"Stop crying, or I'll GIVE you something to cry about."
"Better listen to your mother. You want her slappin' sense into you again, boy? You don't have a reason to cry! You have everything any family would want.
A roof above your head, food. Shelter! Plus, me and your mother are still together. Not to mention, you have your sister, too."
The young boy, no older than ten, was on his knees near the corner of the living room. He listened to his parents' words, his eyes stinging with tears. From as long as he could remember, his parents were incredibly strict. Enough to the point of physical and mental abuse.
He and his twin sister never had a shot of a great childhood. A normal childhood. He recalled his parents mentioning they never wanted kids in the first place and that they were accidents. Accidents.
Whenever he and Mabel went out to play, they were told to 'calm down' and 'stop being so damn annoying'. If one of them tried defending themselves, it would earn them the belt. At least thirty whips on the backside, and, sometimes the face. They were rarely allowed time outside, instead spending their time inside studying, reading, looking over the Word of God.
Forced to dress in a very specific way, they couldn't express themselves through clothing. Prim and proper, all the time. Their hair had to be combed and brushed (more than once each day) to near perfection. Teeth brushed and flossed three times daily. Never were allowed to speak to their parents unless spoken to first.
They were home schooled since the age of four. Their parents were "Christians" and attempted to keep their "unruly" children under control at all times.
It didn't come as a surprise that their son came home crying. He cried a lot, though he didn't mean to. He managed to sneak out earlier and ran into an older boy. The older boy noticed his unusual constellation shaped birthmark and immediately began poking fun at him. He even shoved him into the dirt, ruining his shirt in the process.
"There's a reason he made fun of you, child. That ridiculous marking on your forehead! You didn't even have to mention your god-awful name for him to laugh at you."
How he HATED his name. Hated himself. Hated his sadistic parents. His hands balled into fists, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't speak; he simply continued listening to them while they insulted him.
"You'll never be perfect if you keep bawling like some baby. Dry it up, son. You wanna be perfect, don't you?"
"Give it up, dear. He's never gonna be a perfect child. Him or Mabel. We've done all we could do. Perhaps, we should punish 'em more."
He choked out, vision beginning to blur. His parents simply ignored it. His mother reached down and grabbed his arm firmly, her gaze hard and cold.
"A disobedient child needs to be punished. Haven't we told you never to leave the house? Never to cry? Crying is a sign of weakness. You're a failure, my boy. If you ever wanna get far in life, you're gonna need to shove aside your petty feelings."
He cried out as he was hit repeatedly, over and over. The beatings usually lasted for an hour. His father tended to watch, sometimes he joined in. It was his mother who tended to give him punishments and his father who tended to Mabel's punishments. They figured that'd be fair enough.
Eventually, the beatings and scoldings died down. Dipper's vision was still blurry, and when his mother dropped him, he slowly faded into unconsciousness with his mother's words in mind.
