Carmen Sandiego Oneshots

❤️Jeantonio❤️

(Have some fluff/angst jeantonio yall)

-dream sequence-

Jean POV

I was back in this nightmare. It was the exact same room. Same pealing wallpaper. You could barely call it a bedroom. I doubt it was actually fit for humans. It was barely a bed. Just bed sheets piled onto a few wooden posts with a sack for a pillow. At the time I couldn't have been older than twelve. The walls were practically paper thin so I could hear my father coming. Huge, loud, thumping noises making their way up to my bedroom. The door burst open. I can remember the exact words we said to each other before I was beaten within an inch of my life. As clear as the morning sun.
"Père. Nous saluons le retour. Comment était le travail alors?"
"Voulez-vous me dire ce que cette chose fétide est Jean?" He held up my oldest diary. It was chock full of my hopes, dreams and crushes of the boys I liked.
"Ceci est mon journal, pourquoi demandez-vous?"
"C'EST DÉGOÛTANT. TU ES MON FILS. MON. FILS. ET JE N'AURAIS PAS MON FILS ÊTRE UN FAG BOY. PAS DANS MON MÉNAGE!" He then took off his belt, pulled me up by my shirt collar and threw me into the floor. From there it was just me sobbing my eyes out as that man who I knew as my father beat me black and blue. It was just me begging my father to stop. That mama loved me. That it shouldn't matter if I liked guys. However, stubbornness has always run in the family. He would neither listen nor stop. I could feel every lash. Then... it stopped. He left the room. I felt relief wash over my aching body. But when I looked up he was stood over me with a knife in hand. I couldn't breathe. I started to hyperventilate. I want to live. This is wrong. Fathers don't do this. Mama? Mama? Mama? Why did you have to love him? MAMA WHERE ARE YOU?
-end of dream sequence-
I awoke with a gasp. It couldn't have been more than four in the morning. I was hyperventilating hard. I couldn't breathe. I needed to escape. I reached over to turn on the lamp. Very quietly beside me, I hear,
"Amor?"
I turn and see Antonio in pyjamas. I saw a look of worry flood his features. "Dear is something the matter? Why are you crying? Did have the nightmare of your father again?" At that point he was sat on the edge of the bed. I merely grabbed him and sobbed pathetically into his chest as he rubbed my back. I spilled my heart out to him. Every tear, every word was meant with the upmost sincerity. And he was there to listen. He rocked me back and forth slowly as I wept, humming a lullaby quietly. I began to calm down at that notion. Then there was only Antonio humming. The rocking had stopped. It was just me and him in a 5 star hotel room in Brazil.
"You want to talk about it querido?"
"That would be nice, Cher.
When I was in France with my family, my father was a despicable man. He repeatedly cheated on my mother. Frankly I feel he only saw her as a way to make ends meet. He was a struggling man. A serial abuser and adulterer. Fidelity and love was an unknown concept to him. My mother actually loved him despite him burning and cutting her. She was my closest friend back home. She helped me tons when she could. I was the main target of my father. I liked boys. My father thought that he could beat the gay out of me. Or slice it."
I took of the vest I wore to reveal the scars and burn marks of my father.
"Eso es todo. Voy a matarlo. Voy a matar a ese bastardo. NINGÚN HOMBRE HARÁ ESTO A MI JEAN Y VIVIRÁ PARA VER MAÑANA." He screamed. Thank god for the soundproof suite. "Toni. It's fine. Really. He can't hurt me now. He's in France with a whore in the slums and I'm in Brazil in a fancy hotel suite with a super hot boyfriend. Besides, it's pathetic that I'm still not over it yet."
"Jean." He takes my hand into his and lifts my tear stained face to look at him "Abuse will take time to heal. Maybe not all of your wounds will heal entirely. You're not pathetic for needing to heal. You're actually braver than you know mi corazón. You are a survivor. Live to spread peace, love, compassion and awareness to others who lived through terror and walked out bruised but alive. Just to know, you are not pathetic, you are strong. You are not worthless, you are worthy. You may think otherwise but I don't see why. My love I love you for every limb, scar and mark you have and own. It doesn't matter what some old abuser thinks. I think you're beautiful and lovely just as you are. I think.." he came in close "you're pretty great, le Chevre." He sealed us together with a kiss. Soft, and gentle. Seemingly endless and truly wonderful.
I love him.
I love him so much.
Even if my father doesn't love me, one man will.
That is all that matters to me.