#tw mutilation

When I was 14 or 15, I met my first ever non-blood brother. He was younger than me, and small for his age. Smaller than even me. He'd never really had enough food. i don't know if he would have been bigger had he eaten well, but I think he would have been shorter than me anyway.

I'd just left behind a huge family, and basically landed myself in a trafficking ring. I was relying on nothing but sheer willpower and luck to not die. I was in no way ready to take on this other child, but he was smaller than me, and I'd had little siblings before, so I couldn't help myself. We would share our little food, I taught him to siphon as well as steal if it meant he got fed right. Where fruit was easiest to snatch and what places were close enough to our errands to not draw suspicion.

Finally around the same time, both of us had gotten enough nutrition to get back some semblance of a period cycle. For him, it was his first. I got him pads, coached him through it, and myself too, for it had been a year and the materials were different to the cloth I was used too.

I told him my dreams of getting out one day, and he told me I could do it. He was younger than me but braver, with a conviction that i couldn't match. But when next to him in the covers, I began to believe. I would go to the west. To a university where they all spoke english- for that was my only knowledge of their languages. I would study and I would stay there and he would come with me.

I practiced english with him. I picked it up fast and i could see the pleased gleam in his eye when he stopped understanding what I was saying.

We saved up together, hiding the money in a plastic pack of pads, where the others wouldn't think to look. Soon we would have enough to bribe our way into a private room, and a private outside job. We got closer.

He told me he had lived close by, in the days when he was a girl. I told him that made sense. I'd run across the country in a panic to escape my family, but realistically no one would actually be looking for us. There had been no reason to run as far as I did. He laughed at me, and told me he was just a village or town north.

I'd love to tell you that he lives in the room next to me, now that I have my own room. But he was 14 when he died.

We'd been going out more often, on the brink of that relative freedom of a private room and a private job. We had been exploring the place where we would one day be able to roam freely. He should have run further. A town was not enough, and one day his older 'brother' caught him. He did not deserve that title, I was more his brother than that monster ever was. I wasn't around, but I did find my brother's body. Broken and naked, with the marks of a killing on his chest.

Honor killings aren't absurd, or even unheard of in my country. Especially not in these areas. But usually they are condemned. Often some piece of shit newspaper in our oh so progressive capital gets a new story, a new lobby to remind the government that marginalised people exist and deserve existence. Or if its the other side of the newspaper, maybe some drivel about how life under the russians was better and this is all the fault of muslims.

It wasn't care, but it was something. My brother got none of it. We have some 'WOMEN's stuff lil bro' as you said. For survivors of honor killings, or their family. In fact, Tajikistan is in many ways a progressive country. We have a whole system in place. They give you support if you survive, or a good burial if you don't. These women's charities, partnerships between the UN and the government. They give you a burial.

They did not give my brother one.

The money we had saved for first 2 months rent went to a bribe for his place in the earth and a stone marker. That was all I could give the 14 year old boy with a wide grin and a stupid haircut he let me test out on him.

but newborn hands were so small, wrinkled, and curled tightly most of the time that it was impossible to tell anything clearly.

so he convinced himself he was overthinking. until nearly three weeks later.

the apartment had finally fallen quiet for once after an exhausting night of nonstop crying, and pale morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains while you slept curled up on the couch.

completely worn out from barely getting rest the past several days.

the television played softly in the background with the volume low enough to barely hear, while rudo rested against alto’s chest wrapped loosely in a blanket.

for once, the baby was calm.

tiny sleepy breaths fanned softly against alto’s shirt while one of his impossibly small hands rested outside the blanket near his chest.

alto looked down absentmindedly at first.

then froze.

his heartbeat stopped for half a second.

slowly, carefully, he lifted rudo’s tiny hand into his own larger one, staring silently at the little fingers curled weakly around his thumb.

there it was. the same deformities running along the fingers, the same mutilation.

for a long moment, alto just stared. completely silent.

his chest tightened strangely, emotions tangling together so badly he could barely sort through them properly.

guilt hit first. sharp and immediate. because despite never wanting to admit it, some small part of him had hoped rudo would be spared from it entirely.

that he would never have to deal with the staring.

the judgment. the isolation. the ugly feeling of noticing people look at your hands before they look at your face.

alto’s grip softened immediately as if he was afraid holding too tightly would somehow hurt him.

rudo shifted sleepily against his chest, tiny fingers twitching slightly in his hand.

and suddenly something inside alto cracked apart completely. because his son was beautiful.

there was not a single part of him alto could bring himself to see as ruined. not even this. especially not this.

his throat tightened painfully while staring down at the tiny hand in his own, the similarities between them almost overwhelming now that he saw them clearly. rudo’s fingers were so small compared to his, so delicate and soft, yet the resemblance was undeniable.

it was him. his son carried a piece of him physically now. and strangely enough, that realization hurt far less than he thought it would.

you stirred quietly on the couch nearby, blinking awake slowly before immediately noticing the strange look on alto’s face.

“…alto?”

he did not answer right away.

instead, he gently lifted rudo’s hand slightly toward you without taking his eyes off the baby.

you sat up slowly, exhaustion still heavy in your expression before your eyes lowered toward rudo’s fingers.

silence filled the room for a few seconds, not tense silence, just quiet realization. alto finally laughed softly under his breath, though it sounded shaky around the edges.

“guess he really is mine, huh.”

your expression softened instantly hearing that tone in his voice.

because underneath the weak joke, you could hear the fear he had been carrying for weeks without saying anything.

carefully, you moved closer until your shoulder rested against his. “you worried about this?” you asked quietly.

alto looked away immediately. which was answer enough. his jaw tightened slightly while his thumb gently brushed across rudo’s tiny fingers again.

“…i know what people say,” he muttered eventually. “about stuff like this.”

you frowned softly. “alto—”

“i just…” he exhaled quietly, struggling to explain himself properly. “i didn’t want him growing up dealing with the same crap.”

his voice sounded rougher now. more vulnerable than usual.

“people stare,” he continued quietly. “they always stare first before they even know you. and kids are cruel sometimes. i know how that feels.”

your eyes softened immediately hearing the honesty in his voice. because alto rarely talked about things like this directly.

instead of answering immediately, you gently reached over and took rudo’s tiny hand yourself before intertwining your finger carefully around his.

“then it’s a good thing he has you,” you whispered.

alto blinked.

“because if anyone understands what he’ll go through someday, it’s his father.”

silence settled heavily after that. alto looked back down at rudo again. the baby was still sleeping peacefully through the entire conversation, completely unaware of the emotions overwhelming his parents while his tiny hand rested safely between both of theirs.

then slowly, almost unconsciously, alto leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against rudo’s fingers.

love.

protection.

“…nobody’s gonna make him feel ashamed of this,” alto murmured quietly, almost like a promise to himself more than anyone else. “i won’t let them.”

but he ever realized how quickly seven months could pass until he looked down one morning and noticed rudo no longer fit properly against his chest the way he used to.

the tiny newborn who once slept silently through entire afternoons wrapped carefully in blankets had grown into a curious, clingy baby with chubby cheeks, restless hands, and wide dark eyes that followed both of you everywhere constantly.

rudo wanted attention every second now, babbling loudly whenever either of you left the room for too long, grabbing onto hair and clothes with tiny mutilated fingers that had only become more noticeable as he grew older.

alto secretly loved every second of it.

even the exhausting parts.

especially the exhausting parts.

because somehow the sleepless nights, spit-up stained shirts, random crying fits at impossible hours, and constant clutter scattered around the apartment all became things alto quietly treasured without admitting it aloud.

the apartment itself had changed completely since rudo’s birth.

there were bottles drying near the sink constantly now, little blankets draped over the couch, toys abandoned in random places after failed attempts to organize them properly.

soft baby laughter replaced silence most days, and the once empty feeling the apartment used to carry had disappeared entirely beneath warmth and noise and life.

sometimes alto would stop in the middle of doing something simple just to watch rudo exist.

watch the way the baby kicked excitedly during feedings, watch his tiny hands reach desperately toward your faces, watch him smile the second either parent walked into view like nothing in the world made him happier.

those moments hurt more than they should have lately.

because the longer alto stayed, the harder leaving eventually became.

and deep down, he already knew someday he might have to.

rudo sat between both of you one evening on the living room floor surrounded by stuffed animals while rain tapped quietly against the apartment windows.

he could sit up mostly on his own now, though every few seconds he still tipped sideways dramatically before either of you caught him.

right now, he sat proudly clutching one of alto’s fingers in both tiny hands while chewing aggressively on a teething toy.

“he’s staring at you again,” you murmured softly.

alto glanced down immediately.

rudo was indeed staring directly at him with huge fascinated eyes while still chewing mindlessly.

“…what?” alto muttered toward the baby.

rudo squealed happily in response.

you laughed quietly. “he loves you.”

the words should not have hurt. but they did. because rudo did love him.

and every single day, alto felt more terrified of eventually becoming something that could destroy that trust.

the condition tied to his bloodline had worsened badly over the past several months, though he hid the severity of it as best as he could.

he had become good at hiding pain long before you met him. good at swallowing down groans when his joints felt like they were tearing themselves apart beneath his skin.

good at pretending exhaustion was normal.

good at acting unaffected whenever the deterioration spreading through his body became unbearable enough to make his hands shake violently.

but hiding things from you had started becoming harder. especially because you noticed everything.

you noticed the way he occasionally froze while holding rudo too long because pain suddenly shot through his arms.

noticed the increasingly dark circles beneath his eyes from sleepless nights spent silently enduring pain attacks alone in the bathroom. noticed how often he stared blankly at his own hands now whenever he thought nobody was looking.

and worst of all— you noticed how distant his expression sometimes became while watching rudo.

not emotionally distant. almost the opposite.

like he was trying too hard to memorize every little thing.

one night, you woke up quietly around three in the morning only to realize the other side of the bed was empty.

immediately, unease settled heavily in your chest.

you found alto sitting alone in the dark living room with rudo asleep against his chest.

the television played silently without volume.

and alto looked exhausted. completely exhausted.

his head leaned back against the couch while one arm wrapped protectively around the sleeping baby, fingers lightly rubbing small circles against rudo’s back absentmindedly.

for a moment, you just stood there watching them. the sight was painfully soft.

rudo’s tiny face rested against alto’s chest peacefully, little fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt while soft sleepy breaths rose and fell steadily.

alto looked at him like he was the most precious thing in existence. and maybe he was.

“…you should be sleeping,” you whispered softly.

alto looked over immediately, expression softening the second he saw you.

“woke him up by accident.”

his voice sounded rough.

tired.

you walked over carefully before sitting beside him on the couch, eyes immediately lowering toward the tension visible in his shoulders.

“you’re in pain again.”

alto exhaled quietly through his nose. “…it’ll pass.”

another lie.

you were starting to hate how often he said that now. silence settled between both of you while rain continued tapping quietly outside.

rudo shifted slightly in his sleep before making a tiny sleepy noise against alto’s chest. instantly, alto’s entire expression softened again.

his hand moved carefully to support the baby’s head without even thinking about it.

and suddenly something painful tightened in your chest because despite how exhausted and sick he looked lately, alto still held rudo like the baby was the only thing keeping him together.

your voice came out quieter this time. “…you scare me lately.”

alto froze slightly. then looked away. which already told you enough.

“don’t,” he muttered softly.

“don’t what?”

“look at me like that.”

your chest ached hearing the exhaustion in his voice. “then stop shutting me out.”

silence. long silence. finally, alto lowered his gaze toward rudo again instead of answering directly.

“…if something happened to me,” he said quietly, almost carefully, “you’d take care of him, right?”

your stomach dropped instantly.

“alto.”

“i’m serious.”

“why would you even say that?”

his jaw tightened.

because he could not tell you the truth. could not explain the terrifying reality slowly growing heavier inside his head every day.

that he already knew this condition would eventually destroy him. that every story connected to his bloodline ended badly. that he was becoming increasingly terrified of losing control around the people he loved most.

sometimes the pain already became so unbearable it blurred his thoughts completely.

what happened if one day it became worse? what happened if rudo saw that? what happened if rudo got hurt because alto stayed too long?

the fear ate at him constantly now.

and slowly, the idea of leaving had stopped feeling impossible. he hated himself for it. god, he hated himself.

because sitting here now with his son asleep safely against his chest and you beside him on the couch felt like the only real happiness he had ever known.

but love did not erase fear. and fear was beginning to win.

“…nothings gonna happen to you,” you whispered shakily. alto did not answer. because deep down, he no longer believed that himself.

instead, he carefully adjusted rudo higher against his chest before lowering his head slightly until his lips brushed softly against the baby’s hair.

his eyes closed for a brief moment. almost like he was trying desperately to memorize this exact feeling before it disappeared someday.

alto thought leaving alone would have been easier.

it would have hurt less.

it would have been kinder.

but the moment he looked at rudo sleeping quietly in his crib that night, tiny chest rising and falling peacefully beneath soft blankets while those freshly bandaged little arms rested near his face, alto realized he could not leave his son behind.

not yet.

because the curse running through the surebrec bloodline was already inside rudo too.

he had seen the signs since birth. the mutilation on the baby’s fingers. the strange reactions in his body.

and after what alto had done earlier that evening — mutilating rudo’s arms in a desperate attempt to suppress and seal away the curse before it could fully awaken someday — there was no longer any time left to hesitate.

if he stayed on the ground much longer, he would break down. and he could already feel it happening.

his body hurt constantly now, pain twisting violently through his bones and nerves until some nights he genuinely could not think clearly anymore. worse than the pain itself were the moments where rage and instability surged through him so suddenly it terrified him afterward.

he was becoming dangerous. and rudo could never stay near that. which was why regto had agreed to help.

regto understood the surebrec bloodline better than anyone else left. he understood the curse, the deterioration, and the horrifying fate waiting at the end of it. more importantly, he understood what alto was trying to do for his son.

the gloves were already prepared. they would ease the pain in rudo’s arms. they would help contain what the mutilation had sealed away.

they would give the boy a chance at surviving a future alto himself no longer believed he could reach. and that meant alto had to disappear completely afterward, even if it destroyed him.

rain poured violently against the apartment windows that night while dim lights cast soft shadows across the small living room.

the apartment still smelled faintly like warm milk and baby powder, little signs of rudo scattered everywhere — blankets tossed over the couch, tiny clothes folded messily near the laundry basket, toys abandoned on the floor from earlier.

it looked painfully normal. like a family home. like somewhere alto should have stayed forever.

you were asleep when he first lifted rudo from the crib. or at least, he thought you were.

the baby stirred weakly the moment alto carefully pulled him into his arms, tiny face scrunching sleepily while little fingers instinctively grabbed onto the front of alto’s shirt.

rudo made a soft noise before settling almost immediately against his father’s chest, comforted by familiar warmth.

alto’s throat tightened painfully.

his son was only a year old. still so small, still trusting him completely.

carefully, alto adjusted the blanket around rudo’s bandaged arms before holding him closer, pressing one trembling kiss against the baby’s forehead while guilt nearly suffocated him alive.

“…i’m sorry,” he whispered shakily.

the words were not enough. they would never be enough. because no matter how desperately he convinced himself this was for rudo’s future, he was still about to rip that child away from his mother forever.

the floor creaked softly behind him. alto froze instantly.

“…where are you going?” your voice came out sleepy at first, just confused.

but the second you sat up properly and saw the bag near the door and rudo in alto’s arms, confusion immediately turned into horror.

“…alto?”

he could not look at you. not yet.

because he already knew if he saw your face too soon, he would never leave.

you pushed yourself off the bed quickly, panic flooding your expression as realization settled into your chest piece by piece.

“…no.”

silence.

“no,” you repeated louder now, voice cracking violently while moving toward him. “alto, what are you doing?”

rudo stirred slightly from the tension in the room, sleepy eyes blinking open weakly before immediately relaxing again once he recognized your voices nearby.

completely unaware his entire life was about to change forever. alto forced himself to speak quietly.

“…i can’t stay anymore.”

your face crumpled instantly.

“then don’t!” tears immediately filled your eyes. “we’ll figure something out together!”

“there’s no time.”

“stop saying that!”

you reached toward rudo instinctively, but alto stepped back before you could take him. the movement stunned you completely. for a second, you simply stared at him in disbelief.

“…give me my son.”

the sentence nearly shattered him where he stood.

my son. not ours.

because suddenly, painfully, alto realized you already saw him differently now. like someone taking your child away. and maybe he was.

rudo whimpered softly hearing your raised voice, tiny hands grabbing weakly at alto’s shirt while little tears started forming in his sleepy eyes.

instantly, alto held him closer protectively. “don’t make this harder.”

“harder?!” your voice broke completely now. “you’re leaving!”

“I’m protecting him!”

“by stealing him from me?!”

the raw devastation in your voice nearly destroyed what little resolve he had left. because you were right. god, you were right.

he was taking your baby away in the middle of the night after mutilating his tiny arms hours earlier in a desperate attempt to save his life.

nothing about this felt merciful. nothing about this felt fair.

but alto could already feel the curse destroying him faster now. he was running out of time.

your body shook violently from crying while you stared desperately at rudo reaching weakly toward you from alto’s arms.

“please,” you whispered brokenly. “alto, please don’t do this.”

his chest physically hurt hearing that. because he remembered every promise he ever made to you.

every quiet vow whispered late at night while rudo slept between you both. every exhausted smile shared during sleepless nights with the baby. every promise about raising him together.

and now he was breaking every single one.

rudo suddenly started crying harder from the tension, tiny body squirming weakly while soft frightened sobs filled the apartment.

you reached for him again instinctively. this time, your voice shattered completely. “please just let me hold him.”

alto froze. then slowly, painfully slowly, stepped forward enough for you to touch rudo’s face.

your hands trembled violently against his tiny cheeks while tears streamed endlessly down your face. rudo immediately calmed slightly hearing your voice close again.

and seeing that nearly broke alto apart completely.

because rudo loved you so much already. he knew your voice. your touch. your warmth. and now alto was about to take all of that away from him too.

you looked up at alto through tears.

“…what happened to your promises?”

his breathing became uneven instantly. because there was no answer. no excuse good enough.

only the horrifying truth that love alone could not stop the surebrec curse from consuming him eventually.

“…if i stay,” he whispered hoarsely, “i’ll break down.”

“i don’t care!”

“i do.”

you shook your head desperately. “then let us come with you!” for one horrible second, alto almost gave in.

almost dropped the bag. almost stayed.

because standing here holding his crying son while you begged him not to leave felt like someone tearing his heart apart with their bare hands. but then pain twisted violently through his body again hard enough to make his vision blur.

and reality returned immediately. he would not survive this. worse— he might become dangerous before the end.

rudo deserved better than watching his father deteriorate into something monstrous.

your sobs grew louder when alto stepped backward again toward the door. “…alto please.”

god. that voice would haunt him forever. he looked at you one final time then. really looked.

at the tears pouring endlessly down your face. at the desperation in your expression. at your trembling hands still reaching weakly toward rudo.

and suddenly alto realized this was the cruelest thing he had ever done to another person.

even knowing it was necessary did not make it hurt less.

carefully, he lowered his head and pressed one lingering kiss against rudo’s forehead. then another against the baby’s tiny bandaged arms.

his lips trembled slightly against the fabric.

“…i love you,” he whispered to his son.

then he looked at you one final time. and the devastation in his eyes somehow hurt even worse than your own.

“…i’m sorry.”

and then he left.

the apartment door slammed shut behind him while your broken sob echoed through the room loudly enough to follow him down the hallway.

alto nearly stopped right there. nearly turned around.

but rudo shifted weakly against his chest, tiny hands clutching onto him trustingly despite the crying.

and alto forced himself to keep walking.

rain poured heavily outside as he disappeared into the night carrying his son tightly against him, while your sobs slowly faded farther and farther behind him until there was nothing left except silence and guilt swallowing him whole.

hours later, regto opened the door quietly to find alto standing there completely soaked from rain, exhausted beyond recognition, with rudo asleep weakly against his chest.

for several long seconds, nobody spoke. then regto’s eyes lowered toward the baby’s tiny bandaged arms. understanding immediately filled his expression.

“…you did it.”

alto looked away. his voice sounded empty now. “…take care of him.”

carefully, reluctantly, he placed rudo into regto’s arms.

the baby stirred softly at the unfamiliar movement before beginning to fuss weakly, tiny fingers reaching instinctively back toward alto without understanding why he was suddenly farther away.

that nearly destroyed him completely. regto noticed immediately.

“…you could still stay.”

alto shook his head slowly. “if i do, he dies with me.”

silence.

rudo started crying softly now, searching blindly for the warmth that had held him all night. alto physically stepped backward hearing it. because if he stayed another second longer, he would grab his son and never let go again.

his throat tightened violently. “…the gloves,” he muttered quietly. “they’ll help with the pain.”

regto nodded once. then softly, “what about his mother?”

that question hurt most of all.

because somewhere back at the apartment, you were probably still crying. still waiting hopelessly for the sound of the door opening again. still reaching for a baby suddenly gone from your arms.

alto closed his eyes hard. then turned away before he completely broke apart. and without another word— he disappeared into the rain.

leaving behind the only family he had ever loved enough to destroy himself for.

meanwhile after sunrise came, you still found yourself staring hopelessly at the apartment door.

waiting for alto to come home even when deep down you already knew he never would.

Dean’s toothy grin was unnerving, even to Castiel, who had seen all number of disturbing things, including Dean torturing souls in hell.

“Rattle those chains all you want, Cas,” Dean sneered, “I’m not going to release you”

Castiel continued to pull at his handcuffs, ignoring Dean’s comment. The metal rubbed against the thin fur of his wrists and cut into his skin. Castiel’s already half-bare wings weren’t faring much better, clamped shut and strung up at an uncomfortable angle by their own bindings. Even if he weren’t bound by supernatural handcuffs, in his weakened state, Castiel may not have been able to break out of his restraints. He was no better than an ordinary cat at this point.

“Dean, you can still be saved. Let us finish—"

“Did you ever consider that I may not want to be saved,” Dean interrupted. “What if I like being a demon? What if I enjoy the power, the freedom?”

“This is the Mark talking. You don’t really want that, I know you, Dean,” professed Castiel.

Dean circled around Castiel to face him. “How do you know that? How can you be sure that I don’t want this, Cas?” Dean shouted as his eyes flashed inky black.

Castiel fell silent. He turned his gaze toward Sam, who lay unconscious in the corner of the dungeon, a syringe of human blood held limply in his paw. Sam had been overpowered by his brother before Castiel had arrived. If Dean had really wanted to hurt his brother, he could have killed him by now.

“I don’t believe you really intend to hurt us, to hurt me,” finally replied Castiel, as he stared up into Dean’s eyes defiantly.

“You think I’m not going to hurt you? I’m a demon! You’re an angel! Albeit a sorry excuse for one,” Dean snarled, pressing in toward Castiel, intensifying their eye contact for what felt like ages.

The large German Shepherd pulled back with a curt exhale from his glistening nose, drawing the First Blade from where it was stashed on his belt.

“Sammy, Crowley, Dad, you… You all think you know what I want, what’s best for me,” Dean proclaimed as he paced back behind Castiel. “I can finally escape all of this, live my life for me.”

The rune-engraved manacle around Castiel’s right wing was unlocked. The chain rattled as its tension was released and the manacle swung freely, replaced by the firm grip of Dean’s paw on the angel’s tattered wing.

Castiel followed Dean’s movement with his eyes, turning his head to keep his old friend in his field of view.

“Why are you even here? Don’t you have angel business to attend to?” Dean asked coyly, grazing his tongue across his blade. “You don’t really care what happens to me, I was just a ‘human in your charge’, well now I’m not even human.”

“I am here because I do care, Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“Hah! We’ll see about that!” Dean laughed as he brought the blade down on the shoulder of Castiel’s wing.

The sound of tearing muscle and separating bone was inaudible beneath Castiel’s screams. The First Blade, though effective at killing anything its edge met, was not the sharpest cutting implement, making it all the better as an instrument of torture. Castiel’s eyes glowed electric blue, his back arched away from the blade as Dean cut, he continued screaming as the first wing fell to the ground.

The light that hung from the dungeon ceiling burst, raining sparks down around them. All light in the room was now that which Castiel emitted.

Dean continued to cut, moving on to the left wing. “Do you really care about me? I’m a monster, Cas! And I always have been. I hurt everyone around me," Dean yelled. The light was reflecting off of Dean's blackened eyes.

The blade cut through the last of the flesh connecting Castiel's wing to his back.

"Everyone I love…"

Castiel slumped into Dean, the loose wing still hanging by the chain that bound it, as his wrists were released from the cuffs.

"I'm so sorry, Cas. So, so sorry," Dean whimpered as the blackness of his eyes faded. He brought them both to the floor.

Catching his breath, Castiel muttered weakly, "like you said, I wasn't much of an angel anyway."

Bonus colorless: