from toes to chin stops him from sobbing when there's movement over his head and next to his feet. The stranger is hovering over him: hands on the headboard —he can hear the wood giving in to the claws— and feet at the end of the bed. He doesn't need to open his eyes to know the strang- the man is huge. Bigger than mom, bigger than dad, maybe even bigger than them both. Bigger than him.
A warm puff of air graces his cheek, the one not hiding against the pillow, and the urge to call for his mother to come save him —even though his knows that would be leading her to her death— is so strong this time he can not stop himself from letting out a tiny sob through his lips. His mouth tastes like blood. He has doomed himself.
More tears start forming in his eyes, and restraining his crying has become an almost impossible feat. He has been discovered and he knows it, the man knows it. Proof of that is the way something rough and hot, like the desert rocks surrounding their town, touches his cheek. He wants his mom now, and just as his resolve dies and he prepares to scream for her, the monster makes a move and… and licks him.
Valentine is so stunned he forgets for a second he is supposed to be scared.
The action is fast, and it finishes almost before it has even started, but Valentine is not stupid. The neighbor lets them play sometimes with their dog, a border collie with a passion for running around in circles and biting the water that comes from the front yard sprinklers, and Tibbo has liken his hands enough times to know the feeling by heart. In fact, just when he tries to pull up those memories to compare, the monster does it again, and Valentine can't help but squeeze his eyes even more when the sensation travels from his cheek to his eyes. And then it happens again. And it keeps going until he is too stunned to continue crying, and until his face is sticky not from his tears, but from spit. He can't even get himself to feel disgust, because he is still in one piece, alive, breathing, and he doesn't even know why. He is, also, not complaining.
There is movement from above him again, and he prepares for whatever is coming his way this time when Matt, sweet obvious Matt, stirs in his bed. The monster's attention is immediately directed toward his brother, and Valentine's panic comes back tenfold. Matt is not awake, he merely readjusts himself in his sleep and continues ignoring what is going on a mere four feet away from him. The monsters attention, though, does not come back to him, and Vale knows he can not keep faking.
So he sniffs.
And the monster turns to him with a jerk, so suddenly he fears hearing a neck cracking, and then they are looking at each other. Directly. Plain old school eye contact. No blinking.
The man is, for lack of a better term, weird. For a moment, even, he is more weird than scary, but the uncanny valley vibes that surround him are hard to ignore. It's like watching a mannequin trying to pass as a human. He has hair, long, and if his decent eye vision is not lying, it's pitch black. He also has two eyes, golden and like anything he has ever seen before —that's a lie, he sees them when he looks in the mirror, but his are green, like his mother's—, and a nose, and a mouth. He is, also, red.
Neither one moves. Valentine out of fear, and the man… he doesn't really know. He can see the expanse of his bare chest, so big it feels surreal, and his arms extend above his head to cling to the headboard. He was wrong though, because it's the man's knees what rest next to his feet. He is too big to rest his own on the bed.
For a few more seconds they stay that way, just looking at each other and taking everything in, and for a mercyful moment Vale feels his fear decrease. Then Matt moves again, and the man with him.
The huge head full of thick black hair descends upon him in a flash, and a straight nose that resembles a snout starts sniffing his face. Vale tries to hide against his pillow, to put some distance between them, but the man moves a hand from the headboard to the bed, and claws the side if his own fingers sneak through his hair to keep him in place. Again, keeping himself from calling for help becomes a challenge. The man moves down his neck and up to his hair, sniffing and nudging him with his nose, skin so rough he finally notices that the weird texture is scales, and Valentine feels his eyes fill with tears again.
His father jerks his head back, eyes again fixed on his, and moves until his nose is barely an inch away from touching his. There is a hand holding his head, still. Matt moves again in his bed, making him squeeze his bed sheets in his fists until they hurt; luckily, his father doesn't pay attention to his brother. He gets close enough to lightly bump their noses together, his tongue sleeping out of his mouth and giving the tip of his nose a small lick that makes him want to reach and scratch it.
For a moment, Valentine thinks he is, actually, safe.
That is, until a mouth full of beastly teeth opens and closes around his throat. Duncan's scream dies in his chest. He reaches with his hands, tiny and pudgy, the hands of a child, to his father's neck, the only part he can actually touch, and tries to claw and push and save himself.
Duncan does not want to die.
Matt turns toward the wall, away from him, still asleep.
Belloc squeezes his hold on his throat and rises. He is dragged along, body leaving the bed behind in slow motion, to the point where he tries to stand on both feet to avoid the inevitable and hang from his yugular like a toy from Tibbo's mouth.
Belloc jostles him, and Duncan feels his mouth clamp around his neck with a final secure chomp. He can not speak, can not scream, can not cry, but he can breath. A hand touches his feet, now hanging who knows how many feet from the ground, and he instinctively brings his knees to his chest to run away from the touch. That is, apparently, Belloc's intention, because the moves to rub his back over his pajama shirt, as if rewarding his unintentional obedience, and moves.
Belloc carefully carries him to the open window of their bedroom, silent as a shadow, and turns around for a moment, letting Duncan take one last look at his brother —at the family he tries to call for help to in his head—, and exits the house.
In the morning, his dad tries to pick his mom up from the floor of his room, where she has fallen in between crying and screaming, scratching at the words engraved on the wooden headboard of the empty bed.
She yells that he is a liar, and his siblings cry in a corner, scared but understanding better than anyone what has happened.
They burn the bed in the backyard, and the words He was never yours mock them even when turned to ashes.