{Cary}

Cary was carrying the baby and she was cold. He couldn't find her blankets—he looked for them everywhere, hurrying. Jesus was after them. Cary was terrified and desperate with hope at the same time. Jesus was going to rip his heart out. He hoped he would have enough breath left to see his sister alive in Jesus' arms again before the end.

He jerked awake at a 'tap' on his door. His room was light—it was morning. His mother slipped into his room.

"Cary? Are you awake?"

He pushed sleep and the nightmare away with effort, sitting up. "Yuh. You can turn on the light."

She was wearing her Sunday clothes and holding Liam in her arms. "Is he home?" Cary said.

She nodded. "In the conservatory. I think he was up all night."

Cary registered the rise and fall of piano music coming from the downstairs. He shoved his blankets back. "Okay, I'm up."

Beverly looked at him strangely. "Do you always sleep in your clothes?"

Cary took Liam out of her arms without answering. His heart thudded in his chest at the feel of Liam's soft weight. "He's growing."

She smiled. "Don't drop him." He shot her a look and she held up a hand. "Just teasing." She set the diaper bag on his desk. "There's a bottle and diapers in there. He just woke up, so he'll need to eat in a few minutes."

Cary held Liam tightly. "Okay." He tried on one of Jon's reassuring smiles. "See you in a bit."

She threw a smile over her shoulder as she left. She was right, he could hardly see the bruise.

He left the door open a crack behind her. If it was shut, his father would push it open to see what he was trying to hide. Laying the baby on his bed, he dug in the diaper bag to mix a bottle. His hands shook. He clenched them against his chest and closed his eyes.

I don't want to hurt him. Please please let him not be hurt.

He didn't know who he thought he was talking to. The man with the scars was in his mind, holding the baby girl. Jesus would know how to do this. Cary took a breath, made the bottle, and cradled Liam to feed him.

Liam was still hungry when the bottle was empty. He fussed, gumming his fist. When he lost it, he waved his fists and fussed louder. Cary walked his brother around his room, rubbing his back and jiggling him up and down. He even tried singing what he could remember of 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.' That made Liam start to cry for real.

There was no more formula in the bag. He checked the nursery—there was nothing there. Liam was red-faced from crying, burrowing against Cary's shoulder.

Cary swore softly. The can of formula was downstairs in the kitchen cupboard. He touched Liam's head, stroking his dark, silky hair. "Okay, we'll get some more. Don't cry. Please don't cry."

He rooted around in Liam's crib and found a soother. Liam sucked it hard, sniffling quietly in the hallway and down the stairs. Cary got a breath into his tight chest.

The sound of the piano was loud on the main floor, crashing around the high ceilings. The baby startled and started to cry again before they made it to the kitchen. Cary worked as fast as he could with Liam in his arms, trying to measure formula into the bottle with one hand. He was making a mess, but that didn't matter right now. His ears were full of the din of Liam's cries; he didn't hear the piano stop.

He put the bottle in Liam's mouth and the cries cut out. Instant relief.

*Trigger warning lovelies, scroll for a brief summary.*

When he turned, Conall was in the kitchen with him. His father's eyes were bloodshot and his hair was wildly disheveled. Cary bumped back against the counter, getting a better grip on his brother.

"What are you doing with him?" Conall asked.

"He's just hungry Father. I made him a—"

The blow snapped Cary's head to one side.

"What are you doing with your hands on my son?" Conall was right in front of him, huge and crackling with anger. "Give him here."

Cary tasted blood. There was no way out. "No. Not when you're like this."

Conall hit him again. Cary twisted, sheltering Liam with his shoulder. Conall grabbed a barstool and swung it, dropping Cary to his knees. Cary turtled up with Liam under his body. The bottle skidded away, spattering formula on the floor.

Cary held Liam tight but he couldn't keep Liam's head from knocking against the floor with every blow. His teeth locked around a scream: Liam was going to be smashed. They both were.

Conall grabbed Cary by the hair and dragged him out from under the counter. His father twisted his fingers tighter and flipped Cary onto his back. Cary's eyes watered and Liam spilled out of his arms. Conall dragged Cary away from the baby and threw him through the doors into the dining room. For a second, Cary thought his father forgot about the baby screaming bloody murder on the floor. He fought free of the dining room chairs to get back in the kitchen with Liam.

But Conall didn't come after him. Instead, he gathered Liam into his arms and fished for the bottle on the floor by the fridge. Liam refused to take it, twisting his head and yelling.

Cary's breath went in like a knife and he bent until his forehead almost touched the floor, spitting blood.

Conall burst through the swinging doors. "What did you do to him?"

Cary lifted his head. Conall was jiggling Liam up and down to try to soothe him. "He's afraid." His voice cracked. "Father, please don't hurt him."

Conall snapped his black glare to Cary. "You hurt him. You're everything that's wrong with this family. I want you out of my house. If I have to abide your presence one more minute, I'll be sick with it."

Liam finally latched onto the bottle, his tiny body still shuddering with sobs as he ate. Conall turned his face away from Cary, watching his baby son intently.

Cary was frozen. Wasn't his father right? Wasn't Liam safer without him there making his father angry? He got up and staggered out of the dining room, falling against the wall in the hall. Shit, something was broken. The blood was drumming in his ears so loudly he couldn't think. His mother had left him to take care of Liam; he couldn't go. He needed to stay close even if all he could do was get in the way of Conall's anger until it beat him into the ground.

*Trigger end: Cary's father, Conall, hit him to try to get the baby out of Cary's arms. Cary tries to shelter his brother with his own body. When Liam finally spills out of his arms, his father scoops the baby up but Liam is too frightened now to latch onto the bottle. Conall says to Cary: "You hurt him. You're everything that's wrong with this family. I want you out of the house."*

Cary went to the basement. The door at the top of the stairs was closest to the kitchen and within earshot of Conall's study. He slid inside and dropped onto the top step. It was dark and cool. He rested his head on his arms.

///

He heard his parents fighting as if it were a long way away. His father was shouting; his words were clear through the door: "How could you leave the baby with him? Did you forget what he is? He can never, never be trusted with Liam." He couldn't hear his mother.

Conall's voice broke and got quiet. "Look at him, Bev. He has bruises. I can't..." The next words were indistinct. "I want better for Liam. Don't you?"

Cary wrapped his arms over his head. Then his father was in the hall, standing directly behind Cary on the other side of the door. Conall's words went off like shots fired through a silencer. "Deal with your son. I'm finished with him. If I see him again, I'll kill him."

Not breathing, Cary pressed his face into his knees. His father's footsteps went past him and up the stairs. Cary's lungs cried for air, but he wanted them to stop. He wanted to reach into his chest and just stop everything.

"Cary?" His mother called softly.

Breath sobbed in his chest. Reaching behind, he opened the basement door a crack. She stepped inside and shut the door on them both. He could feel her looking down on his bent head.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Cary whispered.

She snapped on the light. "Look at me."

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face to her. The smell of her Sunday perfume wafted toward him as she crouched. Her fingers were cool against the heat of his cheek where his father had struck him. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

She was crying. At least, tears were sliding down her cheeks and dripping off the edge of her jaw. The rest of her face stayed still and lovely as a china doll's. "Do you have someplace to go?" she asked. "You can't stay here tonight."

He couldn't look at her again. She was making a choice; he got that. He had to make his own choice not to care. It took a minute to bury everything under stone. "The youth shelter will take me. If I'm kicked out."

She was silent beside him--he knew what she was thinking.

"I'll tell them I got in a fight at school."

Her cool voice filled in the rest. "I'll tell them you were scaring us. That you left bruises on your baby brother."

His drawn breath stabbed him. "Please don't tell them that," he whispered.

"Every lie needs a little truth," she said.

He covered his eyes. She ran a hand over his back and his skin shuddered all over. "Go wait in the car, I'll pack you a bag."

He waited until she was gone to pull himself to his feet. He moved slowly down the hall, listening and hanging onto the wall. He got his jacket from the bench in the boot room and checked the pockets for his smokes, his knife, his drawing pencils, and his phone. He put the jacket on. It felt heavy.

They were silent on the drive to the shelter in old downtown. Beverly pulled into the bus lane to drop him off in front of the yellow-brick building. She didn't look at him or speak. Cary braced a hand on the glove compartment, getting ready to get out without giving away what it cost him. "You'll be okay?" he asked.

"Of course." There was nothing real about the smile she put on. He looked at her from under his eyebrows and they both knew she was lying. She lifted her hands and let the smile drop off her face. "I think your father is right. You bring out the worst in him. I was never afraid before you... before."

She drew in her breath and shut her eyes. "I want that back," she said, so softly it was almost lost in the sound of passing traffic.

Cary ducked his head and opened his door. Beverly caught his wrist, her fingers wrapping around his scar. "Ciaran."

He looked back, his arm tensed to pull away.

"Be good. Be safe. Call me when you can." Her voice almost disappeared.

He couldn't say any of the things that were in him to say. He got out of her car and walked away without looking back.