Cracked Glass | AOT x Male Reader

Chapter 7 - His Knife

_-{Year 840: The Bar}-_

The moon stretched its reaches into the alley as well, littered with cigarette butts, trashed food, and people's tattered dreams. F/N found himself outside here, having followed his father to a bar, tucked away in the crevice of main street, with a chain hung sign that barely said "Smith's Pub". Despite the exterior, it was quite nice, with varnished expensive wood, and furnished with clean tables and chairs. You could smell the slimy fact that MP's used it for smuggling.

"It's no fun if the kid doesn't even fight back." The man grumbled, with yellow stained teeth, crooked and missing where some had surely fallen out or been pulled. He wore a brown uniform, with long tight boots and a crest bearing the symbol of the Military Police. The stars illuminated his greasy black hair angrily, letting his features be known even in the night. Not that it mattered of course, beside him were two others.

"Father of the year over here!" Another man sent a kick into his gut, grinding that heel in as F/N sputtered out a series of gasping coughs. "Got tired of beating your daddy and figured we'd give you a try, to rile him up." He frowned, miming sorrow with watery purple eyes, and lifted the small boy up by the scruff of his shirt. "But papa doesn't care. Don't you see?"

Though his vision was spotty, through the open pub door F/N could make out his father, downing a mug of beer and holding his head in his hand. It would've been saddening had he not frequented the establishment on the daily, for the past year. It made the boy question why he was even here, following his dad around.

The policeman let F/N drop with a thud, then crouched down so he could hear him. "You see kid, your father here is a bum. Got demoted from the guard and everything. Only thing he's got in spades is guts enough to keep borrowing money and hanging around here." He shook his head side to side contemplatively. "Suppose that's worth something I guess."

"Either way, don't turn out like him, alright? Oh, and don't, come back here." He slapped F/N's back much too hard and walked inside the pub, slamming it shut behind him and his friends.

Everywhere ached on his body, but he had heard the man's words. Covered in grime and bruises, he scooted his back up against the alley wall and brought his knees to his chest. It was the dark of night, but not too dark. If F/N had half a mind to, he'd lay back against the gravel and watch the stars. Too much effort, too much pain.

Cheery laughs echoed inside the pub, ringing in the boy's ears along with the clanking of drinks and thumps of brawling men. The man had spoke his words seriously, but F/N wasn't going to leave. He listened from his small huddled position, too tired to move, and too hurt to sleep. Wonder which one would give out first.

Neither did. Hours passed, and behind the door was a loud crash, followed by giggly laughter. Not a second later the tin handle twisted open and out came a F/N's father, blushing red drunk, and stumbling outside. His disheveled brown hair and beard were drenched. He murmured something incoherently upon seeing his son, then limped away down the alleyway reeking of spilled drinks. He made it not ten feet before collapsing.

It filled F/N with vitriolic rage, directed towards his useless father. It was his fault he was on the alley floor bruised and battered. It was his fault they were forced to live like this, impoverished. He got up, fueled by adrenaline, and kicked him in the gut. His old man winced in pain, although made no move to retaliate, and lay there asleep. That only angered F/N more, who kicked his father's cheek into the ground with his heel. Blood splattered onto the dirt, but still, the man did not wake.

"Oh ho, we got a feisty one out here boys." F/N's head snapped at the sudden voice, and his eyes filled with panic. It was the same guard that had picked him up. Now, he was holding a glass in his right hand. He was slim and tall, with lanky limbs, blonde hair, and a disturbing grin. The grin showed his straight white teeth, that looked as if someone had hand chiseled them. "No, no, don't worry. I'm sure no one would mind if you beat on him. What use is an old drunkard anyways?" He chortled.

"He's my father..." F/N croaked.

The man sighed. "Your, father, has a drinking problem. Poor sod comes back here every night, just to get pummeled. Really makes no sense." He reached into his jacket, pulling out a short blade. Then he waltzed over to F/N, spilling some wine, before setting the glass on the ground. Then he grabbed F/N's hand and wrapped each individual finger around the handle of the knife. "Put him out of his misery."

"What?"

He leaned in real close, speaking each word with emphasis. "Kill. Him. We'll get rid of it."

F/N shook his head with disgust, tossing the dagger onto the ground in front of him. "What- No, why?"

The man only shrugged. "Just look at him boy. All he does is talk about his wife, the dead one. I'm sure you know that though. It really was tragic, death during childbirth and all, but, get this, he blames you!" He snickered, and mimicked F/N's father. "'My bastard son killed my wife!'"

"He's just- just drunk." F/N replied, but wasn't quite sure himself.

The officer rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he's awfully drunk lately. Reckon more than he's sober. Either way. It's not like I'll force you." He picked up his glass, and stumbled to the door way. But with an after though, he turned back, and spoke with a deathly tone. "Oh, but one thing. You see this glass." He dropped it. "It's broken. Your dad, is like this glass, and no matter how long he lives, he will be shattered in those pieces. I've seen enough people like him to know. So take that knife. If not to kill him, then to stop him from killing you. Think of it as my gift, to you. Probably the last one you'll ever get."

Without a chance to reply, he slammed the door shut, and F/N was left alone on the street.

The boy stood there for some time, with glossed over eyes, before snatching up that once disregarded knife.