Shinso and Erasermic Family Oneshots

The Scars That Break Our Souls Finale

Tw: oh god, where do I start... Suicide, descriptive abuse, mildly descriptive pimping out (pedophilia), underage smoking, describing the afterlife in a morbid way, hospital stuff

It was dark. It was so overwhelmingly dark. Hitoshi felt as if the black void was drowning him with slimy tendrils and thick blankets of nothingness. He thrashed around, desperate to break free from the ebony sheets that swarmed him. He scrambled away from the emptiness, his dull, lavender eyes shimmering with terror. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be dead, not trying to escape a horrible monster hidden within the curtains of charcoal. He searched for any sign of help, but there was nothing. He could feel the tendrils snaking around his ankle, triggering him to leap to his feet and run.

"Help!" He yelled out, but his plea was absorbed by the inky shadow of misery. He didn't know what he was hoping to find, but he kept running. He ran until he was certain that he'd escaped from the beast. He fell to his knees, gasping for air desperately. He flinched at the sight of a flicker. He looked in the direction it came from, and watched as it blinked again. He crawled towards it, his limbs begging for him to stop, but his mind begging for him to get to the light.

"Please, please…" he pleaded. He could feel tears of relief glide down his pale cheeks when the light grew. It continued to swell, and Hitoshi watched as it became almost screen-like. He scooted away, only a few inches. He stared at the screen with bewilderment, reaching out. He grazed a single fingertip across it. As if his touch were the play button, the screen began to play something. Hitoshi stared at the baby shown on the screen. He took in its crying face and watery, purple eyes, staring at its wispy, lilac hair.

"That's me… maybe I am dead." He grinned. His gaze hardened when he saw his mother hold the baby. He could tell she was not happy about his arrival into the world. Figures. He thought. There his sweet, loving father accompanying the wretched woman, smiling with unfiltered joy at Hitoshi's bundled up form, which was another unsurprising detail to Hitoshi. His father was always so kind and caring to him when he was alive. He touched the screen again. The screen showed him the scene of a broken vase on a splintered, wooden floor. He flinched at the sound of a door slamming emitted from the screen. Hitoshi knew what was being shown to him now. This was the first time his mother had hit him. The woman was ruthless, throwing the toddler into a wall. A picture frame landed on the boy's head, which only made the beginning of the abuse worse when the glass broke.

"You stupid, wreckless child!" He watched as a belt was brought into view. It could have been a gun from the way his mother held it in a vice grip. His gaze flickered to the boy, whose head was split open and bleeding from the picture frame, his small, bony frame trembling with pain and fear alike. Hitoshi didn't want to be reminded of this. He didn't want to watch all of the horrors he'd endured in his short sixteen years of life. He touched the screen again.

"Look at you, all dolled up." A man smirked. Hitoshi's limbs froze in place. No, not this. He watched with horror as the man turned to face what was a seven year old Hitoshi. Hot tears pricked the corners of his wide eyes as he observed how horribly the man's hand slapped against his face. He could still feel the slap nine years later. He felt bile climb up his throat at the sight of what his mother had forced him to wear. It was almost nothing, just a pair of skimpy panties and these little bells around his wrists and ankles. His hand flew to the screen so fast that he was surprised his fist didn't go through it. He felt more tears race to his jawline. The first time his mother pimped him out. He shuddered as sobs racked his body, looking down to escape the sights. Why was he being shown all of his torture?

"Hitoshi?" The boy's head snapped up at the sound of Mic's voice.

"Papa." His lip quivered, watching the blond hero place a hand on his fifteen year old shoulder. He wanted nothing but for his papa to hold him and tell him it would be okay. He didn't want to be dead anymore if this is what he would be put through.