Send me “black bird” for a darker memory of my muse’s past

"Dante!" He’s screamed so many times that he can barely hear the rasp of his own voice. His throat hurts; he doesn’t think Dante can hear him, either. And the man hitting Dante—it wouldn’t make a difference if he heard Elia’s shouting one way or the other.    

Scarcely five years old and shaking down in his bones, Elia shoves at Dante’s shoulders. His brother has Elia pressed to the wall, almost crushing him, while the man that smells like sweat and beer and dirt swears and hits Dante over and over again. Elia can feel the force of the blows, muffled as if by a shield. Which is exactly what Dante is trying to be even as his face twists in determination and pain.

"Stop," Elia begs, pulling his brother’s shirt until Dante looks at him. "He’s gonna kill you—move!" Terrified and desperate and sick of seeing his brother beaten, Elia digs his shoulder into Dante’s collar and shoves against him as hard as he can. Trying to get him him to move, to get out of the way—to let Elia at least take some of the beating. Wouldn’t that be better? Dante is bigger than him, though, several years older, and Elia is trapped with the wall at his back and the dirt of his brother’s shirt on his cheek. 

A whimper escapes Dante. Elia starts to cry.

His brother looks up and the bruises on his cheeks soften as he smiles. “It’s going to be alright,” he says. Elia pulls on his shirt harder and Dante kisses the younger boy’s forehead. “It’s alright.”

Then Dante collapses on top of him. Elia shouts without actual words or intention as his brother’s weight drags them, together, down onto the alley floor. The big man scoffs, he spits on the ground just beside them, and puts one more kick in Dante’s ribs. Elia feels his brother grunt and clutches his shirt more tightly.

"Damn brats—that’ll teach ya ‘bout pickpocketing." Elia can only see the sky over Dante’s shoulder—up between the walls of the alley, the city, until those both disappear and there’s just the black sky dotted by stars. He stares at them, chest heaving; he makes wishes, mouthing them while his tears drip down past his ears to knot and tangle his hair, until the footsteps are gone. Until he and Dante are alone. 

With all the strength he has Elia pushes Dante onto his back. He’s heavy, dead weight and Elia shakes his shoulder hard.

"Dante—Dante he’s gone." Nothing except his head rolling so that Elia can see more bruises starting to form along the back of his brother’s neck. "Come on, get up." He’s not moving. A lot like how Mama didn’t move anymore. Panic rises with more, hot tears and Elia pounds his fists that aren’t big enough on Dante’s chest. “Dante!”

Finally—finally Dante moves. He groans quietly, just before his eyes open, and he looks at Elia who is still crying, though his lips are pressed tightly together. He smiles again; that’s when Elia finally feels like it’s okay to bury his face in Dante’s shirt. 

"I told you it would be alright." Dante rubs the back of Elia’s head while he sobs under the stars that granted, tonight, at least one of his wishes tonight.

red-as-fire

☼ - If you’d like our characters to be friends.

>>This is definitely possible~ We can definitely try. ;u;

✿ - If you want to try a romantic relationship with my character.

Meme

┃ ┄    J U D A S    ┄ ┃

     Closing the door to the bathroom, Aki stripped herself of her Exorcist jacket. She was coated in a nice layer of sweat from her practice today. It also drained her of her energy. Yawning, Aki grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it open.

Kanda continued to ignore the footsteps, which seemed to get closer and closer to his stall, until someone yanked the shower curtain to his stall open. He glanced behind him, seeing an unfamiliar girl, and he narrowed his eyes.