#Abusive sister | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deadsetobsessions · 10 months ago

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Pt. 4

Sorry this took so long. In the hospital still. Out of the hospital now!

For @unadulteratedsoulsweets

——

It had been early in the morning when she’d stepped foot in the manor. It was closer to noon, now, that found the reincarnation attentively sitting in one of the (if she remembered correctly from the blue prints) three massive kitchens located in Wayne manor.

She sat atop one of the island stools Damian had ushered her into, spaced a comfortable distance from the man that was her biological father in this life. Her mask dangled at her hip, a comfort she indulged in after unpacking her things. In truth, she’s had cookies before, but it had been so long since she’s tasted it that she might as well have never tried it before. Damian and Alfred Pennyworth worked with maximum efficiency, measuring out flour and sugar and chocolate like there were no tasks more important than this.

Alfred Pennyworth also avoided a specific cabinet that smelled slightly of metal polish and gun powder. It was kept away from the perishables.

Perhaps the manor was smaller and much more homely than the palace, but the reincarnate could see the sense in and approved of the various well-hidden caches of weapons around. Meant for non-lethal take downs, of course, but anything can be lethal if you tried hard enough. Or, considering the vigilante filled manor she had agreed to vacation in, anything could be lethal if one did not try hard enough to keep it non lethal.

The scrape of a spoon drew her attention back to Damian, waving away the off topic musings her mind had wandered into now that a large portion of her brain power was freed from the duty of fear.

She tracked how Damian existed within this space he had so clearly made for himself. He was… happier. Kinder. More. More at ease, more settled into his skin instead of where he stretched it to fit the cast of the Demon’s Heir. Simply, more. He was more Damian than he had been in the league.

When Damian was locked within the walls of the palace, his shoulders were always held straight. There’d been a- not quite darkness- cruelty in his eyes and gait that their grandfather had eagerly nurtured. His chin had remained lifted, his actions closed and callous. She’d feared, for while, that Damian would follow their grandfather’s footsteps. Until the day she saw him sneak a bird into his room to heal, her heart had trembled and grieved to see someone she loved imitate the worst parts of her abuser. It didn’t change the fact that she loved him, but it changed how she taught him.

But experience is a better teacher than she will ever be, and Damian had little chance to experience true kindness in the pits of the league.

Here, Damian is light. Perhaps less aware than he normally would have been, on the look out for fatal attacks as she had trained him to be within the league, but here he is free and safe and relaxed. It feels like she’s sitting in a haze, the chirps of birds and the clouded noon sun casting everything into an unreal light.

“Ukhti, assistance is requested.” Her brother holds out a bowl of dough. Her heart hurt with how happy it was. She squished the dough between her fingers like a child rediscovering her childhood. In some ways, she was.

——

As she watched Damian, in turn the others observed her. Bruce sat beside her, cataloguing every minuscule expression of his child, the first and the eldest, in an attempt to make up for lost time. And truly, it was minuscule. For all Bruce trained in micro-expressions and movements, his eldest- god, he had another daughter, the eldest- daughter remained a mystery from which he gleaned little of. Her face never lifted from that trained neutrality, having resettled back into it after first bite of b’stilla. He cradled the mug of coffee in his hands, the tang of grief and guilt roiling in his stomach as his daughter hesitantly but skillfully rolled a ball of dough.

“Pennyworth has divulged his secrets to me.” Damian plucked the ball from his sister’s hand, who allowed it with traces of… bemusement, perhaps? His eldest daughter flicked her eyes up in question, perhaps mildly amused. Even if she had more than two decades worth of training, Bruce was frustrated that he could not read her. She was his daughter.

Already he fails her. For too long, he had failed her.

“He chills the dough for a chewier cookie. I, and some of the others with adequate taste, prefer this texture. But which would you find adequate?”

His daughter flickered through that sign language again, the one he had no knowledge of. Considering he knew multiple from each continent, that was saying a lot. He was catching a few repeated signs, but nothing concrete.

Alfred waited patiently as they had their conversation, paying sharp attention to their motions. Bruce… felt like he was sitting next to Cassandra. He supposed they were the same, except his eldest daughter hadn’t gotten free.

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.” Damian grumbled, resting his hands on the counter, making sure to keep it away from his meticulously clean clothes. “We’ll cook them immediately.”

Bruce, in a fit of inspired parenting, offered a compromise.

“We could do two batches. One for right now and save a batch for later.”

Unspoken were the words ‘so she can try the cookies now.’ Despite the silent nature of his intent, Bruce thought that Alfred and Damian understood anyways.

“A fine suggestion, Master Bruce.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

——

She sensed them before she saw them. Her father had slipped out after his suggestion, no doubt intercepting his flock of traumatized orphans before they could pile in.

Perhaps she had inherited something from Bruce Wayne after, considering how many of them she’d taken under her wing. She rolled the ball of dough between oiled fingers in a haze. Faint memories, impressions of a life long faded, guided her hands as she smooshed the cookies to her preference.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Al-Ghul?”Alfred Pennyworth asked her.

‘A Pennyworth for my thoughts?’ She swapped sign language, eyes slyly watching for Damian’s reaction.

Damian, right on cue, clicked his tongue, looking defeated. Alfred, on the other hand, smiled wider.

“A Pennyworth for your thoughts indeed.”

Her humor faded into something softer. Longing. Melancholy.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve made dessert for myself.’

She glanced at Damian, who was trying his best to pretend like he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation lest he caught another stray pun. ‘Or used it to inoculate poisons.’

“I see.” The butler patted his hands dry onto a towel, a sharp eye on Damian’s efforts at covering the dough meant for freezing. “I assure you that these cookies will remain poison free, have no worries about that. Now, would you like some tea?”

She shook her head. ‘I’ll make it myself later. Thank you.’

“Very well, Miss-”

“Hi, Alfred. Making cookies?”

Her hands continued to work on her tray, placing cookie dough on the tray with military precision. Damian remained relaxed, though watchful of her reaction.

“That’s correct, Master Tim.”

Tim shuffled over to her, and she turned. Ah, her partial benefactor.

“Little photographer.” She smiled, slightly. Her eyes, however, were warm. Alfred stilled for a brief second at her voice.

“Hi. It’s been a while.” Tim plopped down on the seat next to her. His whole body screamed of nostalgia. It’s odd to see the little scrawny Bristol boy grow into a full fledged vigilante. It seemed like yesterday she was keeping him from slipping on Gotham’s manifestations of its rot and plummeting down on its stone heart.

She hummed. ‘Not too long.’

“What is that supposed to mean? When had you met Drake, recently?”

She glanced at the little- not so little- photographer.

“She helped me bring B back.” Tim lied. She didn’t like how easily he lied to Damian… but on account of her fondness for him, she let it slide.

“Did you, Miss Al-Ghul?” Alfred wiped his hands on the hand towel he carried. “Then I suppose we owe you our sincere thanks.”

She blinked slowly.

‘I didn’t do much. I kept him alive just the once.’

“That is a harder task than one might think, Miss Al-Ghul. Master Tim has, arguably, the worst self preservation instincts out of the life risking vigilantes I have known.” And he has known many, Alfred seemed to imply.

She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Hey! What is this? Gang up on Tim day?”

“I would participate in that even if it wasn’t,” Damian stated, packing the frozen cookies away in the corner. “Come and help, Drake. My ukht is about to have her first cookies and we will bake it to perfection. Bring the tray.”

Tim scoffed but slid the tray away from her, Alfred seamlessly dropping a napkin for her to wipe off the dough from her fingertips.

“Thanks, by the way. For saving Z and Owens.”

‘They were my assassins. Even if you did manage to sway them to your cause.’ She tapped the marble island, before opening her mouth. “Thank you. For destroying his pit options. It helped me kill Ra’s.”

In her peripherals, Damian settled back, disgruntled but willing to rest his curiosity as gratitude towards Tim’s part in her freedom overrode his need for answers.

Tim stilled. “…What are friends for, right?”

‘Of course, little photographer.’ She relaxed as her, arguably first, friend and now brother popped the tray into the oven.

“Anyways, they sent me in here to see if you’re ready to meet the rest of them.”

“And they said that?” Damian scoffed, coming around the island to stand beside her as she slipped off the stool.

“Nah, they actually wanted me to subtly vibe check her, but it’s not like she wouldn’t catch me doing it.”

“Ukhti’s ‘vibes’ are perfectly fine,” Damian said crabbily, crossing his arms defensively. She tapped the back of Damian’s neck and he relaxed.

‘Thank you for the… assessment of my character and general disposition.’ She signed dryly.

“Ugh, I should’ve made the connection. Your syntax is exactly like Damian’s.” Tim joked, dodging the punch Damian aimed at his nonexistent spleen.

The reincarnation huffed. ‘I spoke perhaps three words to you.’

“And how many people use disposition on a regular basis?”

“I do, Drake!”

“I know, Damian. That was the point, you little walking thesaurus.”

——

They left Alfred in the kitchen, the man all but shooing them away so he could get working on lunch, and made their way to a sitting room. The floor was covered in a plush blue carpet, a fact that made itself vividly present to the reincarnation when she placed her foot on it, the fabric brushing the back of her heels. She was too trained to allow the slip to visible, but for a microsecond, the memories of kneeling and choking clawed their way past her defenses. She made note of the trigger and moved on, compartmentalizing that fact for later.

“It’s you,” Nightwing breathed out, tensing. The others behind him freeze, even more alert than their regular state. Bruce whipped his head towards him, sharp and searching.

“Nightwing.” She greeted. She felt a kinship with this vigilante turned brother. She watched him soar and fall alongside the little photographer. She watched him grow new wings and watched them get tainted with blood and fear and grim hope. She lived vicariously through him, he who flew when she was chained. In some ways, she had ended up watching his back for a long time, both in yearning for the ease he was allowed at her father’s side and to protect the vulnerable back that knew not of its openness. Bruce inhaled deeply at her voice.

Dick stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She does not disembowel him for it. Instead, she allowed the giant octopus hug her new oldest little brother gave her. There was no aggression in his countenance. Only relief and gratitude.

“You know Dick?” The little, ah, no, she doesn’t want to sound like Ra’s, Tim asked. Dick tensed, clearly unwilling to speak about it. She stepped in.

“I met him once. Eliminated a spider for him on a rooftop. I did not think he would remember.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on knowing who ukhti was?” Damian demanded, scowling. She immediately freed an arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Damian ducked away with a rather petulant scowl. "Not because of my safety but because she crushed an arachnid for you?"

Dick nodded at him before looking up at her. “I really hated that spider. It was super scary. Thank you for getting rid of it.”

In lieu of an answer, she gently hugged him back.

“I get the feeling.” She said solemnly, voice coming out soft and borne of an implicit understanding. ‘Talk later,’ she signed to him.

“I was not aware you were afraid of spiders, ukht,” Damian muttered. “Though, Richard, I would believe.”

“Hey!”

Dick detached himself and pasted on a mostly genuine smile. “Oh! You should meet the others!”

He turned to the rest of Bruce Wayne’s wards and children to cheerfully point them out.

“This is Duke! He’s Alfred’s favorite grandkid, because he hasn’t burnt down the kitchen yet and reports when he’s injured.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you.” Duke Thomas raised a hand, smiling. “The bar was literally on the floor with you people. ‘Sides, Jason did just fine.”

The reincarnate nodded. Yes, she knew of him, though her memories were hazy. It had been over two decades, after all.

Dick steamrolled onwards. “This is Stephanie-”

“But you can call me Steph!” Stephanie Brown interjected, bouncing in her seat. Despite her bubbly demeanor, her gaze was sharp. Seeing. She liked that sharpness. It was tempered by the same rough and tumble kindness she’d seen in Grave- ah, Jason.

Spoiler, her memories reminded her. It was a soothing distraction from the anxious memories of the league. She found herself collecting little hints and information about this family. Her family, even if it were tentatively so. She caught Bruce staring at them intently, visibly anxious about this meeting.

‘A pleasure to meet you.’

“So… what do we call you?” Steph tilted her head. Hm. A tell Ra’s would have beaten out of her, had Stephanie had the misfortune of being in his presence for more than a day.

“Al Ghul will be adequate.” Damian cut in. The glance he threw her promised a discussion upon the topic of her name. Later, it promised.

“Wow. That’s kind of impersonal though.”

“Steph!”

“What?! I’m not wrong.”

“Anyways!” Dick loudly said over the two bickering kids. “That’s actually it for now.”

“The rest aren’t here as of this moment, but they’ll be around for dinner.”

A white lie. She studied Bruce for a moment before acquiescing. He meant no harm. Despite his capability to inflict harm, his willingness to do so, she could not read a single instance of ill will in him. Not, at least, towards her. She allowed the lie to slide.

‘I wish to see the grounds.’ She put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He knew what it meant for her to retreat to the wilderness. Nature, where most things were free and where one does not often find Ra’s after he’d had a taste for luxury.

“We will go to the gardens. Ukhti wishes to explore.” Despite the rather curt way he pronounced it, Damian had stepped closer to her side in a gesture of concern. The pit inside of her stomach eased.

“Sounds good! Let’s go!” Steph bounced out of her seat.

“We could tell you stories,” Tim offered from behind her.

“Yeah, like that one time Dick face planted onto one of Poison Ivy’s flower beds because he was distracted by an ice cream truck.” Duke grinned, eyes crinkling.

“Hey! That ice cream truck was full of Scarecrow thugs!”

“And they weren’t worth an Ivy-lecture. I’m surprised she didn’t skin you and make a pot out of your bones, Dick.” Tim yawned.

“Ooo, we should tell her about the time I hit you in the face with a brick!”

“Literally what more is there to that story, Steph?” Tim grumbled.

“I would like to hear this tale,” Damian said, beginning to tug his ukht towards the garden. The rest of the group followed.

“Actually, why don’t we tell her about the time you tried getting Batcow to the barn and he just sat down? Didn’t you bargain with her for an hour, Damian?”

“Tt!”

Duke leaned back and took in the chaos he unfolded with a twinkling grin and Bruce’s sigh bolstering him. And if their newest and oldest addition to the family relaxed in his chaos, well, that was between him and her.

——

Cassandra found her in the gardens, the both of them weaving in between the foliage like light footed cats. Her contingent of Bats were behind them, watching the two former assassins approach each other.

Cassandra had frozen, mirroring the reincarnator’s stillness.

“Ukhti.” The word was torn out of Cass’ throat, filled with tears and relief.

“Cassandra,” she called, fond and kind and loving. Damian’s eyes darted between his sisters. They knew each other. How? She called his ukht, ukhti. A title he had assumed only he could use.

Cassandra scrambled and launched herself at her, silent sobs shaking her frame.

“Hello, Cass,” she caught the flying vigilante, crushing her first little sister into a tight hug. “Freedom suits you, habibti.”

Cass trembles in her arms, hands clutching at the fabric on her shoulder blades like Damian’s. Her eyes softened, and she rested her chin on Cass’s head.

“You know Cassandra too, ukhti?”

She nodded.

“Ukhti named me.” Cass said, voice wobbly. ‘Cass. Cassandra.’ Cass did her name sign. The one she had taught the slip of a girl back when Cass was stuck in a senseless prison and she was only free in terms of movement.

‘First word too.’ She smiled, proud of Cass and how far she’s come. Cassandra reads the pride in her language, the safety and kindness that she’d never forgotten even after traversing the world for years before arriving home, and she burrowed deeper into the hug.

“Oh. I see.”

“Two ukhts.” She smiled at Damian.

Cass shook her head, but before Damian could settle into his hurt at her supposed rejection, Cass explained her confusion. “Ukhti is your name? I’m Cass.”

“Ukhti means older sister.” Damian informed her.

Cass blinked and looked back at the reincarnation. Her shoulders relaxed and drew back, eyes softening and body loosened from its confusion. She smiled, bright as the sun, and deftly clambered around to perch on her older sister’s back.

“Two.” She declared. And truly, the reincarnation was weak to her younger siblings because that was that. Cass declared it so, and it shall be so. Damian grumbled but seemed like they agreed.

“How did you two meet?” Bruce piped up, intent and surprisingly considerate.

“Saved me,” Cass sighed, resting her chin on her ukht’s head. ‘From father and the league. Taught me to speak, a little. My name. Cass. Taught me..’ Cass paused. “Taught me I am not a weapon.”

The former assassin carrying Cass on a piggy back ride hummed in agreement.

“Oh.” The rest of the family glanced at each other. Dick had his shiny teary eyes on, the ones he got when Jason initiated a hang out.

“Not a weapon,” Cass repeated, pressing firmly on her ukht’s head.

A less sure hum. Cass scowled.

“No. Bad,” Cass scolded. “Not a weapon.”

An acquiescing hum, full of fondness and exasperation.

Cassandra Cain will take that answer. For now.

“You named Cass?” Duke asked. Bruce looked at them with gentle eyes.

“After a heroine I knew.” She replied, shifting. Cass hugged her tighter, intently listening. “She was strong. Lethal if need be. But… kind. She had an inherently kind heart. Full of love. Like Cass.”

“Oh, that’s really.. that’s really sweet.”

Cass hugged her ukht closer, touched. She had never known why she had been given the name, but finding out that it was after a heroine her sister looked up to made the day that much brighter. Hopeful. Honored.

“You have not told me this story,” Damian said.

‘I will. One day.’

——

Jason found her at the lunch table. Along with the rest of the brood. Except for, jarringly, an alien named Jarro.

“He’s our alien brother!” Duke said. He smiled, and it was a smile of unassuming harmlessness. A well crafted mask that she knew better than to be fooled by.

She offered three long blinks that had Cassandra, stuck like a limpet on the reincarnator’s back, muffling a laugh.

“Telling truth,” Cass whispered, sentences punctuated by giggles.

She hummed, shifting to more securely carry Cass on her back. Damian sighed and dutifully carried Cassandra’s pack. She smiled at her little brother, who straightened. Adorable. All of her siblings were adorable. She would kill for them. Ah, right. They frown upon murder here. So had she, once. Before Ra’s broke that part of her heart and forced her hands to commit evils that grew gnarled vines through her very soul.

“Oh.” She blinked.

“Hm?”

“Killing is… a choice.” The conversations around them fell silent. Cass’ arms tightened around her shoulders.

“We don’t have to do it, anymore,” Damian agreed. Yes, he understood what it was like, to be raised to kill and suddenly having the option not to.

“Did you not want to kill, before?” Bruce asked, suddenly a bit closer. Her mind was slipping, she realized. It felt… safe, to slip.

‘If I did not,’ she admitted, like throwing stones off of a lock-laden bridge. ‘Damian would bear the consequences.’

She sounded… young. Afraid. Two things she had always been and were never allowed to be.

Bruce Wayne looked at her like his heart was breaking, like he wished he could shoulder her pain on top of the weight of the world he willingly carried since his parents died. This, she is reminded, was why she swore Damian to secrecy regarding her existence. She wondered if he had ever taken the burden of more grief than he could bear.

‘And I could not say no, regardless,” she told them, absent and tired.

She wondered if she would be the one to break him, should she allow him a glimpse of the scars on her back.

“I could have taken it.” Damian grabbed her arm, clutching at her sleeve once more.

“No,” she whispered, haunted. ‘Not while I drew breath, habibi.’

“You don’t have to kill here. We’re all very good with no murder.” Tim reminded her firmly.

“Unless it’s the Joker.” Steph chimed in, bubbly smile gentled into something kinder.

“Unless it’s him.” Duke agreed. His eyes were more serious now.

“No,” Bruce replied, tired. Heavier, in a way that made sour tang of guilt scratch the back of her tongue. She hadn’t meant to give him the weight of knowledge, but she had inadvertently done so with the things she had and hadn’t said. He wasn’t the world’s- she glanced at Tim, who quirked a smile at her- second best detective for no reason.

“Yes, but you’re not ready for that conversation.” Dick snapped, lightheartedly.

Ah. That’s what was off.

They’re kind. They choose to be and they inherently are kind.

It showed. And she wasn’t used to that.

“Lunch.” Cassandra reminded them. She was a solid, grounding presence at the reincarnator’s back.

“Oh, Jason said he’s on the way.” Duke commented, nodding when she quickly did a subtle thank you sign.

“Why does he text you and not me?” Dick whined.

“Wow, man. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of the emoji wall you send?”

“They’re nice! How else are you supposed to know what I’m feeling, right, Cass?”

Cass nodded and gave a thumbs up from her place on ukhti’s back.

“See?!”

“I love you Cass, but you also use a wall of understandable emojis. Dick just spams them.” Steph retorted.

The reincarnator turned to Damian, a silent question in her eyes. He sighed. “Yes, the imbeciles argue all of the time.”

She nodded and the group made their way to the green house for lunch, bickering all the while.

When they get there, Jason Todd, along with Alfred Pennyworth were already at the table.

“Grave.” She greeted as Cass slipped off her back.

“Ain’t no fucking way, Trainer?” Jason leapt to his feet. It was odd, seeing him in casual clothes. Ra’s had kept him in armor most of the time.

“You know each other?”

“At this point, who doesn’t ukht know would be an easier question.” Damian grumbled. She tapped him on the head twice, a light reprimand.

‘Grave was part of your guard,’ she told him. ‘He protected you well.’

“You’re the demon brat’s older sister? That makes so much fucking sense.”

She felt her eyes go cold, lifting to stare at Grave’s rapidly paling face. He visibly backtracks.

“Uh- I mean, you’re Damian’s older sister?”

She regarded him for a beat longer before blinking, ice melting away at the change. The nickname chafed at her neck, too close from a fate she gave everything to save Damian from.

Her head dipped into a small nod.

“Wild.” Jason sat back down. “So, uh, how are you handling the pit?”

‘I am not.’ She informed him, settling down in her seat. Damian claimed the spot next to her and Cass quickly took the other, much to Bruce’s chagrin. Tim plopped down to the seat next to Cass, eyes zeroing onto the chamomile tea Alfred had set out for him.

Duke smiled at Bruce before sitting next to Jason, Steph skipping over and sitting next Dick and Jason at the same time.

“Ukhti managed to get rid of the side effects,” Damian informed the table at large.

Her little bat had the worst ability to make sure attention focused on her, the reincarnation groused. She sighed.

“How?” Clearly, Grave had forgotten how much she beat him into the sparring mat because he leaned forward to glare at her. Well, she hadn’t wanted him too afraid of her.

‘Magic.’

His face fell at the assumed non answer, but Damian’s nod had the entire table once more expectant.

She sighed and began weaving her magic.

——

She stalked through the shadows of the manor, at ease. Bruce and the others had left on patrol, hours ago. She was clad in her sleeping clothes, one of her less favored clothes. Her hands would get dirty again tonight but she was long past the point of lingering on those regrets.

“Miss al-Ghul,” Alfred turned as she stepped towards him, having made sure she made adequate noise as a forewarning. “Having a good night?”

She tilted her head, eyes inquisitively peering at the spotless china display behind the butler.

“Ah, you must be curious about the fine ceramics we have currently displayed,” Alfred smiled. “Would you be so kind as to indulge an old butler on this topic?”

She had an idea about the kind of gift Alfred Pennyworth would appreciate.

——

“Uh, whatcha got there?”

She blinked, pulling bloodied hands away from her clothes where she had been inspecting them. The assassin that caused the damage on her clothes laid beneath her feet, still and lifeless. She blinked again.

Nightwing, Dick, stood in front of her, freshly showered from his patrol.

Some form of long forgotten instinct rose from the dry rotted fabric of her faded memories had her responding, ‘A smoothie.’

“…That’s… not a smoothie,” Dick said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I’m pretty sure that’s an assassin?”

She shrugged. “He was after Damian. To force him into being the Demon’s head.” She paused. ‘I am tying up loose ends.’

Dick considered her. And the he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right, okay. I’ll help you get rid of the evidence.”

She waved him off, clicking her fingers and looking over the room with critical eyes as the body and traces of the fight disappeared.

“Woah, handy.”

‘Very,’ she agreed. ‘Did you need something?’

He made a face. “That’s weird. It’s usually me asking that,” he muttered. “Uh, yeah. I just… wanted to thank you again. And uh, let you know that the others don’t know so if you could not tell them, that would be great?”

With a huff, she reached over and up to gently ruffle his hair. ‘Of course. Damian did not know either.’

“Right,” he breathed. “You get it.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Been avoiding thinking about it?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

She looked at him, silent. Offering a space to listen, and a quiet promise to offer no judgement.

“I don’t- it- I could have stopped her,” he told her, guilt and shame and the lingering whispering voice Catalina burrowing into his ears and heart.

And when he started, it seemed to him like he couldn’t stop. Dick told her of the things he felt as she got on top of him, of how numb and far away things were. How, if it rained, he couldn’t be in the quiet because it made him relive it.

“But… but you stopped her so I shouldn’t even be like this!”

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She told him, the first thing she’s said since he’s started talking. ‘The only one at fault was her. You trusted her to stop. She did not. Her crimes were not yours to bear.’

She paused, taking in the refusal she could read on his face. “If someone beats another person, would you blame the person who was beaten?”

“No!”

‘Then you are kind. But you are so kind to others, why not yourself?’

Dick fell silent.

“I killed Ra’s,” she reminded him. “He allowed many others to partake in my body without my agreement.”

She leaned towards him, the admittance of something she had not even told Damian ringing painfully in her heart but made all the easier to say by the fact that one of her little brothers (the free, first Robin, the son who stood by Bruce’s side when she could not) needed her. “He himself partook in me. And yet,” she added, when Dick looked up. ‘It is difficult to forget. I am still afraid when I step onto the carpet on the sitting room.’

“The carpet? The rug? The fluffy one?” He asked, confused.

“It is like… your rain and silence,” she crossed her arms. ‘That and the sound of rustling silk reminds me of his chambers.’

“Oh.”

‘I killed him and it will not go away. Would you blame me for that?’

“No, that’s how healing is- oh.”

“Be kind, to yourself.”

His chin trembled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Ukhti.”

“Ukhti,” he parroted, aiming a watery and small smile her way.

She held out her arms and, with Dick’s tacit understanding, tucked him beneath her wings like she did with Damian. “Thank you for offering to get rid of the body, habibi. But I would not want you to get in trouble.”

“Eh, I’ve helped Jason deal with worse.”

‘Comforting.”

“I know, right?”

——

“Why the hell do you keep calling me Grave?” Jason asked her, grumbling as he tried to wire his new helmet after the last one got damaged.

She leaned back, basking in the sun on the new rugs. After their conversation, Dick had set fire to every fluffy rug in the house-

“What the hell, dude?!” Duke gaped as he watched Dick cheerfully toss an expensive rug into the impressive bonfire they had going on.

“Ukhti doesn’t like fluffy rugs,” Dick said with a straight face. Damian dragged another roll to the bonfire with a scowl. “Alfred Approved project, if you want to join~!”

Duke stared at him… and picked up a roll to toss into the fire.

- and bought new ones using Bruce’s credit cards.

“You got some of your memories back, in the league.” She hummed. “You liked reading. Poems.”

“What does that even have to do with Grave?”

“I remembered one. A line. Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep…”

Jason twisted around. “Are you kidding me?”

She continued. “Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die.”

“But I did die.”

She shrugged. ‘People still remembered you. Gotham and Bruce cried at your loss. I saw it.’

She straightened and smiled a small smile at him. ‘Besides. You got better.’

Jason snorted. “You too, I guess.”

She hummed an agreement, eyes slipping closed in the warm light of the sun, relief after a long second life of cowering in the shadows of a man more like a demon than he was a grandfather.

#dc #Batman #apparently oc got inducted into the dc version of ROOT from Naruto #thanks bestie I hadn’t thought of that #oc gets isekaid and proceeds to have a shit of a time #oc in a discovery channel narrator voice: a Damian in his natural habitat is a relaxed creature #reincarnation #oc in dc #me: oc gets hugs.#my sister used to give me piggy back rides and I kinda miss it #when we were young #unfortunately she is now old as dirt and her back sounds like popping bubble wrap #oc: I would murder for cass if she’d let me #oc: wow I’m feeling guilty #also oc: *is holding back tears at genuine kindness*#they have a greenhouse bc I said so #also bc that’s where they keep Ivy’s plant samples on hand #and bc Alfred likes gardening and that was Bruce’s gift to him on Father’s Day #tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon #fuck you catalina flores #if she has no haters I’m dead #tw: talk of murder #tw: implied abuse #tw: sa #the specific grief of watching someone you raised/loved grow to be like the person who almost broke you

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ak319 · 26 days ago

Text

Dark J.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Sins Of My Father ── Oneshot

Syno: Who knew that an innocent fling from your side would cost you so much...if only you knew. // ranch era, Jack is in it too, he is older, reader was born on the ranch. Warnings/MDNI: strictly platonic! restrictions, reader (19) being called names, abuse// I don't condone such behavior irl! ✰ 4.6K

★ m.list

"Did anything unusual happen... when you last went to town?"

You perk up from sorting your drawers, turning to see Jack leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, his gaze heavy.

"Unusual? As in?"

Jack exhales sharply, masking his irritation as he steps inside, his boots thudding against the floorboards. He looms over you, watching as you continue your task.

"Just... anything. Did you see something weird or-?"

"No," you cut in, frowning. "I just went to the butcher and then to the general store-"

"Yes! There. At the store-"

"Jack, what are you on about?" Your patience is wearing thin. You finally stop what you're doing, turning to face him fully. "Nothing happened, alright?"

His eyes narrow. "So you were with Pa the whole time-"

You sigh, standing now, more exhausted by his relentless questioning than by the day's work.

"Yes, Jack. I was with Pa. We sold what we had, then came back. The usual. What the hell is going on with you?"

"Relax, alright? I'm just asking. And I can."

Your jaw tightens. "Even if it gets on my damn nerves!?"

Abigail came into the room, drawn by the escalating argument. "Whoa, whoa-what's going on here with you two?"

"Jack, again with playing some kind of lawman, Ma. I'm sick of it."

"What you showing all this attitude for, huh?! I said I can and I will!" Jack stepped closer, his presence looming, but you didn’t back down. You squared your shoulders, ready to push him away, but Abigail grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back before you could.

"Off to your business. Leave her space."

Slam.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples before turning back to your drawers, sorting through them a little too aggressively, your scowl deepening. First, your damn strict father, and you just had to get blessed with a brother who just had to be both protective and paranoid. Did the gang life make him like this, or did he care too much? You didn’t know. You could never imagine what the three of them had faced. But either way, it got under your skin.

❀˖°

Earlier that day...

"--Yeah, a shitty shot I know." Jack ate his sandwich as his friends chatted around the table about their hunting trip.

Asher squinted, his chewing slowing as he spotted someone entering the café. "Isn't that... Amis?"

Jasper snapped his head up, and Jack followed his gaze, frowning. "Yeah, it is."

"Who?"

"That... uh, brown-haired boy over there," Asher answered before casually returning to his food.

"You guys know him?"

"Ohhh, plenty," Asher drawled, smirking. "But more than me... I'd say Jasper does."

Jasper scowled at the nudge, his jaw tightening. "No, I don't. We ain't pals."

"Oh, come on~. Not gonna tell Jack? I thought you did."

"Tell me what?" Jack leaned forward, eyeing Jasper. "C’mon, spit it out."

"It's nothing, Jack." Jasper shot Asher a glare. "He just likes to run his damn mouth. Nothin' you gotta worry about-"

"Don't be soooo pissy about it, Jas," Asher teased, grinning. "It's not a big deal. You're the one makin' it one."

"I know it's not. You’re the one-"

"Just tell me! C'mon. If it ain't a big deal, then tell me."

Jasper rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of his drink. "When I went to the store which, by the way, is owned by his family--Amis asked me about you. I asked why, and he said he wanted to talk to you. I kept pressing him on what it was about, and he, uh..."

"He what?" Jack leaned in, his eyes sharp with curiosity.

"He's apparently got interested in that girl you brought to the shop once..." Jasper hesitated before adding, "I told him she was your sister, and he just said, ‘I know. That’s why I wanna... talk.’"

Jack’s face fell instantly. His grip on his sandwich slackened as his eyes flicked toward Amis, who was now leaving the café completely oblivious to the trio watching him.

"Quite peculiar," Asher mused, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Out of all the patrons that might visit his store, your sister is the one he's interested in-"

"Shut up, Asher."

Asher just raised his hands in surrender, chuckling, while Jasper busied himself with sipping his water, looking anywhere but at Jack.

Jack’s jaw tightened. "And what did you say in response? Don’t tell me you gave him our address or something."

"Of course not! I just said... 'good luck, buddy'."

Asher let out a low whistle, his chuckle deepening. "Yeah. Good luck indeed."

And that was what had pissed Jack off for the rest of the day which, in turn, had made you pissed.

❀˖°

A week later, the wagon rattled along the dirt road into town, dust swirling up in its wake. You sat beside your friend Clara, who lived across the ranch, stretching your legs out as best you could in the cramped space.

"You ever think about just up and movin' to the city?" she mused, adjusting her hat against the morning sun.

You snorted. "And do what? Sit around in some fancy house all day, drinkin’ tea?"

"Beats dealin’ with cow shit and your overprotective brother."

You groaned. "Yeah...Jack wouldn’t care if I was in the middle of Saint-Denis or the damn moon, he’d still find a way to hover." You leaned in to whisper. "He's being extra annoying these days..."

Clara laughed. "He does have a way of actin' like someone's gonna kidnap you the second you step out the house. Maybe~ he’s got a point."

You shot her a glare. "Don’t you start now"

Up front, John exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to a chuckle you'd get from him. "Jack’s a pain in the ass, but he ain’t wrong to be cautious."

Dammit, he heard it all-

You folded your arms with a quiet yet... annoying look that spoke a lot of words.

John glanced back at you. A brief scolding look in his eyes didn't go amiss by you. "Just don’t get too comfortable out here."

You didn’t argue, but something about his tone made you shift in your seat. You just knew that this little chat of yours with Clara is now gonna result in a lecture once you get home. 'Gossiping about your family matters with outsiders--yada yada'

By the time the wagon pulled up outside the general store, the familiar scent of fresh bread and dry hay filled the air. John hopped down first, unloading the supplies from the back.

"I’ll be next door," he said, hoisting a sack over his shoulder. "Don’t take too long."

You and Clara headed inside, the store bell chiming as you stepped onto the worn wooden floorboards.

"So... about the move," Clara murmured, still caught up in your earlier conversation. She picked up a tin of biscuits, turning it over absentmindedly. There was a quiet sadness that made your chest ache.

"Yeah... it's happening," you admitted. "I overheard them talking the other day. But don’t worry, I’ll visit." This was the reason there had been this tension around the house. The hushed conversations, the way your father’s gaze lingered on the land longer than before as if trying to memorize every inch of it. This ranch wasn’t just a home, it was his life’s work, built with his own hands. And now, he had to walk away. Start over.

And no matter how necessary it was, leaving still felt like losing.

"You better, (Y/N). And I will too, I promise."

You wanted to tell her how much it hurt, how the thought of leaving made nostalgia settle deep in your bones. But this wasn’t just a choice. It had to be done. Even after your father had walked away from his past, leaving the dirt and danger behind, there were still risks. Ones he never spoke of. Ones he never let you see. And ones you couldn't tell Clara about.

"But hey...we are still here...it's gonna take time to move." She nodded returning the same hopeful smile as yours.

You then browsed the small display of necklaces , running your fingers over the delicate chains while she lingered near the bonnet section.

"H-Hey..."

You jolted slightly, turning to see a familiar face. He worked at the store, but you still didn’t know his name. This was the first time you’d seen him on this side of the counter.

"Hey..."

"Amis."

"(Y/N)."

"Um… need help?"

"......Um--No I am good-"

"This one would look g-reat on you." You glanced at the necklace he pointed to.

Hm. Not a bad choice.

"How much is it?"

"Free!"

Wait-

"I mean-uh… yeah. Free for you..." His voice trailed off into a mumble, cheeks tinted pink.

You squinted at him, realization dawning as warmth crept up your own face.

Oh.

You would be so dead if your father saw this. But a free, beautiful necklace? Just this once couldn’t hurt… right?

"...'Kay...I’ll take it. Thanks, Amis." You hesitated for a beat before gesturing Clara over. She was holding a hat, her expression skeptical as she glanced between you two.

"And hers?" This time you softened your voice on purpose.

Amis blinked. "Uh… ye-ah. Free too!"

Clara arched a brow. "Well, ain't that generous."

"I’ll-uh, I’ll pack these up for you, ladies."

With that, Amis rushed off behind the counter, leaving you and Clara momentarily stunned. Hidden from view, you both exchanged a silent, wide-eyed conversation, barely holding back your laughter.

Clara: 'What the hell was that!?'

You: I don't know, but damn, what a day!

Clara: He's onto something or rather...into you...

You: C'mon don't be silly---wait you serious?!

Still giggling, you grabbed the neatly wrapped packages from his hands. Amis rubbed the back of his neck, his expression settling into something almost confident.

"See you soon then?.... You’ll always find me here."

Oh, you definitely would, especially if it meant more free stuff.

"Of course. Thanks again, Amis~"

"Yeah, thanks, Amis," Clara added with a smirk.

And with that, you both dashed out, grinning like fools.

The moment you reached the wagon, John gave you a suspicious glance.

"What’re you two showin’ your teeth for?"

You quickly masked your amusement. "Nothing, Pa. Just got some good stuff."

He grunted, eyeing you both for a beat before motioning for you to hop in.

Crisis averted.

From then on, you prayed for every chance to be brought along with your father on town trips. But sometimes, your chores held you back, or he left earlier than expected by the time you were halfway through breakfast, he’d already be gone. And going with Jack? He never did take you. Yeah, that wasn’t an option. Now you had a pretty good idea why he’d grilled you about the store that day....

But what did he actually know? If he had real proof, he wouldn’t have been so vague about it. Maybe he only had some half-baked story. Did he know Amis? The curiosity gnawed at you, just as much as Jack’s sudden need to hold you back from town grated on your nerves. But being a daddy's girl, your father took you when you were available. He loved the company and you loved your new one.

Not that you were doing anything wrong. You were just… buttering up Amis with a few smiles so that the next time you got a chance to be alone, you’d walk out with some free goodies. It wasn’t like your father didn’t give you pocket money. He did. But there was a different kind of thrill in having Amis gift you things, his shy little gestures making you feel giddy. He was nice, awkwardly sweet, and honestly, pretty good-looking.

What was the harm?

And really, who would’ve thought that a ranch girl like you would have a town boy crushing on her? That was a gift all on its own.

❀˖°

The door to your room burst open, his usual way of entering.

"Want to go to town? I gotta buy some stuff."

Odd.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the offer, before immediately rolling off the bed.

"Of course! Just let me get ready-"

"Don't start getting too fancy now. I ain't got all day."

And then---slam once again.

Jerk.

Jack took you to the store. A bittersweet feeling. You were glad to be out, but disappointed that your usual tricks wouldn’t work, he’d be sticking around, humming to himself, keeping a watchful eye. Every time you reached for something you liked, he shot it down. Anything making you feel good about yourself? "Waste of money" or "useless junk."

You spotted Amis at the counter, deep in conversation with his father, their ledger open between them. Best to avoid them. You trailed after Jack like a puppy instead.

Then, the door swung open. Jasper and Asher strolled in, exchanging greetings with Jack while you stood there, unnoticed.

"(Y/N), here." Jack shoved a list and a basket into your hands. "Get the rest. I’ll be back."

"Huh? Wait-"

What the-?

"(Y/N)... hi. Long time no see."

You jumped but your gaze darted to the door again, mind still reeling with confusion at Jack's departure. "A-Amis. Hey... I was just-"

"Let me help with these." Without waiting for a response, he started placing the remaining items in the basket, then set it on the counter. His gaze flickered back to you, more assured than usual. "Now you...c'mere."

Before you could react, he reached for your wrist, tugging you toward the jewelry section. Your eyes widened, darting toward his father, who was still occupied.

"Amis, wait-" you whispered, resisting.

"Oh, don’t worry. He knows."

His voice was calm, unwavering.

Your heart skipped.

His father... knew? His family... knew?

His father gave you a playful nod before disappearing into the inventory, leaving you cornered with Amis.

"What? Hurry--I have to leave, my brother-"

"Oh, you mean Jack? Relax, would ya? He’s not here." He deftly picked up a bracelet, tying it around your wrist before you could protest. "Just tell me your address so I can bring my family to meet yours or better yet, I’ll just ask him-"

"Are you crazy?!" you hissed, heart hammering. "Do you even know my brother? My father-"

"So what?! You ain't gonna stay unmarried forever or something?!"

He's right though...

"I---I don't know, but-" You swallowed hard. How had a few smiles and playful remarks for free trinkets landed you in this mess? but somehow you found it hard to complain with his yearnful gaze on you.

Shit.

"I, uh...."

"Just tell me. Fine, I’ll do it myself. But I will come. Mark my words. Because I wasn't in for some joke when I decided to approach you. I always have been...serious about the decisions I make. Make em' once but make em' right is what I've been raised with."

Your breath hitched as Amis stepped closer, the warmth of his fingers still lingering where he’d tied the bracelet around your wrist. His eyes dark, and intent held yours like a silent challenge, like he was waiting for you to push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You barely had time to react before he leaned in, slow at first, giving you the chance to pull back. But you didn’t. The scent of old books and cedar clung to him, and then, softly, his lips brushed against yours. A fleeting, uncertain press tentative, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed this moment.

The door to the store slammed open, the force of it rattling the walls.

His silhouette was framed against the daylight, his shoulders squared, his breathing slow and measured--dangerously so. His eyes, sharp and dark, locked onto yours first, then drifted down. To your wrist. To Amis’s hand still wrapped around it.

"I knew it." His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

Amis stiffened beside you, but he didn’t let go. His grip remained, steady and firm, like he was anchoring you. Or maybe a straight-up dare , a confession.

Jack took a step forward, and the air between you all shrank into something suffocating.

"You really think I wouldn’t find out?" His voice was low, but the venom in it seeped through every syllable. He wasn’t just mad, he was livid.

You jerked your hand away immediately. "Jack, just listen-"

"Shut up," he snapped, his gaze never leaving Amis. "I ain't talkin’ to you right now."

The heat of humiliation crept up your neck, but it was quickly overrun by something colder.

He was testing you--this was all a test--...how could you be such a fool to fall for this?!

Amis, to his credit, didn’t step back. "You got a problem with me, Jack?" His voice was steady, but there was something else behind it. A flicker of amusement, of challenge.

Jack’s jaw tightened. "Yeah, I got a real big problem with you." He exhaled sharply, flexing his fingers at his sides.

"Well, I don't know what your problem is with me jus' talkin’ to her," came a plain answer. "Somethin’ wrong with that?"

Jack let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Oh, somethin’s real wrong with it. See, I know your type." His tone was sharp, edged with warning. "Think you can sweet-talk her, huh? Get her all caught up in whatever game you’re playin’?"

Amis tilted his head slightly, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. "Ain’t a game," he said, then glanced at you. His expression softened, but something was known in his eyes. "Is it? Cuz' I am damn serious here, 'bout her-"

Jack didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Amis by the collar and shoved him back into the shelves, rattling tins and glass jars. You gasped as the impact sent a few tumbling to the floor.

"Jack, stop!" You reached for him, but he shoved you aside like you were nothing, barely even looking your way.

"Think you can put your filthy hands on my sister and get away with it?"

Amis gritted his teeth, his hands gripping Jack’s wrists, trying to pry him off. "I care about her!" he snarled back. "And I don’t have to answer to you!"

Jack’s fist met his jaw in an instant. The crack of the punch echoed in the small store, followed by the dull thud of Amis stumbling back into the counter.

Your breath caught.

"Jack! Are you crazy!?" You shoved at his arm, panic clawing up your throat, but he barely moved. Amis wiped the blood from his split lip, chest heaving, and for a second, you saw it, the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. He wasn’t just going to take it.

Amis lunged.

They crashed into the shelves, sending more goods clattering to the floor. Jack threw another punch, but Amis ducked, ramming him back into the counter. The storekeeper, Amis’s father, rushed forward, shouting, but neither of them listened.

"You act like she’s some helpless little thing," he rasped. "Like she don’t get to choose for herself." His eyes flicked toward you. "Maybe that’s what pisses you off the most, huh? That she don’t need your permission."

Jack froze.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then his fist came down again.

This time, it wasn’t just anger. It was fury.

And you knew, if someone didn’t stop him, he wouldn’t stop on his own.

❀˖°

Thankfully he did. For your sake.

And banned from visiting the store. At least, Amis would be safe but you couldn't say the same about yourself.

The ride back to the house was brutal. Jack didn't say a word, but his grip on your wrist was like iron, dragging you through the door before you could even catch your breath.

This time, you didn’t fight it.

Because for the first time, the thrill of it all, the stolen glances, the whispered words, the rush of getting away with something, felt a lot like standing at the edge of a cliff.

And you weren’t sure if you were about to fall…or if someone was about to push you.

The moment you stepped inside, he shoved you, hard, back into your room. You stumbled, barely catching yourself against the edge of the bed.

"Jack-!"

"Enough!." His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

You barely had time to react before Abigail rushed in, her eyes wide with panic.

"Jack! What the hell are you doing?" She grabbed his arm, trying to yank him back, but he didn’t budge.

"You--" He rounded on her, eyes wild, chest rising and falling in sharp, furious breaths. "I caught her red-handed, ya' hear me!?"

"What?" She recoiled slightly, her hands trembling, but her voice was firm. "Jack, you’re scaring her!"

"Oh, now you care?" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Now you wanna act all protective?" His eyes flicked toward you, cold and burning at the same time. "Where was this energy when she was runnin’ around behind our backs, makin’ a fool outta herself? Huh?"

"What are you talkin' about?! Jack, stop it-"

"Did you encourage this?" He took a step closer to Abigail, towering over her, his voice rising. "Did you tell her it was fine to act like some goddamn tavern girl? Let some town rat put his hands all over her?"

"Jack, stop! Don't talk to Ma like-" You pushed yourself up, your voice shaking more than you wanted it to.

He turned back to you, his eyes flashing. "And you-!"

The force of his voice alone made your heart slam against your ribs.

"You think you’re grown now? You think you can do whatever the hell you want and nobody’s gonna say shit? Guess what-" He leaned in, and for the first time in your life, you didn’t recognize him. "I say shit."

Abigail grabbed his arm again, harder this time. "You need to calm down son-"

"I ain't calming down!" He whirled on her again, voice breaking with rage. "She disrespected this family, and you’re sittin’ here defendin’ her like she ain’t bringin’ shame on all of us! It's all you fault for spoiling her! You think Pa's gonna take this lightly? You think he won’t have her locked up in this goddamn house for the rest of her life?! Maybe he should!"

The words felt like a slap, like something inside you had been ripped apart.

Abigail’s face twisted with horror. "Jack…"

His chest heaved. His fists were clenched so tight they shook. At that moment, the image of his mother, when he was just a kid, technically fatherless as she barely scraped by for both of their sakes, flashed through his mind. And then you. You. Imagining you being ruined the same way. Some son of a bitch doing that. You holding a child who would grow up craving what he got so late...

The past haunting memories crept back in, and once again, he allowed to hear himself. To see himself.

"Jack Marston you better either sit down, talk like an adult or get out. I ain't allowing you to run your mouth like that!"

The silence that followed was thick, tense.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before storming out, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shook.

Abigail let out a shaky breath of relief.

You just sat there. Staring. Frozen.

Like the air in the room had turned to ice.

Abigail sat beside you, her hand hovering close, unsure if you'd flinch if she touched you.

"Hey...it's okay," she whispered, though you both knew it wasn't. "Start off by telling me what even happened?"

Your wrist ached, and your mind raced. Jack had never handled you like that before. Never looked at you like, like you were dirty. Like you'd done something shameful.

And now, he was going to tell him.

Your stomach twisted.

John.

You scrambled to your feet, but Abigail caught your arm gently. "Wait. Ma-"

"I can't-he can't-s-stop him! No!" You barely knew what you were saying, the panic clawing at your throat.

"He's already gone," she said quietly.

And she was right. By the time you made it to the window, all you saw was Jack riding off toward the fields, toward the west fence where your father worked.

"I--I'll talk to him dear, don't worry." You knew that would be useless. A confrontation was bound to happen. God knows what your brother might be spewing out there.

You are done for.

❀˖°

John didn't raise his voice often.

He never had to.

His silence alone was enough to make a man confess his sins, and his stare, cold and steady, could cut deeper than any belt.

John stood calmly staring down, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the wooden floor. You sat stiffly on the edge of your bed, hands clenched in the fabric of your dress, nails pressing half-moons into your palms.

"So," he started, voice quiet. "Jack tells me you've been lettin’ some town boy put his hands all over you." The way he phrased something so pure....it even disgusted you.

"I-"

"Don't." The single word was sharp, cutting off whatever pathetic excuse was about to leave your lips.

"You think I raised you to let some town fool string you along like some cheap whore with his soft hands and a silver tongue?" He bent down slightly. "Is that what you are?"

"No!" you burst out with a whimper, shaking your head. "It wasn't like that Pa--I swear---I didn't-"

"Didn't what? Didn't break my trust?" He tilted his head, watching you like a hawk watches a wounded rabbit. "I thought you had more sense than this. But I see now that I was wrong."

Your throat tightened, stung.

"You ain't goin' back to that store," he said, voice firm, final. "And you sure as hell ain't seein’ him again."

"Pa-"

"You stay away from him. Or I'll make sure he don’t come sniffin’ 'round here."

You swallowed hard, heart hammering.

He never made empty threats.

"That boy don’t love you, girl. He wants to take what he can get and leave you with nothin’ but a ruined name and a bastard child."

The words struck like a lash, hot and humiliating, but the anger that bubbled up was stronger. Stronger than the fear. Stronger than the sting in your throat.

Did he think every man was like him? A coward who ran when responsibility became too heavy? Who left your mother and brother behind for a whole damn year, as if they were something he could shed like old skin?

You knew. You’d read it secretly in his journal. Someone else had written it, but it was his story. His shame. And now he stood before you, acting righteous, condemning you for something Amis hadn’t even done.

And then there was Amis. Amis, who wanted to make you his responsibility before anything else. Amis, who wasn’t ashamed.

And yet, here he was, spitting venom. Mocking the one boy who saw you as worth choosing first. Dare mock that.

If only they would fucking listen. If only they’d let you speak.

You lifted your chin slightly, looking up at him through the blur of unshed tears. And before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

"Ju-st.... like you did to Mama?"

The silence that followed was sharp, deadly.

And you should’ve stopped there, you knew you should have, but the words kept coming, hushed, bitter.

"At least he…wants to marry me-"

Your ears rang the next second. Your face burned where John’s hand had struck, but the worst part wasn’t the pain-it was the look in his eyes.

Disgust.

Rage.

Like you were something rotten, something that needed to be stomped out before it spread.

"You wanna act like a whore?" John’s voice was low, deadly. "Then you’ll be treated like one."

Before you could move, he grabbed you by the hair and yanked you forward, his grip cruel. So cruel that for a moment you forgot all his love and even the fact that he was your father. You gasped, trying to wrench away, but he was stronger. He always had been.

"You thought I wouldn’t find out!? You thought I wouldn’t hear about you throwin’ yourself at some town boy like some desperate-"

"P-pa-!"

Your side hit the wooden dresser, knocking the breath from your lungs as he shoved you. A porcelain dish toppled and shattered on the floor, shards scattering around your bare feet.

"You’re gonna stand there and lie to me after what Jack saw!?" John advanced again, his voice shaking with fury. "You led him on and now he wants to marry you?" He let out a bitter laugh, dark and humorless. "That he ain't just got his head full of dreams and his cock full of need?"

Tears stung at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"N-Pa--p-lease-"

"I know everything," he growled. "I know how girls like you end up. I know exactly where this road leads." His fingers dug into your jaw, hard enough that your teeth ached. "And I ain’t gonna have a bastard child under this roof. You hear me?"

You trembled, heart hammering so hard you felt sick.

His hand flew across your face again.

The impact sent you to the floor this time, sharp pain exploding through your cheek. Your vision blurred for a second, ears ringing, but you barely had time to recover before his boot slammed down next to you, making you flinch.

"And you don’t ever speak about your mother to me like that," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Not ever."

Your whole body trembled, curling in on itself, but John wasn’t done.

"You ain't leaving this house," he spat. "No town, no store, no runnin’ off with Jack or anyone else. You’re done. You hear me?"

Your breath came in short, shuddering gasps.

"You’ll do your chores, stay inside, and keep your damn mouth shut. I will not have a daughter of mine actin’ like some damn coquette."

He cut himself off, fists clenching.

"You stay put. Think about what you’ve done."

The door slammed behind him.

Leaving you in the wreckage.

The broken dish. The pain of some fresh wounds you now began to feel on your feet and arms. The aching, throbbing pain in your cheek. The fear settling deep in your bones and your tongue tasting blood.

You curled into yourself on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around your knees.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

taglist: @necktattooed

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