Jirachi's Twin Bonus Stories (btyu and others ♥)

Memories of Home [Incomplete]

Note: This story was left incomplete several years ago, and I did not feel right about completing it. Instead, the story ends abruptly, with a summarized ending to make up for what's missing.

WARNING: child abuse, alcohol, violence, bullying

He was standing in a dark, familiar room that reeked of alcohol. His nose wrinkled at the scent, making him stumble backwards in the dark. Almost instantly his foot landed on the curved surface of a glass bottle, and he nearly tripped as it rolled away from his foot.

In the other room, he heard a sudden voice.

"Oi, you brat. You betta' be cleanin' up tha' mess right now," she threatened, "Otherwise, y' know what'll happen when your dad gets 'ome."

It was a woman's voice. Sharp, hostile, and thickly Galarian—he realized it was her. His stepmother.

"Sorry ma'am," he responded, shocked when his voice came out young and dry.

When he'd spoken, it reminded him of when he was a kid. Young, frail, underfed and terrified for his life—the memories were all coming back to him.

He started picking up the bottles on the ground. Behind him, the sound of a doorknob clicking open suddenly sped up his heartrate. His movements became frantic and clumsy as he tried carrying the bottles into the kitchen, but in his fear, he slipped and dropped all of them. When he reached back down to grab them again, his eyes landed on his reflection in the glass.

Bede was six years old, his eyes hopeless, and his hair an overgrown rat's nest. There was a bruise on his cheek, and cuts on the tips of his fingers from picking up shards of glass. He was also horribly skinny—reminiscent of a stray cat.

Why am I back here? he wondered, terrified as heavy footsteps entered the hallway, I don't want to remember this again—

"Is that you, Bede?"

His skin went cold.

"I thought I told you to clean this mess before I got home."

Bede's father was standing in the doorway. From the height of his six-year-old self, the sight of his father was terrifyingly intimidating. A sudden waft of vomit and alcohol attacked Bede's nose as the man stumbled into the room and tossed his briefcase into the far corner.

Bede didn't move. His father leered down at him, wordlessly observing the mess of bottles all around the floor.

He was very tall—at least 187 centimeters. His eyes were a dark shade of aqua, reminiscent of Bede's own eyes. His father's hair was brown, short and curly, slightly askew from after-work drinking, and his skin was pale from a lack of sun. They resembled each other very closely.

"I saw your mum on the way home," his father mulled, smiling eerily as he removed his suitcoat, "I reckon she was scared of me. Turned tail and scampered away when our eyes met." he kneeled low to stare into Bede's eyes, "Didn't even bother askin' about you. I reckon the tramp never loved you anyway. She dumped you here, after all."

Bede swallowed hard, turning away carefully to grab a nearby broom. Though he hadn't finished cleaning up before his father came home, he still decided to try and complete his remaining work.

"Tryin' to avoid me, I see," he grunted, taking a seat on a nearby couch, "Yr' jus' like yr' mum. Cowardly, timid, brainless... guess she jus' didn't want to take a burden like you with 'er."

A few bottles clanked as he swept them into the dustpan.

"Hey kid," his father suddenly squatted down to Bede's level, eyes wide and bloodshot with a mix of malice and alcohol, "Jus' gonna silently take it again, eh?"