(no subject)
Title: Return to Innocence
Fandom: Oz
Author:
dustandroses
Beta:
ozsaur, my hero and shit
Character: Ryan O'Reily
Rating: PG13
Summary: Ryan doesn’t ever remember being innocent.
Warnings: Talk of past child abuse.
Spoilers: None - Takes place Pre-Canon.
Word Count: 651 words
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Prompt Notes: Written for
tamingthemuse prompt #277: Innocence
Author’s Notes: A pre-canon character study, and an extremely rare (for me, anyway) gen fic. Originally posted on November 11, 2011.
Return to Innocence
Ryan doesn’t ever remember being innocent. There must have been days, back when he was a child, when he’d felt free from fear and pain, naïve and harmless and unharmed. But if there were, it was so long ago that even the thought of them seemed foreign. Seamus put an end to innocence the first time he hit a child too young to understand that parents shouldn’t hurt their children - shouldn’t shout at them and call them hateful names simply because their own life was hell and somebody had to take the blame.
Ryan remembers dreaming. He dreamed of a life like he saw on TV, with a mother that wasn’t worn down from her own failed dreams, beaten into submission and drowning her miseries the only way she knew how, in a bottle. He remembers praying at night that when he woke up, he’d be in another house, with a mother who loved her children and took such good care of them, and would never let anyone hurt them, not even their father.
But every morning when he woke up, he was in the same rundown apartment in a bad neighborhood, he and Cyril tiptoeing past their parent’s bedroom, because they knew how angry Dad got when he had a hangover. It was hard enough playing keep away with Social Services as it was - the last thing they needed was a fresh black eye, or welts on their legs and back, or a broken bone to explain away to their teachers or the school nurse. It’s not like the nurse ever believed their stories, anyway, but there was nothing Dad hated more than meddlesome fucking case-workers, sticking their noses in where they didn’t belong.
So they told her stories of gangs chasing them down, and being attacked by wild dogs, and once Ryan almost told her he was kidnapped by aliens, but he thought that might be going too far, so he said he was mugged by a homeless guy on his way home from school, instead. The nurse merely bandaged their cuts and put ointment on their welts and shook her head before sending them back to class, ‘cause she knew the score. Nobody cared. Not even God listened to little boys with dreams of a better life. His priests sent him right back to his father with warnings to stop his lying and be a good boy, or he’d go to hell. He just laughed, ‘cause he was already there.
It didn’t get any easier when Ryan got old enough to join a gang. There were good things about belonging to a group that he knew would always have his back, a place he could belong and feel safe - at least until he went home at night. But gangs brought their own fears, ‘cause he had to prove he was tough enough, and brave enough, and at the same time, he had to be careful, because if he ended up in juvie, who would take care of Cyril? It was easier once Cyril was old enough to join the gang. By then, Cyril was a damn good fighter and Ryan had a rep as a dealer and a schemer. With Cyril at his back, Ryan ran the Bridget Street Gang more efficiently and more ruthlessly than most companies on Wall Street could claim.
Then Ryan screwed it all up. Fucking around with an old ex at some wiseguy’s funeral, and getting caught. Cyril had his back, just like always. Then everything went to hell, and Cyril got brain-damaged. There was no denying it was all Ryan’s fault. He could always count on Cyril to be there, but when Cyril needed him, Ryan had failed him. Now when he looked into his brother’s eyes, Ryan saw the innocence of a five year old, the innocence he never had, and he promised himself, he’d never let his brother down again.
~