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freyjasfenrir · 1 month

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High Water | Happiness Series

a/n: okay guys, I have ONE MONTH left of school for the semester, THEN I WILL HAVE TIME FOR THIS I PROMISE. a lot has happened since I last updated, this was all written over a six month period and of course finished three weeks after my major breakup w my bestie of 7 years LOL ENJOY

a/n 2: and thank you always to @as-is-above-so-below for not killing me over taking forever to update and for letting me fall down her stairs and (separate incident) get a splinter from her floor LOL

warnings: military talk. TW: TORTURE

summary: Price has to make a difficult decision.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Night vision, gloved finger tensed on the trigger of his rifle. The back alley was secured, Soap kept two feet behind him at all times as Price unlocked the side door of the “abandoned” factory warehouse.

Four pairs of boots were muted against the cracked concrete, rifles pointed upwards and watching for any hostiles in their way. The mission was to collect intel and neutralize any threats - hopefully this would deliver them to the target. A man who was a ghost just like Simon Riley, but just… tied up in debts that span decades. Expendable men were set in the center of the warehouse, a table set up with chairs, chips and cards strewn about the wooden surface. Silence was a friend to the Russian men’s killers, but not to them. A small radio lowly played some sot of music, it was melancholy and heavy on the sax. Blues, Simon reflected, fitting.

One Russian - wearing a white shirt and black pants, a deep purple bruise on his fair face - pulled a chair from the table, setting down a laptop on a handful of worn cards.

“Boss has two targets with him, they’re to be sold by the end of the week.”

The man with a green jacket shrugged, as he sat down too; kicking his feet onto the table. “Not sure if there’s a big enough market for screaming babies, друг.”

“We’ll be getting a big payout if we get them to auction before their family finds out.”

Simon’s stomach clenched, he almost shot them both right there if it wasn’t for Gaz grabbing his arm and squeezing it. He couldn’t imagine it being you and the girls, it wouldn’t be anyway. Calm down. He focused on slinging his rifle silently over his shoulder, taking hold of the corner of sturdy boxes, wrapped up in plastic film. He hauled himself up, keeping his balance and grip focused on climbing up since the crate was the height of his shoulders. He placed his right foot on the top, pushing himself up before repeating the action with the next and final crate. It was routine the way he retrieved his rifle from his back, laying prone on the hefty crate with his finger parallel to the trigger and his eye in the scope. He was swift, it was second nature; his breath didn’t falter when Gaz settled on his torso beside him with his tact scope in his grasp.

“Bravo 0-7, do you have sight on the target?”

Ghost’s eye closed, the other focusing through the scope of his rifle.

“Affirmative.”

There was a loud screech of the door Gaz was watching, Ghost’s chest clenched with anticipation as he watched the intel walk in - wearing joggers and a long sleeve shirt, talking loudly on his phone in Russian.

“Soap, detain the target as soon as he is within range. Gaz, Ghost, drop ‘em as soon as Soap is clear.”

There wasn’t a beat of silence after that, as everyone launched into action. Johnny was quick to tackle the man, the other two dropped dead within milliseconds. His gloved hand seemed to cover the man’s whole jaw, fingertips pressed uncomfortably into the man’s skin. Ghost had dropped from his position in seconds and across the room in a few strides.

“Where is yer boss?”

Gaz slid a chair behind the man, Soap shoved him into it. Struggling hands were strapped to it, the man with dark blond hair and joggers spat out vicious words towards the skull balaclava. He barely caught Price snatching the open laptop from the table before he looked back to Soap and the hostage, the Sergeant dug his nails into the Russian’s face. The Lieutenant pulled a rag from his vest, watching them intently. The 141 was a well oiled machine, oiled with the saccharine taste of blood.

“Where the fuck is yer boss?”

“You’ll never find him-“ Ghost shoved the cloth into the man’s mouth before in a flash, his knife found its new home in the hostage’s knee. The screams muffled, he leaned closer. The words spoken were low, but enough to elicit a snarl from the hostage before another scream.

Price only gazed at Ghost for a moment before looking back at the laptop, checking through folders for measly information. Gaz was stood by the door, watching for any intruders - hand on his rifle, ignoring the muffled screams of the last threat alive in the room. But he wouldn’t be alive much longer with Ghost’s knives sticking out of his body like decorations. Don’t ask for mercy, my hounds won’t give you any, he remarked.

He looked down at the dashboard, seeing a browser left open. He clicked on it, seeing an encrypted chat log with the target and his right hand man - the man screaming for his life in the chair.

Don’t be late

The damn baby is losing it

If I have to hear another word from this girl I’m going to kill her

Price is a stoic man, one hardened by war - barely scared of anything; yet, Price wasn’t prepared when he scrolled up. His heart shot straight into his throat, eyes widened by a fraction, his hand gripping the table could’ve broken it in half. He blindly grabbed his phone, taking a picture of the screen before slamming the laptop closed. It was secured between his arm and chest in three seconds, tapping a number on the screen of his phone before he walked past Gaz and out of the room. The building was secured, he knew that - yet, he felt the fear that he may be watched. The secure line droned on for only a moment before there was an answer.

“John?”

“Laswell. What the fuck happened?”

There’s crying in the background, he could recognize Winnie’s voice anywhere. They’ve been gone for three days. Nothing was supposed to get to Simon’s second chance, John thought he was sure of it. No, he was sure of it. He cased the house himself, did all the work to make sure one of their strongest and toughest allies would stay and protect them. What the fuck happened?

There’s a breath. “König’s been shot. Someone took Mellie and Y/N.”

“And the other one?”

John’s stomach settled like concrete, weighing him down and making him sick.

“She’s okay. She’s with us at the hospital. We took her to the park like her mother asked and when we came back, the door was kicked in, König was unconscious and bleeding out, and Mellie and Y/N weren’t there.” There was a pause. “There was a fight down here. König killed seven of them before going down.”

Okay. At least they could ID the bodies, link them to the mob - or at least, former associates of the mob. Any lead he could get.

If he could run his hand through his beard, he would’ve. It was a comfort, especially now that he has never felt this stressed in his life. Simon cannot know. Simon will destroy everything we’ve worked for to save them.

“It has to do with the target.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Their intel is here. I am holding their intel.”

“John, these men are Russian. They are escaped convicts in the mob, known associates of the target.” There’s a pause, a short yell from Winnie, and Laswell sighing. “König left one unconscious. Roach is interrogating him now on base.”

“How long ago were they attacked?”

“Yesterday.” Another pause, soft words from Laswell to who he assumed was Winnie. “Listen, I’m working on this, but I need you. We need Ghost to run the rest of the operation, and we can’t do that if you tell him about this.”

There’s shouting behind the door, screaming from the victim that Ghost was torturing. John looked down the empty corridor, knowing he has to go to keep his friend safe.

“Because if they came after the girls, that means they’re coming after him. And they need him alive.”

His hand could have snapped that laptop in half. “He needs them alive.”

“I know, John.”

There’s more shouting in Russian, a loud thud and more incessant screaming.

“Keep this on the down low. I only need you. Make sure Ghost knows how to proceed.”

“With caution and safety off.” John murmured, muscles clenching in his chest. This is not going to end well.

“Get back to Manchester immediately. I’ll call if we’ve found something.” The line goes dead, Captain Price slipped the phone into his pocket before taking a deep breath.

He opened the door back to the room, being submersed in the victim’s screaming as Ghost’s black blade dragged into the muscles of his leg. Price shut the door, standing tall with worry on his mind. Gaz nodded to him, hands out for the laptop - John shook his head.

“Lieutenant.”

The skull mask didn’t look away from his target, the one screaming Russian that he didn’t know anything, stop, you’re hurting me, go to fucking Hell- Soap took the man by his throat, forcing his head back before spitting some choice words at his face. Eyebrows furrowed, Price tried again.

“Mactavish, take over for the Lieutenant.”

The Scot nodded, hand ripping Ghost’s knife out of the man’s thigh - all that filled the room were screams. Ghost finally looked to Price, an enraged look in his eye as he stood and walked towards him.

“What the fuck-”

“I’ve been reassigned.” The Captain spoke with an even tone. Nothing is wrong. Believe me, Simon, believe me. “You will be running this operation until I get this assignment under control.”

It seemed that anger swelled throughout the Lieutenant like a poison, invading every space of the menacing man. “What the fuck did you get reassigned for?”

“Diplomat’s wife and daughter have been kidnapped.” The lie slid off of the tongue like butter, smooth as easy to go down for some people. For others… it’s unsettling. Price was a good liar, it came easy, but his lieutenant was always able to tell. Not always immediately, but he will know sooner or later. “I have to run this. Are you okay doing this assignment-“

Ghost patted his Captain’s shoulder. “Got it under control.”

Price smiled, strained. “Knew I could count on you.” He glanced to the man in the chair; blood poured down his face. He then looked back to his Lieutenant, his right hand man with as straight of face he could muster. “We need to hurry this up. Only 10 minutes remaining.”

“Rog.”

•••

The front door was covered in a tarp, the front porch light on and curtains drawn. John Price felt the cold sickle of Death slide down his spine as he could see blood splatter on a home he once considered sacred. Simon’s home, your home, was under red tape, unknown to anyone the military who wasn’t close to Ghost. Simon created a home from nothing for his child, then opened it for you, then his new little one - God, was John proud of him. Creating a life more than worth living, in a quaint house that should have never been found - even when it was hidden in plain sight. Even the most holy grounds have had blood shed upon them.

Kate knew he was walking up the steps, she always knew, so she opened the door enough for him to slip through. Instantly, he’s met with the remnants of the carnage of your entrance way. Bullet holes and stains of blood decorated the walls and floors, even when they had been mopped and wiped clean. Dents in the walls, the floor - John imagined the beast that was König wrestling some of those fucks to the ground, snapping their necks with the twitch of his wrist. He couldn’t imagine your screams, couldn’t think of little Mellie wailing in terror.

Did you scream? Did they drug you? Hurt you? Did they dare to touch the baby? God, Simon is going to burn the world.

He looked to Kate, there’s a hardened glint in her eye. He handed her the laptop, which hadn’t been scanned yet - it would take too much time, they both knew that. She took it without a word, turning back into the front room. John strode forwards, stepping over the baby gate that was recently put there. He assumed it was to keep Winnie out of the carnage that was the front entrance, he continued on to the living room where he could see Alex sitting on the couch. A little head peered over the side of the couch and as soon as her eyes saw John, she stood at full height with tears instantly pouring down her face.

“Unc’John!”

His heart felt bruised then, the beat of it aching with every stride he took to her. He instantly plucked her from the couch, holding her to his chest as she loudly cried. “Winnie, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

“Where-Where’s Mummy and Mellie?”

John could only bear to mutter a soft, “We’re finding them, sweetheart.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that the bad guys got them, that her daddy couldn’t be the hero she knows she wants him to be because of John’s decision. He was quick to bring her to the kitchen - which seemed untouched compared to the adjacent entryway - and settled her on the countertop, right beside the sink. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet to the right, filling it with water before handing it to Winnie. The five year old took greedy sips, breathing through her nose as tears raced down her face. “Put the water down, love, you need to take some deep breaths.”

He took the glass back, only for her to reach for his hand - he took it, giving it a small squeeze. God, he can’t even remember the last time he had seen his niece cry, let alone sob. Had it been that long since she had gone without you?

“Are you hungry? Tired?” He set the glass on the counter, seeing her hiccup as she tried to catch her breath. He squeezed her hand again, all Winnie could do was let more tears fall down her face.

“Where’s Mummy?” She begged, John’s tongue felt dry. He hated lying to her, he hated not knowing anything, he hated seeing her bawl her eyes out. She didn’t witness anything, thank God, but going without you after not having to for years is terrifying to a little girl. “N’Daddy? Why-Why isn’t Daddy home?” Her hand squeezed back, much harder than she did before. “M’scared.”

“I know, Winnie.” His throat began to itch, he wanted to desperately tell her that everything would be alright - that today was just a bad dream she’ll wake up from tomorrow, that her parents will be here in the morning with her baby sister. He also wanted to scream at God and tell him that it was fucked forcing him into sacrificing Simon’s family for a stupid fucking lead, even if it did lead back to you and Mellie. He didn’t want to have the possibility of telling his niece that neither of her parents were coming home, instead of the off chance of one; he hated delivering condolences, but he wasn’t sure he could do it to a five year old girl who he has watched grow up. “I think we need to go sit down again.” A little nod and she was scooped up into his arms again, held tight as he walked back into the couch; Alex nowhere to be seen, which was fine with John. He took his normal seat at the end of the couch, resting little Winnie on his chest and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to lay on her. He tucked it in around her stomach, making sure to cover her socked feet before gently petting her hair.

His eyes wandered to the TV, to the stupid blue dog show that she seemed to love - yet she held no interest right now. His eyes darted across the floor, seeing little firetrucks and airplanes and dolls scattered across the floor; then to the little mesh play pen that sat underneath the window, the blinds pulled up enough to where Mellie couldn’t reach, the strings tied up even higher. Soft toys and colorful blocks scattered inside of it, not to mention a few blankets and a pillow or two. Winnie’s been sleeping down here. She’s petrified.

His gaze moved to the ceiling, hand gently patting her head with a calm rhythm. He’d lay here all night, way past when his back would get sore, way past when his legs would cramp, just to give Winnie some sort of stability. He refused to think about the possibility that he may have to follow through with his promise of being her godfather - he just never imagined that it might possibly be just Winnie, not Winnie and Mellie. The thought stirred nausea in his stomach, more than any whiplash, concussion, or shitty helicopter ride could give him. He had already made the silent promise to find you and Mellie, but just for tonight, his whole goal was to make sure Winnie isn’t more scared out of her mind than she already is.

“Unc’John.”

He hummed at that, looking back down her. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Her little chin swiveled to rest on his chest to look up at him, her sweet brown eyes full of tears as she whispered, “I don’t wanna visit my Mummy at-at the cemetery like Mum G-Grace.”

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace.

The words that leave his mouth are soft, spoken like a twisted prayer. “This isn’t like your Mum Grace.” His eyebrows furrowed, petting her hair back with a gentle touch. “I swear it.”

The five year old’s lip quivered, “Promise?”

John doesn’t promise anything, he never makes a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. He never dared enter the realm of uncertainty, knowing he could fail and hurt someone he cared about. Hell, he rarely makes promises on equipment orders for his men. He doesn’t even promise his mother anything, not since he promised he wouldn’t go into the military and did it anyway. But as he watched his friend’s daughter, his niece and goddaughter, sob quietly on his chest, he felt he had no choice but to nod. “Promise.”

At that, Winnie’s head finally fell to rest on John’s chest, he watched her eyes close as it was evident she had only held out to hear his promise. She had stayed awake to see and hear someone she trusted and knew well, she waited to close her eyes until she knew he would find you, even if she didn’t directly ask him to.

John felt obligated to keep Simon’s family alive since he knew just how much the deaths of his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew nearly killed him, how the death of Grace and embracing fatherhood almost drowned him, and just how much his daughters and wife saved him from saying “Fuck it.” and stepping into enemy fire. Not only that, he felt obligated to you - to find you and Mellie, bring you home, keep Winnie safe too. You had many years left with Simon, John could see it. You couldn’t possibly leave Simon now, not when he needs you the most.

John’s eyes blinked slowly, looking down to the dozing Winnie on his chest and holding her closer, reminiscent of when she was a small toddler sleeping on his chest when he babysat. Fatigue was catching up to him, the hours in the early morning were spent combing through data for the prisoner the 141 now in had in possession, and now - your kidnapping. Simon is a dear friend, John knew him too well to say otherwise. And he also knew that you, Winnie, and Mellie were his whole world - the monster Simon was, the one John had nurtured and cared for to create a weapon, was sitting dormant in the man’s ribcage because of the unconditional love he had received. John could never argue that Simon had “gone soft” because of it, Simon had weeping and infected wounds healed by the soft touch of his wife. The Captain’s previously abused and petrified weapon was now perfect, he was the epitome of the perfect soldier. But with the knowledge of his wife and child’s safety at risk, John knew what the military didn’t.

“Captain.”

There’s a reason your husband wasn’t alerted of your abduction. John Price knew the second he said that you and Melody were missing, Simon would rip his ribcage from his chest with the force of a thousand men to expose the monster underneath. The one you only hear about in movies, the one that is passed down through tongues to generations, the one you fear will come from the shadows to eat you alive. Simon Riley is what the Captain likes to call, the Monster Under Your Bed.

“Captain.”

He grunted a little, looking over his shoulder to a stoic Alex Keller. “She’s almost asleep, Alex-“

“We might have a location.”

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freyjasfenrir · 1 month

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Seventeen Going Under: Tommy

Image One | Image Two | Image Three

Pairing(s): Neighbor!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Single Mom!Reader Word Count: 7.0k+ Summary: After leaving your abusive husband, you and your 17 year old son, Tommy, move to the U.K. from the U.S. for a fresh start. He's less than enthusiastic to be moving countries, having to be the new, weird American kid on the block. He's even less enthusiastic about his new neighbor who seems to be making moves on his mother. POV: 3rd Person Omniscent; No use of "Y/N" or "You"; Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns. Rating: Mature/Restricted - MDNI; Ageless Blogs DNI Categories: HEAVY ANGST- PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING, slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers CWs: Scenes and depictions of domestic abuse and child abuse in the form of slapping, kicking, and punching. One scene of implied sexual abuse happening to the reader via rape. Illegal age gap between reader and her ex-husband (age difference of 14 and 21). Depictions of violence between Tommy and his father. Underage alcohol consumption and implied dubious consent via alcohol. Reader gets disowned from her family. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Note: Thank you guys so much for being so patient with me as I worked through some writer's block. Here is the first chapter. I know a lot of people were asking about a taglist, however, I have chosen to not include a taglist because they overwhelm me lol. I'm sorry. Please let me know if I have missed any CWs that you believe should be added. Thank you. Also, my depiction of the UK/Manchester and Simon's accent is probably very inaccurate lol.

MASTERLIST SERIES MASTERLIST

“An embryonic love— The first time that it scarred, Embarrass yourself for someone, Crying like a child… And the boy who kicked Tom’s head in Still bugs me now. That’s the thing—it lingers, And claws you when you’re down.”

There were a lot of things that Tommy didn’t understand. For instance, he didn’t understand how stars were formed or why he had to take an astronomy class. He didn’t understand why cat lovers claimed that dog lovers didn’t have a sense of consent or boundaries, as if dogs don’t have clear boundaries of their own? Speaking of dogs, why didn’t that dog like him at the park last week? All dogs love him.

He could go on and on about the mundane things he didn’t seem to understand, though his astronomy grade would be plenty of testimony that he clearly didn’t understand the formation of stars. However, none of that would ever compare to the constant state of confusion he found himself in as he grew up.

He had the American dream. A two-bedroom home in the Indiana suburbs with a white picket fence that had been bought all the way back in 2007, just before the recession hit. He had a mother and a father. He lived in an area that was well-off enough—he wasn��t rich or poor. It should have been a comfortable life…

But as his mother nervously drives down the road, heading off to their new home in a new country, making a comment about how “the infrastructure in this country is absolute dog shit, and I hate driving manuals. We should have just moved to Canada,” Tommy cannot remember ever being comfortable in his home for the life of him.

What he does remember is his first memory. He wishes it was something beautiful, like seeing his mother smiling and cooing down at him. Instead, it's a vivid image of his dark bedroom with his "Cars" bed sheets pulled up to his chin. The sound of someone crying and wailing spills through his sky blue walls and into his ears. There's a pressure that pushes insistantly against his chest. His tiny feet pitter-pattered against the tan carpeted floor to open his door just a smidge to investigate. He sees a tall, dark figure towering over one cowered low to the floor. It doesn’t take him long to realize it’s his mother and father.

He didn’t understand it back then, but as the memory flashes through Tommy’s mind, he knows what had happened very well. His father’s hand was clenched into a fist, tugging on his mother’s hair as she screamed and kicked at him. "Stop," she cries. "Danny, please, stop!" His entire body lay on top of hers. Tommy wants to throw up as he remembers the ripped clothing, the tears on his mother’s face, and how his father looked at him.

“Go back to bed, Tom,” he said. “Mommy and I are just playing. First day of school is tomorrow, so you need to rest.”

When Tommy looked to his mother for confirmation, she only nodded. He knew something was wrong, but couldn't quite understand it. "Why is mommy crying?" He asks with a soft and timid tone.

"It's okay," he mother whispers, looking at him. "Just go to sleep, okay? Mommy and daddy love you... Goodnight," she grunts.

So Tommy goes to bed, and he tries to block out the sounds coming from the hallway.

It wasn’t until Tommy turned 12 and entered middle school that he understood the abuse his father gave to his mother. She had suddenly decided to enroll him in soccer, telling him that he needed to be out of the house and active more; he needed a hobby and a space to make new friends. Truthfully, he loved it. He enjoyed the game and the adrenaline rush it gave him, and he loved the people he met because of the sport.

But one time, practice had gotten canceled. The coach’s daughter had gotten sick and needed to go to the hospital, and even though Tommy loved the sport, he was excited to be home early, before dinner for once. Maybe he’d have some extra downtime after finishing up whatever assignments he had for the night.

He could hear sobbing when he got to the front door, and his stomach turned. It reminded him of that night, of his first memory. Only this time, he was older. He knew better; he knew that something was off.

With shaking hands, he pushed the front door open, and then he saw it. Right in front of him, his father was standing over his mother, one hand holding her down while the other relentlessly made continuous contact with her face. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating. “Please, stop. I’m sorry.”

Without thinking, Tommy rushed in, placing himself between his parents. “What are you doing?” He shouted at his dad. “Leave her alone! Stop it!” He didn’t sound intimidating or convincing in the slightest. His small frame and cracking voice certainly didn’t help.

His father only grunted and grabbed onto him instead, throwing him to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he could see his mother diving for him, screaming at his father to once again stop, and before he could react, he felt the side of his father’s boot make contact with the side of his head.

It was like a scene in a movie, a montage of sorts. There was ringing in his ears as the blurry vision of his mother pushing his father away filled his head. She’s still sobbing, screaming at him, begging him to leave Tommy alone. “Danny, stop it!” She screams. “No! Don’t touch him!”

He blinks just once, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his room, a bag of ice sitting on his head. “Tommy?” A voice calls out, dulled and echoing through his brain. “Baby… Wake up…” He turns to his side and sees his mother’s tear-stained, bruised-up face.

“Mom?” He grunts. “Are you okay?”

The question makes her break down. Her son, the boy she loved more than anything in this world, had just been kicked in the head by her husband, and yet, here he was, asking her if she was okay. It makes her sob into her hands as she kneels down by his side. “Baby,” she whimpers. “Promise me that you will never, ever step in like that again…”

”But mom—“

”Thomas Daniel Fletcher, you promise me,” she insists. “Don’t make your father angry like that, okay? You let me handle it. I don’t want you getting hurt again… And don’t ever speak of this to anyone… He’ll only make things worse for us.”

Looking back at it now, Tommy thinks he only agrees because he was possibly concussed. However, he silently made a promise to both himself and his mother that day. He swore he’d make himself stronger, strong enough to stand a chance against his father one day. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand by, knowing exactly what his father was doing.

From that day forward, he ate more meat and drank more milk. He begged his mother to buy him protein shakes whenever she went to the grocery store. Every morning, at 6AM, he took the neighbor’s dog for a run and did pushups in his bedroom before school.

Once he entered high school, he finally hit a growth spurt and spent almost all of his time in the school’s weight room. If he wasn’t at soccer practice, he was lifting weights. By age fifteen, he was 6’3” and around 215 pounds of muscle. While he was lean, he could put his arms to work. For years, he’d been training his body to be bigger and stronger, using the sounds of his mother crying and wailing as motivation.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon in October. The hot summer sun was no more. Instead, a cool autumn breeze ran through Tommy’s hair. However, his back is still wet with sweat from soccer practice. He’d played extra hard today. Kicked and dribbled every ball with extra precision, his brows low as sweat dripped down from them. Before he’d left, his coach clapped him on the shoulder, telling him to go home and rest–he’d earned it after working so hard today.

The sweat, body odor, and sore muscles are all telling him to hop into the shower as soon as he gets home, but his brain and the adrenaline coursing through his veins tell him that as soon as he sees his father, there’s no holding back. He’d kill the bastard if needed to. He can hear his parents arguing before he even reaches the door. Well, his father does most of the yelling while his mother begs for mercy. His large hands push the door open, sending it flying into the wall, the knob putting a hole right through it due to the amount of force he uses. He sees his mother jump at the sudden noise.

His father glares at him, almost snarling. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He turns his body towards Tommy. They’re just as tall as each other now; their eyes sit at the same level. This intimidation tactic wouldn’t work anymore. “You don’t ever walk into my house, slamming my door like that. You will show me some respect, boy.”

Tommy can see how his mother grabs his father’s arm, trying to pull him away. “It was an accident, Danny,” she says. “Just let it go, okay? We’ll get it fixed.” Her eyes flicker at him; this is the first time he has looked at her since getting home. She wasn’t wearing makeup today, nor was she wearing long sleeves like she usually did. She must have not left the house today. It wasn’t like her to keep her bruises so exposed. As his eyes cascade down the yellow and purple marks, it only fuels his rage even more.

Without a word, Tommy suddenly lunges at Danny, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. He shoves him harshly up against the wall. His timing is impeccable, giving his father no time to react. Then, he pulls his arm back as much as he can before he begins to ram his fist into his father’s face over and over. He can hear what sounds like a delicious and deep-toned crunch when he makes contact with his nose. He thinks he can hear his mother gasp and call out his name, but he can barely hear it.

Danny grunts as he takes each blow. He can see Tommy’s endurance draining fast, and when he finds the opportunity, he shoves his son back, sending him into the cabinet beside them. He swings back at his son, hitting him in the jaw so hard that it practically spins the teenager’s head right around. He smirks victoriously, blood spilling from his nose. He then throws the boy onto the floor before lifting his foot and forcing it into the boy’s gut. It knocks the wind out of him. However, the evil smirk wiped off his face as Tommy tackled him to the ground with a grunt. The younger man is much faster and has better reflexes, giving him the upper hand in this fight.

At this point, Tommy catches a glimpse of his terrified mother. His left hand wraps around his father’s throat as he sees her shaking, frozen in place, with tears dripping from her swollen eyes. He can’t look at her. If he keeps looking at her, he might actually kill his father, and he couldn’t leave his mother alone. He’d stood by, witnessing the torment his father put her through for long enough; she would need him to stick around. “Call the cops, Mom,” he says to her.

Then he glances back down at his father. He hates him. He hates that they share the same nose and eyes. He inherited his hair texture and body composition. They both metabolize protein better than they do carbohydrates. In so many ways, he and his father were the same. Even now, Tommy begins to believe that he was only capable of the violent act he was committing because it was in his father’s blood, and therefore, it was in his own. Unfortunately for Danny, his son can’t seem to care about all that right now.

As he holds his father down by the throat, Tommy brings his fist down again. Again. Once more. He thinks he can hear his mom finally speaking to the dispatcher on the phone. When he sees his hands stained with his father’s blood, he decides that he’s done his job. He stands up, hunching forward a bit as he feels a stinging sensation in his abdomen. His solid but tired arms hook themselves underneath his father’s underarms, and he drags him out the front door, leaving him a bloody mess on the lawn. He huffs and puffs, trying to catch his breath as he returns to the porch step and sits down.

“Tommy!” He hears his mother cry. He lifts his head slightly as she kneels before him, immediately reminding him of when he had just started middle school. Instead of being kicked in the stomach, he’d been kicked in the head, and his mother was kneeling by his side, crying with regret permanently sewn into her facial expressions. This time was different, though. This time, he was actually able to protect her, and that’s all that mattered to him.

“I’m okay, Mom,” he grunts as she feels him lifting his shirt to inspect his wounds. The sounds of police and ambulance sirens start to ring out, growing louder and louder as they get closer.

When the police arrive, they are greeted with quite the scene. A young mother, her teenage son, and a deadbeat father on the lawn, all of them looking either bloody or bruised. The EMTs immediately get to work, doing checks on all of them before allowing the police to speak to each of them.

However, as they’re taking statements, one of the EMTs walks over to Tommy’s mother. “We’re gonna need to take him to the hospital. It’s likely he’s got some internal bleeding going on,” he says. “We’ll need you to come along.” The officer closes up his notepad, stating that he’ll follow them to finish getting her statement there.

After that, it’s a long legal battle. Unfortunately, the right to a speedy trial is loosely defined. It’s definitely not as speedy as the Constitution would like its citizens to believe. It took around 90 days for any of them to step into court, and it takes even longer for a proper sentence to be given. Having a group of state-appointed lawyers trying to prove that your father was an innocent man while watching your mother sit on the stand, photos of the bruises and scars that had been accumulated over the years was one of the most challenging and most rage-inducing things he’d ever gone through.

It resulted in a divorce, Tommy’s mother being given full custody, and 38 years in prison total for his father under felony charges of child battery, sexual battery, rape, and domestic battery—Tommy swears he should be getting more. Still, due to the lack of documented evidence, most of the sentencing was minimal. He sincerely hopes that his father dies in that cell. He heard plenty from Reddit forums about what happens to people who commit crimes against children. Many would tell him it wasn’t right to wish death upon someone. Tommy doesn't give a single fuck.

Of course, just because his father was now out of the picture didn’t mean that things would be easy for Tommy and his mother. Just because he was in prison doesn’t mean that the two weren’t almost always on edge, scared that he’d either escape or be released early on “good behavior.” They were both left with heavy amounts of PTSD. Tommy especially continued to struggle with the fact that his bare hands could have easily ended a life, and he struggled even more with the thought of not caring if he’d killed his father. He was scared that there was something within him that made him violent, like his father, and he was afraid that it could fester into something more.

Because of this, his mother enrolled him in therapy. It wasn’t hard to see how much it weighed on his mind. Her quiet son is even quieter and more distant. While he was still on the soccer team, his chances of becoming captain became less and less likely. His grades were beginning to slip, putting him at risk of needing to attend summer school. He stopped taking the neighbor’s dog for runs in the mornings. He simply was losing himself to the storm that consumed his mind.

When Tommy gets the news from his mother about the move, he doesn’t seem to be thrilled at all. He believes that moving solves nothing. A fresh start solves nothing. All it means is that his high school credits are gonna be a bastard to transfer over to the UK’s education system; he’d have to leave his soccer team behind, and he’d have to establish himself with a new therapist. If anything, a “fresh start” is the last thing that he needs. He was only one school year away from finishing everything up; he wished she could have waited until then.

His lack of enthusiasm shows now as he rests his head against the window of his car, trying to block out the noise of his mother continuing to complain about the infrastructure. She’s been going on about it for the past thirty minutes. He really wishes he hadn’t tossed his carry-on luggage into the trunk of the car without grabbing his headphones first. Instead, all he has to entertain himself are the raindrops that fall down his window. “This place is a shit hole,” he mutters.

“Thomas,” his mother warns. When he says nothing else, she sighs. Her eyes glance at him briefly before focusing on the road, a frown pulling down at her lips. “Listen, I know that… our life hasn’t been very easy for you, and I’m sorry. I wish I could have been stronger for us both back then,” she says remorsefully. “I just want us to be safe, to have a home where we don’t have to constantly look over our shoulders.”

Tommy loved his mother. Indeed, he did, and despite the nightmares, the somewhat unhelpful therapy sessions, and the constant fear of becoming his father, he wouldn’t ever hesitate to protect her. He’d relive the day he finally beat his father over and over again if it meant the safety of her. That didn’t change the fact that this move was irritating. “He’s the one who did wrong,” he grunts. “There’s no reason why we should have to be the ones running.’

”I know, Tom,” she says.

But truthfully, they had nowhere else to go.

She was 14 when she got pregnant with him and 15 when she gave birth. Her parents had already told her that she was forbidden from seeing and being with Danny, considering that he’d been 21 when they met. They didn’t find the age difference to be appropriate, and rightfully so. They’d gotten into an hour-long screaming match about it when they found out how old he was.

“There is absolutely no need for a man that old to be with you! How did you even meet him?” Her mother shouted. “What kind of creep that old tries to get with a girl who has just started high school?”

“You and Dad have the same age difference, so what does it matter?” She argued back. “Danny loves me, and you guys should be happy for me!”

”The difference is that your mother and I were both adults when we met!” Her father said back to her. “You are way too young to know what loving someone like that even means.”

She had been grounded for three months after that. After school, she was meant to march straight back home, and she could forget about hanging out with her friends, using the family computer, or using the family phone to speak with anyone. Of course, she’d also been forbidden from seeing Danny ever again.

That didn’t stop her, however. All that resulted from the grounding and forbiddance was her skipping out of class to meet her precious Daniel at the park. They’d make plans for her to sneak out of her window so he could drive them back to his apartment, where she would spend the night.

She wishes she could have seen it back then. It wasn’t at all acceptable for a twenty-one-year-old man who had graduated college and had a full-time job to be picking up his juvenile girlfriend. What adult dates someone who has to sneak out of their parent’s house? Not a normal one, that’s for fucking sure.

She’d spend the nights in his home, drinking each and every beer that he’d handed to her until she was just the slightest bit tipsy, giggling at everything he’d said.

“I’m gonna marry you one day, you know that?” He’d teased her one night as they lay on the couch together. He was on top of her, slotted right between her legs as his hands gripped at her uncovered thighs. The second she stepped into the apartment, he’d taken off her clothes and tossed one of his own t-shirts on him, just to remind her exactly who she belonged to.

She giggled as she felt his lips pressing against the skin of her neck, groaning as he began to suck on her pulse point. “Danny,” she whined. “Nothing visible. My parents could see it,” she reminded him, but she made no discernible efforts to push him away or stop him. She never did.

And it madehim smirk against her skin. He liked the amount of control he had over her and liked that she was willing to listen to him only. She didn’t seem to care about what her parents thought, and she was more than willing to defy them just so that she could be with him. His teeth grazed against her before he bit down, causing her to gasp. A chuckle slipped from his lips as she cried out for him again.

He felt no guilt whatsoever for any of his actions, and when she had gotten into his car with tears streaming down her face as she broke the news to him that she was pregnant, it was as if everything had fallen into place for him. He finally had found the opportunity to keep her with him forever.

“We’ll figure this out, baby,” he promised her as she cried in his arms. His hand trailed down to the top of her stomach. “I promise I’ll be with you every step of the way…” He looked deep into her eyes before kissing her. “I love you.”

“You do?” She wondered, wide, teary eyes looking right back at him. “I love you too.” She kisses him back, clinging onto him for dear life.

“My girl,” he thinks as his kisses grow hungrier. “All wrapped around my finger.”

She breaks the news to her parents the following day.

When they found out that not only had she gone against their wishes but also ended up pregnant without much of a plan, they kicked her out. Not only had they been furious with her, but they had also feared what their small community would think of them as parents.

”How did they not know?” “Where were they?” “Did they even pay attention to their child? How could this have happened?”

The whispers around town had spread far and fast. She had to drop out of school once she’d started to show, and as she began to work at the local grocery store, she could see the parents of her former classmates make eyes at her, full of either pity or disgust.

She moved in with Danny. It’s not like she would have anywhere else to go. Her parents had disowned her after all. He was happy to have her around. It meant he got to come home to the mother of his child and a warm, home-cooked meal. He would spend all of his time with her rubbing at the baby bump and feeling the kicks beneath his hands, and though she’d been sad that her parents had been so cruel to her, he made their life feel like a fairytale.

Just before Tommy was born, Danny bought a house for the three of them to share, and it made her hopeful that things would get better. This feeling of hope only increased when the two had married only a year after their son was born, the second she’d turned 16.

But then things started to change. She had to quit her job to take care of Tommy; she couldn’t just leave him home alone, and they had moved so far from Danny’s parents, so they had no one to babysit. They sure as hell couldn’t ask her parents to help out either.

Being a stay-at-home mother meant there was only one income to contribute to the household. Bills got harder to pay, and the grocery prices had increased. On top of all that, Tommy was quite the fussy and busy child.

To cope with it all, Danny began to drink more than he usually did, and one night, when he’d gotten home after a long day at work, he reached into the fridge and cracked open a beer. He grew angry after finding the lack of a hot meal on the stove. The sound of his son crying rang throughout the house, and his wife was nowhere to be seen.

He called out her name, and she rushed out of the bathroom. “Hey, babe,” she greeted, exhaustion written all over her face. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get started on dinner soon. Tommy has just been so fussy today, and he still needs a bath, and I haven’t had the chance to clean the house or—“

She was cut off by the sudden feeling of stinging on her right cheek. Her ear rang as she stumbled back a bit, trying to process what had just happened. It hurt; why did it hurt? What’s going on? Tears welled up in her eyes as she was finally able to move her head again, looking back at her husband. “Danny, what—?”

”I spend all day at work to provide for us,” he growls. “And all you have to do is take care of the goddamn kid and make some fucking food, and you can’t even do that fucking much?” He exclaims. “Fucking grow up. You have a loving husband who provides for you and takes care of you. The least you could do is repay him by having some goddamn food on the table!”

She’s stunned, unable to move. Had he really hit her? What was he even saying? What happened to the sweet, doting man she’d fallen in love with? Where was he?

Without another word, she moved to make dinner, and once he was done, she flinched as Danny wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she continued to flinch whenever he moved near her.

The morning after, he had gotten down on his knees and apologized to her, telling her that it would never happen again. “I was just having a hard day, baby,” he said. “You know I would never hurt you on purpose. It was an accident. I love you; you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he cried out. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t take away my son. I love you; I won’t ever do it again.”

She wished she hadn’t believed him. The first time is never the only time; it’s never the last, but what choice did she have? Who did she have? Her parents kicked her out, and she didn’t have any friends. All she had was Danny and her son; she couldn’t lose all she had.

Since then, she hadn’t spoken with her parents, and she refused to. There was no way in hell that she would let such cruel people near her son, especially considering what he’s had to witness the past seventeen years of his life. If she’d gone running back into their arms now, she knew all she would get was a lecture about how they were right, and she was wrong. She swore she could hear their voices in her head. “How could you let him do that to your son? You’re a horrible mother for keeping our grandchild in that situation!”

What they needed was to completely disconnect themselves from their old life.

“But let’s try to make the best of this, alright? We’re in a new place with new people. There’s a whole new culture for us to explore, and everyone out here loves soccer,” she says, trying her best to cheer him up. She knows her efforts are likely to be futile. “Though, they’ll probably punch you if you call it that over here. It’s football.”

Tommy doesn’t respond. His eyes just continue to stare at the raindrops. In his head, they’re racing each other. It’s the only thing that he can find entertaining right now. He’s silent for the rest of the bumpy car ride, and before he knows it, they’re pulling into the driveway of their new home.

He steps out of the car and looks up at the building. It’s a semi-detached house made of old red brick. It’s a stark contrast to their home back in Indiana—a completely detached house made of white siding and a large front and back yard. He’s unsure if he even has a front yard here, and there’s no way the backyard could be much bigger.

“Tommy, come help me with our stuff,” his mother calls out to him.

He turns around to find her struggling with the luggage and sighs before walking over to her, taking them from her hands. “Mom, I told you to let me handle all the bags and stuff,” he says softly. “I can lift all this stuff. You’ve been driving and taking care of everything else. Just relax.” He may be a grump, but that wouldn’t stop him from being a good son.

With soft eyes, his mother watches as Tommy takes the bags from her hands, along with the keys to the house, and walks up the sidewalk. He pushes the key inside the keyhole, and before they know it, they’re on their way to settling into their new life—a safer life.

Meanwhile, the man next door—tall (an understatement) and well built (another understatement), blonde with dark brown eyes that cut right through whoever he’s looking at—watches from his window. He’d never taken an interest in his neighbors beforehand. As long as they didn’t make too much noise or cause any trouble, he felt no need to pay them any attention, but as he gazes through the glass panes at the woman who seemed to be struggling to reach into the boot of the car and pull out even more heavy luggage, he can’t help but to move his feet right out the door.

She jumps at his voice. “Need help, miss?” He grunts, looking down at her.

She pulls herself out of the trunk, and her neck cranes as she looks up at him. Her eyes flicker all around his face, over every scar that seemed to be present before they finally settle on his eyes. “Yeah, if you could,” she finally manages to stutter out, in awe of the absolute giant in front of her. A handsome giant at that. With a smile and an outstretched hand, she introduces herself by name.

“Simon,” he tells her, voice low and raspy. He then begins to reach into the trunk, and he easily pulls out the luggage. He pretends to not notice the way she gawks at his large arms. “I live righ’ next door,” he says. “Not the house attached to yours, but the other one.”

The woman looks over to where he seems to motion. The house on her right side looks exactly the same; it is just attached to a different unit. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she tells him. “I’m not from around here, so it’ll be nice to get to know everyone around here.”

Simon’s interest piques at this statement. “Can tell from the accent,” he says. “S’why move ‘ere? Much nicer places in the country to be.” Was that rude of him to say?

”Well,” she says. “Just… Trying to get a fresh start. Manchester was in the budget.” A small chuckle leaves her lips. “This place just seemed like it would be a good change of pace for my son and I.”

Her son—right. The young man that Simon had seen briefly. He glances down at the woman’s left hand and sees the absence of a ring, nothing to indicate that she was legally tied down to anyone. Then, he glances back at the house. The door is still open. “Righ’,” he says. “Jus’you and your son then?” He asks.

She knows exactly what he’s hinting at, and a tight-lipped smile pulls at her lips as she nods in response. “Yeah, the father’s not in the picture anymore,” she tells him. “Good riddance.”

Simon chuckles. “Well, seems like it’s his loss, aye?”

Before she can respond, the sound of a cleared throat pulls them out of the conversation. When they look over to see where the noise is coming from, they see Tommy standing in front of them, clearly apathetic to the fact that he’s just interrupted whatever conversation they were engaging in.

“Tommy, honey,” his mother says with a smile. She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, bringing him closer. “This is our new neighbor, Simon.”

It’s a bit awkward now, isn’t it? Simon knows exactly what this looks like to her son, and while he did find the lady attractive, very attractive, in fact, he didn’t know her. It’s not like he’d make moves so early on. Hell, he didn’t know the last time he’d made moves on someone in general. Nonetheless, he tries to push past all that as he holds his hand out for Tommy to shake. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he says. “Just helping ‘er out with the bags. Looked like she was having some trouble.”

Tommy eyes the man in front of him. He sees the rugged exterior, the short, grown-out buzz cut, the tattoos, and the scarring across his face and body. Though he’d always been taught to never judge a book by its cover, it’s not as easy as it sounds. When he sees this Simon character, he can only think that he’d be trouble. This man shouldn’t be anywhere near his mom, and he’d be damned if he would let it happen.

So, he says, “Right,” without shaking his hand, not caring that he’d be scolded by his mother about it later. He puts his hands to use by grabbing more of the bags instead. “Well, bye,” he plainly says before walking back towards the house.

His mother frowns and gives Simon an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about him. He’s not very thrilled about moving out here.”

As Simon watches Tommy drag his feet against the sidewalk, lifting the bags with ease, he can sense something more from him—something familiar. “‘S’all righ’,” he excuses. “I’m sure ‘e’ll come ‘round in time. Don’t know much about kids or teenagers, but I know they can’t always be the easiest. ‘E seems like a good kid, though.”

The woman has a look of melancholy on her face when she looks over at her son, but the way she speaks seems to be filled with fondness. “Yeah, he’s the greatest,” she tells Simon. “Best kid I could have ever asked for.”

She feels a sense of shame and embarrassment. Even after everything Tommy had been through, he’d managed to be such a good kid; he didn’t seem to hold any resentment and anger towards her, and she never understood why. She knew that the second Danny had laid his hands on her son, she should have gotten them out of there, but she didn’t, and there’s never a day that goes by where she doesn’t wish she’d done things differently. With every glimpse of her son, she regrets not being more assertive. Instead, he’d been the reason they were able to leave.

Before she can spiral even further, she turns back to Simon, who has taken the rest of the bags out of the trunk. “Well, thanks,” she says. “Tommy and I will get the rest of them. Obviously, he’s not too keen on meeting new people right now, so…”

Simon nods. “Yeah, I get tha’,” he says earnestly. “He’s probably just tired; try not to give him too much shite for it, yeah?” He chuckles. “Jet lag and all...”

It makes her giggle, and she gives his hand another shake, saying goodbye before Simon retreats back into his house, thinking about the lovely new neighbor and her son. It wasn’t like him to be so forward and outgoing. He was the coldest grump around. Sure, he’d talked to his neighbors before; he wasn’t wholly reclusive. Mrs. Davies, the quaint old lady who lived in the unit connected to his, often needed help with her groceries, and he was always happy to provide assistance, but this was different. This was a woman near his age, with whom he found himself completely enamored. There’s something familiar about her, and he can’t quite place his finger on it; it's the same thing with the kid. There was something about the family of two. ‘

Meanwhile, the woman begins to drag some of the bags inside. Once she’s in, she places a hand on her cocked hip and looks at her son with a look of annoyance. “That was rude, Tommy,” she states. “We’re new to the neighborhood. We should be making a good impression.”

“Mom, can we not talk about this right now?” He sighs out. “Let’s just get our bags inside and start unpacking—“

”No, Thomas,” she protests. “I know that you are upset with me and the fact that we have to move away from home, but it wasn’t safe for us there anymore. All I’m trying to do is protect us—“

”I’m not mad about the move, Mom!” He argues back. “I’m not mad at you at all, but…” He huffs. “I get that you’re my mother, and I know that you feel like you have to protect me extra now to make up for all of those years, but I want to protect you, too,” he confesses.

His mother frowns, eyes full of sorrow. It hurt to hear how much he felt the need to do such a thing. She knew that, in reality, Tommy had lost a lot of his childhood, being hellbent on finding a way to kick his father to the curb. She knew that he was tormented by what had happened. She would never be able to even begin scratching the surface of what life was like for him growing up.

“Tommy,” she sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder. As she looks up at him, her eyes dart over every aspect of his face. She runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve done plenty of protecting,” she tells him. “If it weren’t for you, we’d still be there with him, and I will never forgive myself for not fighting back the second that he touched you.” Her thumb brushes over a deep crater on the side of his head. The image of a large, black boot against his youthful skin flashes through her mind. “But it’s not your job, and it’s never been your job to protect you. It’s the other way around, okay? Just let me do this.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches as he feels his mother’s hand on his scar. His head shakes in response. “I will never stop protecting you, Mom,” he tells her. “And I just… The neighbor—I saw the way you looked at him, and I just—“

”I get it, Tommy,” she interrupts. “I wouldn’t ever make a decision like that without considering you. No man or woman will ever step into my life like that without your approval.” She brings him into his arms, and his large frame has to hunch over just to hug her back. “He’s just the new neighbor. Nothing more.”

Tommy nods. He wasn’t ever much of a hugger, not since he’d turned twelve. Once he’d gotten old enough to understand the dynamic of his mother and father’s relationship, she’d made an apparent effort to keep him at a distance. She’d hoped that keeping him far away would mean that Danny would leave him alone, and it had worked. He kept the promise to his mother that he wouldn’t ever step in ever again, not until he was strong enough to kick his father’s ass, of course. As a result, his father hasn’t laid a hand on him ever again since that fateful day.

Still, it was hard. It was hard to know exactly what his mother was going through. It was even more challenging to stay silent in fear of not knowing what the result would be if things had been reported. Not being able to comfort his mother at all was a challenging task. It had also been hard to wake up with nightmares every night and crave the warm, comforting touch of his mom.

Because of all this, hugs weren’t his forte. They felt awkward rather than comforting now, and even after years of therapy, he still didn’t know how to process comfort or any emotions other than anger, but he had to admit, this hug made him feel safe again. Maybe it was just the first step to healing what his previous therapist had called his “inner child.” Whatever it was—he liked it.

He’s the first to pull back. “Gotta go get the rest of the bags,” he grunts, moving towards the door.

”Tom,” his mother calls out, causing him to stop and look back at her. “Thank you… I love you, baby.”

Tommy gives her a tightlipped smile. “Love you too, Mom,” he says before walking back out the door.

So this would be the beginning of their new lives. Tommy, his mother, and the mysterious neighbor next door. As his mother stands in the house, the sound of the sprinkling rain and the calls of blackbirds seem to drown everything else out. All she can hope for is that she’s made the right decision.

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