Father, Dearest
Ok so this is a semi-new story. I'm using my OC Cecil from my @pineconepie blog, but this is more of just an AU, since on my other blog, he has no other "kids", nor a wife. Another difference is this story is set in the mid to late 1940s. Cecil will also get a bit more cruel in this story, since this is more whump-focused.
This was something I did on a whim and I want to continue it, but any anon asks, questions, comments, or reblogs would be very helpful and encouraging!
Here's a little Cecil art commission I had done, if anyone is curious what he looks like! <3
CW: Parental whumper, yandere whumper, mentions of asylums, multiple whumpers(?), implied multiple whumpees, kidnapping, drugging, implied trauma, implied mental illness, stalking, mentioned death, mild infantilization (it will get much worse), implied ableism, straight couple </3
Word count: 5k
...
Monty was pretty sure he was the unluckiest person alive.
Okay, well that was definitely an overstatement, but he truly felt like it sometimes.
He thought he was a decent person. Maybe even a good person.
So why did everything always go wrong for him?
His parents died when he was young; his mother from illness, and his father from a car accident.
After that, Monty's Aunt Agatha raised him. She was very strict and judgmental, but Monty dealt with it the best he could.
He didn't want to be a burden to his aunt. He knew she hadn't expected to have to raise a child at her age, so he never caused trouble.
Not on purpose, at least.
He always got in trouble for being different. The teachers called him disruptive when he fidgeted too much, his classmates picked on him for being so quiet and anxious, and Agatha was always frustrated with him for not understanding things. He tried to be good, but there was always something.
That was his life in a nutshell. Something was always going wrong, no matter what he did.
What was worse? He was an adult now, so he didn't even have the excuse of being a kid anymore.
Just last week, he'd tried to get a job at the newspaper. He'd thought, perhaps naively, that working with words would be a good fit for him. He liked books. He liked reading.
But the interview had been a disaster. The man interviewing him had spoken too quickly, and Monty couldn't keep up. His mind had gone blank, and he'd just sat there, stammering like an idiot while the interviewer tried not to look annoyed.
And now Monty was following his aunt around the department store, dragging his feet.
"Walk faster, Montgomery," Agatha said, not even looking back at him. "I haven't got all day to wait for you to catch up."
"I'm sorry." Monty was about to quicken his pace, when he noticed the cutest trench coat, and got distracted, as per usual.
Agatha looked back. "That's a women's coat, Montgomery."
"It's cute, though," he replied. "And the shoulders are broad."
His aunt sighed. "It's not for you. Come along."
Monty sighed to himself. "Yes, ma'am."
They continued through the store, Monty trailing a few steps behind, his gaze drifting from one display to the next.
"Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Aunt Agatha."
"I said, we need to get a tie for your cousin's wedding. I can't believe you don't have one."
"I've never really went to any event that requires a tie."
"And I suppose you're not going to many now, either, are you? You can't even hold down a job at the newspaper."
Monty's shoulders slumped. "I tried."
"I know you did, dear. But you need to try harder." She looked at him over her shoulder, her expression softening slightly. "It's just... the world isn't kind to people who are... different. You have to be tougher."
Oh, he tried. For twenty-one whole years, he tried.
He looked away, feeling tears sting his eyes.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't cry, dear. It's nothing to cry about."
But it was. To Monty, it was the biggest thing to cry about.
He'd been trying his entire life to be something he wasn't, and it was exhausting.
Agatha led him to the men's section, and Monty's eyes widened at the sheer variety of ties. There were stripes and polka dots, solids and patterns, in every color imaginable.
He felt like a kid in a candy store, and he couldn't help but reach out and touch a silk tie with a vibrant paisley design.
"That's a bit flashy, don't you think?" Agatha said, her tone disapproving.
"But it's so pretty," Monty breathed. "Like a stained glass window."
"Pick something more subtle, dear. And hurry up. We haven't got all day."
Monty sighed. "Yes, ma'am."
He scanned the rest of the ties, looking for something more subdued.
After two minutes of indecisively staring at the wide variety of ties, Agatha made a dramatic show of sighing and telling him she'd be in the kitchenware department.
He had to make a decision by himself, apparently.
The moment she left, Monty felt his heart begin to race, and he couldn't breathe right. He felt so alone in the large store. What if he made a bad decision and chose something Agatha would disapprove of?
His hand drifted to his mouth, and he began to bite his nails.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his room, with the door closed, and the curtains drawn. That was the only time he truly felt safe.
No matter where he was, he always felt a sense of impending doom. Like something terrible was about to happen.
It was an anxiety that had been with him for as long as he could remember. A constant dread that followed him everywhere he went, unrelenting.
And now he was alone in the clothing department, with no idea what to do.
"I also have a bit of an episode when faced with so many options."
Monty startled at the unfamiliar voice behind him, turning to see who spoke.
It was a tall man, at least six-foot-two, with a warm smile that reached his brown eyes. He had slightly graying brown hair, and wore a well-tailored gray pinstripe suit. A quirky tie with a pattern of little frogs on lily pads was knotted at his collar.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," Monty breathed, placing a hand over his racing heart.
The man chuckled. "My apologies. I wasn't trying to be sneaky." His eyes roamed over Monty, and Monty suddenly felt self-conscious about his appearance.
He wasn't exactly the pinnacle of fashion. He had a tattered flannel shirt that had seen better days, a pair of slacks with holes in the knees, and worn-out shoes.
This man, on the other hand, looked like he had just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
"Are you all right?" the man asked, his smile fading slightly. "You look a bit pale."
Monty took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
"I'm okay," he said. "I just get anxious easily." He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Um... I have to find a tie. For a wedding. And I don't know how to pick one." Monty blushed in embarrassment. He couldn't even choose a simple tie, like a toddler.
The man seemed amused by his confession.
"I think we have a similar sense of taste, with what you were eyeing before," the man said, his eyes drifting to the tie with the paisley design Monty was looking at earlier.
"I don't know if my aunt would like it very much, though. She told me to pick something subtle."
"Well, subtlety isn't exactly my specialty, if you can't tell from my suit," the man remarked.
Monty grinned a bit, looking at the man's attire again. "It looks really nice," he said, because it did.
The man had an air of elegance that Monty envied. Everything about him, from the way he held himself to the crisp lines of his suit, screamed confidence.
"You have a good eye. Thank you. Cecil Wallace." He extended a hand.
"Cecil Wallace? As in, the radio host?" Monty's eyes widened in disbelief.
"That's me." The man smiled again. "Have you listened to the show before?"
"Yes! I love your show! I thought your voice sounded familiar," Monty said, a little too excitedly.
He was starstruck. This was the man whose voice had been a comfort to him so many times.
Cecil wasn't like most radio hosts, or celebrities in general. He was outspoken about topics everyone else seemed scared to talk about.
It made Monty feel better, knowing at least someone in the world also felt outcast from society.
Monty had even written a letter to the show once, but he never thought he would meet the host in person, and at a department store of all places, especially one in Staten Island.
"I'm Monty," he said, shaking Cecil's extended hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Monty." He let go of Monty's hand, but not before giving it a gentle squeeze. "So," Cecil began, turning back to the ties. "Let's find you something for this wedding."
"Oh, you really don't have to," Monty insisted.
"Nonsense. I was going to pick out a tie for myself, anyway." He scanned the row of ties. "What's the dress code like?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest." Monty shrugged. "I don't know anything about weddings, or ties, or anything, really."
"Well, then." Cecil clapped his hands together. "We'll just have to play it by ear. Do you know the bride and groom's favorite colors?"
"Uh... I think the bride likes dark blue?" Monty wasn't really sure. He'd only met his cousin's fiancée once.
"That's a start," Cecil said, picking up a dark blue tie with silver swirls on it. "What do you think of this one?"
"I like it," Monty said, admiring the tie.
"Good." Cecil handed it to him. "Now, what about you? Do you have a favorite color?"
"Green. But, uh, like a mint green. Why?"
"Well, we should get something for you, too. Just for you. Not for a wedding." He then produced a tie with a delicate mint green floral pattern, and held it up to Monty's chest.
"I... I can't afford it."
"It'll be my treat," Cecil replied. "Consider it a thank-you gift. I don't get many fans in-person. You made my day a whole lot better, and I would love to do something to make yours better too."
"You would do that? But I didn't really do anything..."
"Of course you did! And I want to repay you in kind."
The offer was tempting. Monty couldn't remember the last time someone had been so kind to him. Especially someone who didn't expect anything in return.
And besides, the tie was beautiful. He couldn't resist.
"That... that sounds wonderful," he said, a blush rising to his cheeks. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome, Monty." Cecil smiled again, and this time Monty found himself smiling back.
When Monty found Agatha again, she was still in the kitchenware department. He walked over to her.
"Aunt Agatha, I'm ready."
She turned and looked at him. "About time." Then she noticed the white bag he held by the handle. "You bought it yourself?"
"Er, no. Someone bought it for me."
"A stranger bought you a tie?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes. He was just being nice." He considered telling her who bought them, but decided against it. He wanted to keep this little bit of kindness all to himself, for a while.
"Hmph. Well, let's see it."
Monty pulled out the dark blue tie.
"It's not as flashy as the other one, so that's good," Agatha said.
"He also bought me another one. Just for me." He pulled out the mint green floral tie.
"It's..." Agatha paused, her brows furrowing. "A bit... much."
"I love it," Monty said, putting the two ties back in the bag. "He has one with frogs."
"What?"
"Nevermind." Monty looked down at the floor, feeling stupid for mentioning it. "Are you ready to go?"
…
The entire drive back to his townhouse, Cecil thought about Monty.
Something about him stuck in Cecil's mind.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was so shy, or maybe it was because he seemed so young. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.
Maybe it was the way Monty spoke, with such hesitation, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Or maybe it was the way he looked, with his messy black hair and big doe-eyes.
Or maybe it was how innocent he seemed, how he was so quick to trust a strange man buying him ties in a department store.
Whatever it was, Cecil knew one thing:
He needed to see Monty again.
When he arrived home, his wife greeted him. She always looked gorgeous, but today she wore a form-fitting satin red dress, and her hair was perfectly curled.
Marcella wrapped her arms around Cecil, and planted a kiss on his lips.
"Hello, love," Cecil said, resting his hands on Marcella's waist. "You look amazing." He kissed her again.
She returned his embrace eagerly, leaning into him. After they parted, she kept her arms around his neck.
"How was work?" Marcella asked.
"Good," Cecil answered. "I met a fan."
"Did you now?" Marcella raised an eyebrow.
"Yep." He nodded, smiling. "He's a sweet boy. Reminds me a bit of an abandoned puppy."
"You're always such a softie, Cecil," Marcella teased. "Don't tell me you want to adopt another one."
"I just have a soft spot for strays," he chuckled.
"So I've noticed. Let me know in advance if I need to get the vacation home ready."
"You're the best, darling."
…
After that day, a little less than a week ago, Monty listened to the radio more intensely.
Cecil's show was always a comfort to him. But now, it was different. Now he could put a face and a personality to the voice.
He could imagine Cecil in his fancy suits, with his quirky ties and his warm smile. It made the show feel more personal.
And even if Cecil would never meet or speak to him again, he could pretend, for a moment, that the host was talking just to him, in that charming and slightly strange way he had.
He could almost see the way Cecil would gesture as he spoke. How he'd raise his eyebrows. The way he'd tilt his head.
In those moments, Monty could believe that there was at least one person who would care about him, and that was enough.
But he knew it was a lie. Cecil had millions of listeners. Monty was just another one of them. A quick encounter at a department store. An act of kindness.
That was all it was. Nothing more.
He was getting ahead of himself. Imagining things that weren't there.
It was just like when he was a child. When he would get his hopes up for a father figure, only to get disappointed.
He had to stop. He had to be realistic.
He was just a boy from Staten Island, and Cecil was a rich and famous radio host.
They lived in two completely different worlds.
There was no way their paths would cross again.
…
Cecil learnt everything he could find about Monty. He was beyond thankful he had so many connections to so many people.
Monty's full name was Montgomery Trevor Weiss.
He was an orphan. Both parents dead.
He lived with his aunt, Agatha. A stern woman who seemed to care more about appearances than her nephew's wellbeing.
He was jobless. Not for a lack of trying, Cecil was sure. The world was a cruel place for those who were different.
The most heartbreaking piece of information was learning he had gone to multiple asylums when he was a teenager.
Cecil's blood boiled when he read that.
He knew what it was like in those places.
He knew because he spent half of his teenagehood in asylums, too. Mental scars weren't the only ones he had gotten from them.
Cecil wasn't even sure why Monty had been sent away, but he was sure it was the same reasons he was, because he didn't conform.
He couldn't help but think of how lonely he was in those times. How scared he was. And now, to know that Monty, a boy who reminded him so much of a younger version of himself, went through that too?
He wanted to tear things apart.
That afternoon, after the broadcast, Cecil didn't go home.
He had something he needed to do.
Cecil never really went to Staten Island unless he was after something specific. Even when he had met Monty, it was on one of Cecil's rare trips there, because he was just trying to seek out a specific department store he had never been to, to break the monotony of routine.
It was easy to find Monty.
Montgomery lived in a surprisingly decent home.
The house was large, with white brick and an arch above the doorway. It sat near the outskirts of Staten Island, surrounded by a garden.
He didn't make any moves once he saw Monty come out to the garden in his nightclothes. He didn't need to. It would be better to see what kind of a schedule Montgomery followed.
From his position across the street, Cecil could observe him undetected.
He could watch as the boy worked, picking some herbs and then heading back into his house.
After that, Monty spent a great deal of time reading, sometimes on his balcony, but mostly inside his bedroom. Eventually the boy went downstairs, had a small meal with Agatha, and then returned to his room, where he stayed for a long time, probably until bedtime.
It was an unusual life Montgomery lived.
Cecil would know, having watched it almost every day since that day he'd gotten Monty's address, waiting outside his residence each time.
One of the things he found odd was Monty's social life, or lack thereof.
In three whole days, he didn't seem to spend time with anyone outside the confines of his own home, not even acquaintances, much less friends.
The only human contact he normally had was with Agatha, and even then, their interactions seemed brief.
Did Monty want to be alone? Or was he only alone because no one else would have him?
Cecil suspected the latter. The more he watched, the more convinced he became that Monty was miserable with the life he lived.
On every Thursday, Monty would take a late-night walk to walk his dog to the park. It was the only time he really stuck to a routine when it came to leaving his house.
Cecil enjoyed watching him from his car, as Monty walked his little beagle and looked at the stars.
But it also concerned him. Sometimes he'd go out as late as midnight. Did Agatha even know he left?
And what if someone dangerous was lurking about? Monty seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, lost in thought. He was so vulnerable.
Tonight that happened.
A group of people, rowdy teens at youngest, approached Monty. They seemed to know, or at least recognize him.
"Weiss!" one of them shouted, and Monty flinched.
He immediately tugged on his beagle's leash, trying to walk faster, but it was no use. The group blocked his path.
"Where are you going, Weiss?" another one jeered. "Don't you want to talk to your old friends?"
Monty kept his head down, not saying a word. He was shaking like a leaf.
Cecil's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Every instinct screamed at him to get out of the car, to storm over there and put himself between Monty and those little monsters. But he waited. He needed to see how Monty handled it. He needed to know the full extent of the boy's helplessness.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" the first one said, stepping closer. He shoved Monty's shoulder.
The beagle started barking, lunging at the boy who had shoved Monty, but Monty held the leash tight.
The second boy laughed, slapping the first on the back. "Looks like your dog has more guts than you."
Monty's face flushed. He still didn't answer, just stood there, trembling, trying to tug the beagle back. Cecil could see the tears welling up in his eyes.
"Leave me alone," Monty whispered.
"What was that?" the first boy asked, leaning in closer. "I couldn't hear you."
"I said leave me alone," Monty repeated, a little louder.
"Or what?" the third boy finally spoke "You'll sic your little mutt on us?"
Monty looked around, probably in search for any other witnesses. His face paled, likely once he had realized they were completely alone.
The first boy suddenly shoved Monty hard, and Monty tripped and fell. His hands were still clutching the dog leash, but now they were tangled in it.
His glasses slipped off of his nose as well, and the first boy stomped on them.
The two boys laughed at him, sneering down at him. Monty was sobbing, his hands clawing at the grass, his face streaked with tears and snot.
Cecil couldn't watch this any longer. He was going to make sure these kids never messed with his boy again.
He stepped out of the car, and marched towards the group.
They hadn't noticed him yet. They were all focused on tormenting his boy.
Cecil reached down and picked up the glasses, slipping them inside his suit pocket.
"How about I push you into the dirt," Cecil said.
All of the kids turned to look at him, confusion on their faces. Monty had a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" the second one snapped. He stepped closer to Cecil, puffing out his chest.
"I'm the man who's going to break your damn jaw if you don't get out of here," Cecil glowered.
The third boy was the only one smart enough to look intimidated.
"I don't have time for this," the first boy scoffed. "Come on, guys, let's go."
The four boys walked away. Monty was still laying on the ground, crying.
He had never felt so utterly helpless in his life. No one had ever come to his defense before. His aunt would sometimes scold people who were mean to him, but it was always more about her embarrassment than his well-being.
"Thank you," Monty hiccuped, struggling to untangle his hands from the dog leash. "Oh, god, thank you!"
Cecil knelt down beside him. "Shh. It's all right." He reached out and began to untangle Monty's hands from the leash. "There we go."
Once his hands were free, Monty threw himself into Cecil's arms. He buried his face in Cecil's chest.
"Oh my goodness, Monty, it's okay." Cecil wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pulling him closer. He rested his chin on top of Monty's head, rubbing soothing circles into his back.
Cecil breathed in Monty's scent. It reminded him of something herbal but sweet, like tea with milk and honey.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" Cecil asked.
"No," Monty said, wiping at his tears. "Not physically. They ruined my glasses."
"May I see your face?"
Monty reluctantly pulled away, looking up at Cecil. His cheeks were wet with fresh tears, and he sniffled, his nose dripping snot.
Cecil gently took Monty's face in his hands, tilting it from side to side.
"No scrapes or cuts. That's good." He wiped some tears from Monty's cheeks with his thumb.
"Thank you," Monty whispered again. "I... I didn't know what to do."
Cecil had to physically hold himself back from picking Monty up and bringing him home with him then and there.
"That's okay. You're alright now." Cecil smiled at him. He took Monty's glasses from his pocket and examined them. "The lenses are fine, just the bridge is broken. I can have it fixed. Do you need something else to wear until then?"
"I have a spare." Monty was still shaking.
"Alright. Let's get you home, hm?" Cecil stood up, holding his hand out to Monty.
Monty took it, his dog sniffing Cecil's pant leg.
"Why are you here?" Monty asked. "It's... it's midnight, isn't it? And you don't live in Staten Island."
"I was in the neighborhood," Cecil lied smoothly. He had gotten very good at lying over the years. "And I saw you. Good thing I did, too."
"I don't know what I would have done without you," Monty admitted, his hand still clutching Cecil's.
"Neither do I," Cecil said, leading him back to the car. He opened the passenger door for Monty, letting him and his beagle both in. Then, Cecil went to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. "Alrighty, where do you live?" He already knew, of course. He just didn't want to make any more risks in exposing the fact he had been stalking this boy.
"Down on Delaney," Monty answered. "That way."
Cecil put the car into drive and began driving. "How did those boys know you? You don't seem like the type to mess around with punks like those."
"We... we went to school together," Monty explained. "Even though I was a lot older than them, they still picked on me. I thought graduating would make them mess with other people, but... I guess not."
"What were you doing out so late, anyway? It's dangerous normally, but especially around this time."
"I like the night air," Monty said softly. "It clears my head. I like the quiet."
Cecil nodded. "I understand. I'm a night owl, myself."
They got to his house, and Monty hesitated, looking back at Cecil.
"Thanks again," he said. "Maybe I'll... see you around?"
Cecil gave a knowing smile. "Oh, you'll definitely see me around. Sleep tight, Monty."
And oh did Cecil mean it.
He needed to make a call.
…
Despite Cecil's warning, Monty found himself walking Speck the next Thursday. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't just stay cooped up in the house all the time, especially not with the anxiety that had been building since the attack.
He had to get out.
He took a different route this time, hoping to avoid any more trouble. He kept his head down and tried to make himself as small as possible.
Halfway through the park, Speck stopped to sniff a patch of grass. Monty looked up at the moon while he waited. It was a full moon tonight.
He heard a twig snap behind him, and he whipped around.
But it wasn't those boys. It wasn't Cecil either.
It was just a big burly man, dressed in black.
...which, now that he thought about it, that was suspicious, too. But he tried not to let his stare linger on the man, opting to look everywhere else instead.
To the left of the path, a black car was parked with its engine running, lights off.
Was someone watching him again? Maybe the boys came back?
He decided it was best to cut the walk short. He tugged on Speck's leash, trying to get him to move.
The beagle, however, was stubborn, and refused to budge from the interesting spot.
"Come on, Speck," Monty whispered, a little desperately.
The dog looked at him, then went back to sniffing.
Monty tried again, but the dog didn't listen.
"Speck, please," he begged.
Speck continued to ignore him. Monty felt a chill run down his spine. He could feel the man watching him. And then, suddenly, Speck started barking.
Monty's heart raced. The dog never barked, not unless something really bad was happening. He looked over his shoulder to see the man approaching him.
Monty yanked on Speck's leash, and the dog finally moved. He began walking away, but the man kept following. Monty picked up his pace.
The man kept following. Monty ran, pulling Speck along with him. He forgot how clumsy he was in that moment, until he tripped over his own feet, and fell to the ground.
His glasses fell off of his face again, and the leash slipped from his grip. He could hear Speck barking, and then a yelp.
"Speck!" Monty cried out. "Speck, come here!" Monty crawled to where his glasses lay. His vision was blurry without them, but he could make out the man.
The man reached into his coat and pulled out something. Monty's first and worst thought went to a gun or knife.
"Get away from me!" Monty shouted. "Help! Somebody help!"
No one came.
The man walked towards him, and Monty stumbled to his feet.
The man grabbed him by the arm. Monty screamed, but it was cut short as a cloth was pressed over his nose and mouth. A sickly sweet smell filled his senses.
The world went fuzzy at the edges, and then black.
…
Cecil waited at his front door, tapping his foot impatiently.
As soon as he saw the car pull up to the curb, he practically wrenched open the door.
The burly man got out of the driver's side, and opened the back door. He pulled out Monty, who was still unconscious, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The man walked up to the front door. "Here he is, Mr. Wallace," he said, handing Monty over to Cecil.
Cecil gathered Monty into his arms. He was so light, almost too light.
"Did you hurt him?" Cecil asked, his eyes narrowing. "Or the dog?"
The man shook his head. "No, sir. Just a bit of chloroform, then I injected him with a sedative to keep him out for the ride. The dog is also fine. He's in the back of the car."
Cecil nodded, a satisfied look on his face. "Good. Here's your payment." He handed the man a thick envelope.
"Thank you, Mr. Wallace. It was a pleasure doing business with you."
"I'll be in touch if I need anything else," Cecil said.
The man tipped his hat, then walked back to the car.
Cecil carried Monty inside, and closed the door behind him with his foot.
"I've got you, baby," he crooned into Monty's fluffy hair. "Daddy's got you now."
He laid him on the couch, draping a purple blanket over him.
"So you've acquired the puppy," an amused voice spoke from the hallway.
Cecil chuckled. "That I did. Isn't he just the cutest?" he gushed. "Look at those curls!"
Marcella took a long sip of her tea. "Lucy might be jealous that her spot is getting taken."
"I have enough love for all my children." He went to Monty's side, and brushed a stray curl from his forehead. "Isn't he just the sweetest thing?"
"Darling, you're smothering the boy before he's even awake."
"You're right," he sighed dramatically. "Where are the kids?"
"They're grumpy and barely awake."
"Really?"
"Don't act shocked. Not everyone stays awake until three in the morning like you. I made sure everyone's' bags were packed, though. Everything's already in the trunk."
"Oh how I'm smitten with you, Mrs. Wallace."
"And I you, Mr. Wallace."
He leaned over and kissed her. "Well then, I suppose it's time to get this show on the road."
