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( circa age 8; tw for abuse and violence )
He didn’t mean to see it. He didn’t want to see it.
It didn’t make sense to him. Marko had always been nice to him; he was never a father (could never be- he’d had a dad, and that didn’t go well at all), but he was nice all the same. He’d treated Charles well, and how he could do that to his own son, to the son he raised was —-
“What did you see?!”
His head snapped around when Cain spoke. The boy was not much older than him- only a handful of months, rally- but there was an angry look in his eye that held more fury than any child should have.
“I saw—”
He didn’t even have time to finish speaking before Cain was lashing out, striking him like he’d no doubt learned from his father only moments before.
“It’s your fault!” he hissed. “I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!”
There was another blow with each screech. Charles said nothing; did nothing. What could he do? It was the truth.