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Fire in your veins, ashes in your throat

Summary: an insight on Jay's first breakdown with his father

word count: 1047 words

Warnings: violence, blood, abuse

A/N: I had a really clear idea of how and when Jay would cross the line between protecting and getting revenge. Jay is heavily inspired on Matt Murdock (the daredevil series version), but I don't remeber exactly what moment inspired me to write this. He's sort of his family's Daredevil.

Jay Kane had always been a fighter. He knew that since the day he was born. It wasn't just about his mentality, no, it was about the weight of his last name on his hands, hands that had punched, and punched, and punched some more, fists that were stained with blood, blood that never left, no matter how much he washed it off.

It haunted him, how much he had hurt people. He still remembered the nights where his mother hid him in his closet, locking the door from the outside, nights where her cries and begs resonated in the empty apartment, nights where his fear had engraved the sounds in his memory.

When he started hitting people, he remembered, and he knew, deep down, that he wasn't so different from Javier Kane, it absolutely terrified him.

Jay Kane didn’t have a lot of fears. He was terrified of being like his father, but it wasn’t his greatest fear. He was also terrified of seeing his sisters injured, he always feared the day he wouldn’t be there to protect them.

Maybe that was his greatest fear, seeing his younger sister injured by the hands of his father. He didn’t have a favorite, but Aitana was strong, she was a fighter too, not Vivienne, he feared more the day Vivienne would get hurt.

Vivienne was a sweet kid, the sweetest. She was the better sister out of the three, the perfect one, the favorite one, the softer one, the weaker one. Everyone said she was such an easy kid for someone with autism, whatever that meant, but it just made her all the more fragile.

Vivi was only eight when she was faced with the reality of how harmful her father was, she was eight when Jay’s worst fear became a reality.

Eight wasn't much older than the moment Jocelyn had first seen his father hit his mother, or the time Aiatana had faced the screaming matches between her older sibling and the man of the house. But everyone agreed, eight was too young for Vivienne.

Any year before she was far from harm would be too young for the child to see the harsh truth.

Well, saying everyone agreed was a lie, their father didn't agree, no, he thought that no age was too young to be taught, no matter the child. If he had to hurt a daughter of his, he didn't care what age they were, they would learn, and they would learn the hard way.

The second his youngest daughter had shown signs of disrespect, or what he saw as disrespect, he decided to teach her.

Jay and Aitana reacted as soon as they heard his booming voice, one moved to step in between while the other moved to hide the smaller one. But when they met in the hallway panic washed over them like a cold shower.

It wasn't Jay who was getting screamed at, or Aitana, it was none of them who were about to take their father's anger, it was Vivienne.

On that second Jay saw red.

When he saw Javier holding his sister’s arm he didn’t think, ripping her away from his grip and pushing him back towards the table. The vases came crashing down, broken glass scattering on the floor, surprised carving itself on his father’s face.

He didn’t quite know if the noise had truly been that loud or if it just resonated in his ears. But he didn’t care, grabbing his father’s collar and screaming at him.

“You don’t get to lay a hand on her, do you hear me? Not anymore.” He snarled.

He didn’t register his father’s answer, but it was enough for him to punch the older man. And just like that, they were engaging in a fist fight.

Jay punched as hard as he could, struggling against his father, trying to overpower him. More things crashed and more furniture was hit but he didn’t care. He felt like an animal fighting for his life.

He didn't notice Aitana ushering their sister in the closet, or hear his mother shouting at him to stop. He just felt the flesh hitting his fists.

He hit harder than he ever did, harder than he beat up the guy that tried to hit on his little underage sister, or harder than that racist at school, releasing all his rage into his punches. Until the point where his father’s hands released his wrist, going limp.

And even then, he didn’t move until his sister pulled him up. He felt numb, barely focusing on the beat up face in front of him. Barely focusing on anything at all. He was breathless, rage heaving on his brain like a fog, blurring his vision, lighting up every nerve ending on his body with fire.

His blood felt like molten lava, his hands burning like coals. He could barely see the small girl standing in front of him, asking him what went through his head, or his mother checking on his unconscious father.

He had done that, he had done worse than his father. He was shaking, shaking with adrenaline and with the realisation that he and his father were... the same.

It left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, one he wanted to spit out and throw up. He may have taught his father a lesson, but he had also beaten him up the way he used to hurt him, leaving him limp and hurting. No, he had done worse. His father had never knocked him out.

He looked down, walking away and into the bathroom. He stared at the crimson staining the water, at the dark and torn spots on his knuckles, the calluses, the pain. They were proof of what he had done. He would never come back from this one, he would never be able to take it back.

He had gone too far, he had crossed the line he promised to never cross. He was sure his sisters would see him as a monster now, and his mother… They had all been terrified of him.

That day, Jay made a decision. He would never again give in to the fire in him. He would never hurt his family again. Or at least not in front of him.

I hope you liked it ;D, likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated, please do not repost without asking for permission.

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