phil (philippa_) wrote,

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Okay, I'm going to try this here.

A couple of months ago, I mentioned a rather violent fic that I wasn't sure what to rate. Well, I've been posting it on but the people are reading but not sharing their thoughts. So, I was wondering what you guys thought of it.

*takes a deep breath*

Title: The Power of Speech
Rating: M for violence. Chapter 2 is the most violent.
Summary:An AU where Ryan's father wasn't arrested and continued to beat Dawn and the boys. Ryan meets the Cohens through a different way.
Author's Note The Cohen's come in a little later.

The Prologue

The shadow flickered on the wall.

Ryan watched it, trying to keep his hands from trembling.

The shadow lingered for a moment and he held his breath, hoping that maybe he wouldn’t be seen.

He held back the whimper of fear as the shadow approached once again.

He tried to make himself as small as possible. He was good at that, he’d been doing it practically from birth. He’d learnt long ago that the smaller you were, the less likely it was that he would see you.

He put his hand in his mouth and bit down on it, refusing to let out the scream that was trying to rip its way up through his throat.

He could hear the faint sound of his mother crying. Ryan knew he shouldn’t have been hiding, he should have been helping her. He was too old to hide away from him.

A scream reverberated around the room and he recoiled even further underneath the bed. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was found.

His mother began to scream for him, begging for him to help her but he couldn’t. He felt frozen, trapped. He could feel the silent tears begin to slip down his face.

He swiped the tears away quickly, he’d learnt long ago that he didn’t like tears.

Then, there was a deafening silence. His mother uttered no more cries and he suddenly didn’t know what to do.

The silence wrapped around him and he felt his breathing escalate. His ears began begging for sound and they craved the slightest creak or footstep.

But there was none.

The feeling of uneasiness weighed down on him and he wished that he had his brother’s strength. His brother would have left his hiding place and protected their mother.

He took a deep breath before shifting his weight a little. The floorboard underneath him creaked a little and he froze.

His ears once again searched for the sound that someone was approaching.

But, the only sound he could hear was his own heart beating.

The sun shone through the window and he looked at the blue sky outside. It looked so perfect, so problem free. If only life was that simple.

He shakily crawled out from under the bed and stood up as straight as he could. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something that he could use as a weapon to protect himself.

He moved as quietly as possible and picked up the hockey stick that, for some reason, his brother kept in his room. He’d never seen Trey actually play the sport and didn’t know why he needed a hockey stick, but there were a lot of things he didn’t understand about his brother.

He hesitantly opened the door.

The first blow caught him by surprise and it successfully knocked him on his front to the floor. It took him a few seconds to realise where it had come from. His cheek was pressed against the stale carpet and he could only see the boot of his tormentor.

He knew then that he shouldn’t have left the sanctuary of under his bed. He should have seen this coming.

“Dad… please…” he whimpered, trying desperately to keep calm as he felt his father lowering his body on top of his.

He heard an almost growling laugh from the man on top of him.

He could feelhis arms being splayed apart and pinned down.

The older man sat on his back.

He tried to kick out but it was no use.

He strained his neck around and the look on his dad’s face frightened him. It was clear the man was completely stoned and the panic inside of him escalated.

His dad’s eyes were ablaze with a pure fire of hatred. His hair was greasy and there was a smear of red on his forehead. He began praying that his mom was alright and guilt pointed its grubby finger at him, that he hadn’t protected her.

He tried to ignore the stench of alcohol on his dad’s breath but the smell was beginning to make his eyes water.

He knew that it was useless to try and plead with his father. The man only got spurred on by tears and would become more violent. He turned his head back around.

He didn’t want to see this.

He felt his father pull the hockey stick out from under his body and he squeezed his eyes closed. He tried to ignore the sensation it made as it slid out from under him. He knew what was about to happen and he desperately wanted to escape. He began to try and scramble away but his father’s hold was too strong.

The first hit makes him feel dizzy, and he felt his head flopping to the floor. He felt his dad lifting his head up again by his hair and tried his hardest not to let out a sound. He knew it would only make things worse.

He gritted his teeth as the blows began to come.

After 15 years, he couldn’t help to think that he should be used to this by now but it still felt as bad as it always did.

Ryan couldn’t help but utter out a small cry.

He regretted it as soon as it was out but the damage was done.

His dad gave out a snort and rose a little higher to get into a better position.

He tried to wriggle his way to freedom but his father answered his struggle with a hand holding on to the back of his neck. Ryan saw the hockey stick being thrown away and he struggled once again, panicked.

He felt the hand on the back of his neck tightening. His face was pushed further into the carpet and he kept his eyes closed as tightly as possible.

The smell of the carpet joined the smell of alcohol and he tried not to gag on the assault of his nostrils.

He felt his dad lower again and he could feel his hair being used as a handle once again to turn his head around to face his father.

He opened his eyes gingerly, and was met with the sight of his father’s burly face. There was a smirk there and he knew the fear was raw on his own face.

He began to struggle again as the face got closer but his father was pinning him down too tightly.

“You have got to learn to control your emotions, Ryan. I made sure your brother managed it and I will make sure you do.” His face was so close and spit punctuated each word.

The words were cold and Ryan tried to ignore the real hatred that came along with them. He knew his dad meant what he was saying and he knew he’d do anything to achieve it. His dad was not a quitter.

He thought of his brother. He hadn’t seen him in years; once he’d turned 16 he’d moved as far away from the house as he could. He’d been Ryan’s rock, and since he’d been gone, his dad had become even more frightening.

He bit hard on his lip as he felt his shirt being raised and the dreaded belt being thrust down on to his back. He hadn’t seen the belt coming and he was barely able to keep back the whimper. His dad liked doing that, to add an element of surprise into his beatings. That way, Ryan was never able to tell what was coming.

By the third lash he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep back the tears and pain for much longer.

It felt like his back was on fire and burning freely. Each time his dad brought down the whip, he could feel his skin being ripped open and the fresh blood running down his back.

He gritted his teeth and was faintly aware of his dad punctuating each hit with some sort of weakness he had or some vicious comment about how he was going to keep beating him until one day he could keep himself quiet.

The words faded in and out as the pain invaded his senses.

His brother had always told him to count the lashes as it would give him something to focus on.

By the eleventh, he couldn’t count anymore. The tears began to escape from his eyes and once he’d begun crying, he couldn’t seem to stop.

His dad rose up and stood over him, but Ryan could barely feel the release of weight. His whole back was burning. Each breath provoked the pain and he whimpered on each inhale.

He could hear more insults coming from his dad but he couldn’t concentrate on what was being said.

A sudden kick to his side rolled him over, leaving his back a victim to the scratchy carpet.

He looked up at the man before him. He saw him lift his foot and tried desperately to get away but it connected hard against his ribs, then again against his crotch.

He groaned and writhed in pain, trying to beg his father to stop.

The pleas were only responded by more fists and heavy boots.

By the time the black took over, he was very much welcome to the idea of oblivion.


*scuttles off into the hole that I claimed for myself when no one commented on*
Tags: power of speech
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