Home (Part 4)

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America, England, and Sealand x Abused!Child!Reader

“Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard me just fine,” said the man. “I’m here to take _____ back with me.”

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed, and he placed his hand on _____. He could feel her shaking under his fingertips. He pushed her further behind him. “I don’t think so.”

The man raised an eyebrow, but after a moment longer, he turned and walked away. He stopped when he was halfway across the yard, and looked back at Arthur. “I’m getting her back,” he said matter-of-factly. “Just wait and see.”

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A deafening silence enveloped the house. The two birthday-kids opened their gifts, but neither showed any cheer. Peter and Alfred sat close to _____, and _____ was shaking a majority of the time.

“Alright, you two,” Alfred said, setting down a cake in front of the children, trying his best to sound cheerful. “Make a wish.”

The two held hands as they slowly closed their eyes, as if saying a prayer, then blew out the candles on the cake.

The sun had just begun to set when another knock came at the door. Once again, Arthur opened the door––only to have a man in a police uniform turn him around and bring his arms together behind him.

“What the hell’s going on?!” said Alfred upon entering the foyer.

“Where is ____ ____?” said the female officer who had just stepped inside.

Both brothers remained quiet. Alfred held his hand behind his back, holding out his index and middle fingers. He moved his hand back and forth slightly, signaling Peter and _____ to stay back. “Who wants to know?” he said, an edge in his voice.

Before he could react, the female officer took hold of both of Alfred’s arms and twisted them behind his back, slamming him into the wall. He grunted as his body hit the wall, but he opened his eyes and shouted, “Peter! Get her out of here!”

The young boy took _____’s hand and ran through the two police officers and out the door. They had just covered the yard when a pair of hands grabbed hold of the two children.

“I don’t think so!” hissed a familiar voice. The man from earlier, who had claimed to be _____’s father, pulled the two away and took up _____, holding her tightly in his arms. “_____! Are you alright?!”

“_____!” Peter rushed toward the man and reached for _____, but he was only kicked back to the ground.

“Officers!” called _____’s father as he made his way into the house. “I have her!” He looked at the two young men held against the wall, an angry smirk threatening to show. “I’m dropping the charges, but I’m filing a restraining order. If you get anywhere near my daughter again,”––he brought his face close to Arthur’s––“you will suffer.” He turned and calmly walked out of the house to the patrol cars outside, the officers soon following.

“_____!” Peter chased after the cars, running as fast as he could down the road. His legs carried him as far as they could until they tired out––then he sped off again with a quick burst of energy. “_____!”

He gradually slowed to a halt about twenty blocks away from his house. He panted heavily, staring at the seemingly endless road. The sun was almost completely consumed by the horizon, and as he stared down the road, it vanished.

Hot tears pricked the young boy’s eyes, which soon gave way to soft sobs. His weakened knees gave out, and he collapsed to the ground. There, in the middle of the road in the slowly darkening sky, he cried. Tears streamed down his face and fell to the asphalt below him, and his breath was loud and shaky. He looked up in the direction the patrol cars had gone, and fresh tears spilled from his eyes.

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Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking, and a small bead of sweat rolled down the side of her head. She clenched her fists in an attempt to calm herself, to force her heart to stop pounding in her chest. She eyed only the bottle in his hand as it was lifted from the table and tilted almost completely upside down so that its contents spilled into his mouth. He set the bottle back on the table beside him, letting out a loud grunt. Suddenly, his eyes moved in their sockets to examine the girl nearby. She stiffened, her body freezing like a deer in headlights.

He stood from his seat and approached her slowly, as if to taunt her. He stood directly in front of her, swaying a bit every now and again, smelling like booze. His frame was enormous compared to hers, and she could have sworn she felt herself shrinking under his glazed stare.

Without warning, he lifted his hand and smacked her across the face, sending her to the floor a few feet away. She curled up her body and held the sore area. She shut her eyes, holding the tears in. She had learned the hard way what would happen if she cried.

He stepped next to her and leaned down. He took a handful of her hair in his fist and pulled her to his face. An odd but frightening smirk appeared on his lips. “I’m glad you’re finally home, _____.”

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“Damn it!” Alfred slammed his fist on the wall, ignoring the pain in his hand afterward. “Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it. . . !”

The dirty-blonde glared at the floor, not daring to look at either of his brothers. Peter was huddled in a corner of the couch, his knees to his chest and face downcast, still sobbing. Alfred finally looked at his older brother, who was sitting calmly on the couch with his hands on his knees, a deep frown on his face.

A pang of anger rose in Alfred’s chest, and he opened his mouth to shout at Arthur, but he immediately closed it as the anger was quickly replaced with pain and confusion. He looked back down at the floor, and muttered, tormented, “W-What’re we gonna do. . . ?”

Arthur looked at him, the scowl still stretched across his lips. He straightened his back, making him look more authoritative, and said unwaveringly, “We’re going to get her back.”