Chapter Text
Another dreary English morning was upon the Niccals household to kick off the weekend. Now, it was just mostly just Murdoc and his father. Hannibal was around as little as he possibly could be, crashing at his skinhead buddies places, with the occasional girl. Murdoc no longer had another body to act as a buffer between himself and his father, the Niccals household was a regular warzone.
He looked to a small alarm clock he kept beside his bed, he always woke up at 5:30, so there was no need for the alarm feature, but he always set it on the days he needed to work. Murdoc tended to work odd, temporary jobs that needed him at weird hours. But today he was free, no being forced to contribute to society today, not for him! Okay, well he wasn't free either, he would have to spend his day either tiptoeing around his father, locked in his room, or under a bridge somewhere smoking and drinking. But for now it was the morning, and he could relax.
Murdoc pulled on some pants and exited his room with a shirt slung over his shoulder. He could hear snores from his father's room, he pulled it shut as he passed, the man could have literally been sawing logs and the teen wouldn't have known the difference. He made a beeline to the bathroom and left the door open, he didn't need to shut it when his father was the only other one home, because he was always either downstairs drunk or in his bed asleep.
Upon looking in the mirror Murdoc frowned, he could see bruises on his neck from the fight they had a few nights ago.
[ If you do not want to read a scene containing sensitive content: graphic violence/child abuse. Please skip this entire italicized section, thank you. ]
His father had been drunk, as usual, and was looking for a fight. “You might as well just kill yourself, seeing as I never wanted you here in the first place!” He yelled.
“You had options, old man. Could have given me up or left me to die! Would have preferred either, honestly.” Murdoc replied, even at this age he was rather indifferent to the possibility of death. Ever since the dinner lady incident, he considered death a viable option for dealing with his problems. “Maybe you should have killed yourself the first time my mother left you and we wouldn't be-” that set it off.
Murdoc hadn't been able to finish his sentence because his father had tackled him to the ground. Sebastian's long fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed hard. “You stupid twat!” He yelled at him as his son struggled against him. Had Murdoc not been taken by surprise he could have forced the old man off of him, but the shock of his father actually choking him had been too much.
“You don’t get to say anything about her!” He continued, his eyes were wild with hatred. “I ended her and I could end you if I so pleased!” He spat, knowing full well his son had seen him the night he came home covered in her blood. Sebastian shook him as well, forcing Murdoc's head to slam against the hardwood floor of their home.
Murdoc grabbed his arms and dug his nails into his father's flesh, he wasn't about to die like this. He struggled for air and dragged his nails down as the corners of his vision started going dark. The combination of his head hitting the floor and lack of oxygen were starting to catch up.
Sebastian was so enraged that he hardly noticed the pain, but it did draw him out of it a little and he let Murdoc’s neck go and quickly stood up, glaring down at him as though he were garbage. “You ever speak of your mother again and I’ll finish the job.” He spat at him.
Murdoc had sat up and was breathing heavily and coughing he pushed himself away from his father and put a hand to his neck, he was scared of another attack from his father. He still couldn't believe the old man had actually done that, Murdoc always knew his mother was a subject you simply did not talk about, and now he for sure knew why.
[ This is the end of the section containing sensitive content. ]
Murdoc put his hand to his throat, running his fingers over the bruising. It definitely looked like hands, when he was at the store the day after the incident buying some things, people knew, but nobody cared. He could feel everyone staring at the hand shaped bruises on his neck, but nobody cared enough to ask if he was okay. That was the curse of being in a family that just everyone hated or as scared of.
Murdoc snapped out of it and ran the cold water, cupping his hands he leaned over the sink and splashed his face with it. He didn't need to be thinking about it. He needed to have his good morning. He would not let the creeping memories of his father nearly killing him take away his goddamn mornings. He grabbed his shirt and pressed it to his face to dry it, he didn't care, the shirt would dry.
He pulled his shirt on and hastily made his way out of the bathroom, down the creaky steps and into the kitchen. Murdoc started the stove after lifting the kettle to make sure it still had water in it and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pants pocket. He lit it and turned on a small radio that he kept on the kitchen table as he took is first draw off it, it was something one of his neighbors had thrown away, it still worked, and he could enjoy a little music in the mornings.
The station had been changed, it was playing classical music. Had he changed it on accident? Had someone changed it out of spite? He didn't know. But he left it on. Murdoc might not have looked it, but he could appreciate the mastery of classical music and how it always told a story. Right now it was something soft and playful, he didn't know what it was, but it made him feel good.
As the kettle whistled Murdoc set a teabag in a clean cup and poured the hot water over it, letting it rest on the counter. He had an idea, a stupid idea, but an idea. He unplugged the radio and brought it to the living room, set it on the small table next to his father's chair and plugged it back in. He hadn't indulged in some morning reading in quite a while. Murdoc went back to the kitchen and got his tea, it had steeped for three minutes, that some enough for him. He tossed the teabag in the trash and made his way to the chair, sitting in it much as his father would have, like a mess.
His legs over one arm of it and crossed as his shoulders rest against the other. He grabbed a book from the pile and began to read. A collection of Poe's work, how wonderfully gloomy and appropriate.
Between the music and getting lost in the book, Murdoc only finished half of his tea before falling asleep, and it was only half past ten. The music had lulled him into a false sense of security and he, for the first time in quite a while, felt safe.
It was about an hour later that his father woke up, half past eleven, it was early for him. Sebastian got his robe and slippers before making his way downstairs. He slipped into the kitchen and started the kettle, Murdoc always filled it at night, the good-for-nothing was always on the ball about that at least.
After preparing his tea Sebastian looked around for the small radio one of his sons had plucked out of a neighbor's trash, he couldn't find it. Murdoc must have taken it somewhere, he was the one who used the thing the most. He made his way to the living room and saw Murdoc in his chair. “Oi, you lump, get out of my-” he began but he stopped as he heard soft piano music emitting from the small radio.
Upon closer inspection, Sebastian noticed that Murdoc was asleep. He rolled his eyes and saw the half-empty cup of tea resting on top of the small radio. It had occurred to him that he could wake his son up by dumping the cold remains of his tea on him. But that would be a waste of tea, and he would also risk getting his book and chair wet, and we couldn't have that now, could we?
With a small sigh, Sebastian just turned the radio's volume up a tad and went over to their worn down couch, resting himself against one of the arms as he sipped his tea. The man stretched his legs across the couch and looked upon Murdoc. He looked a lot like his mother, there were a few features here and there. But when he was sleeping and relaxed, he had the same expression she did. All the green skin and slightly pointed ears in the world couldn't hide the fact that he was his mother's child.
The clock struck noon and a clock somewhere in the house chimed, this woke Murdoc up. “Shit.” He muttered as he rubbed his eyes, he sat up and looked around the room, he could just feel his father's presence in the room. And his feeling was right, there he was, reclined on the couch, looking at him. Murdoc's heart filled with her as he jumped out of Sebastian's seat.
“Sit back down, Murdoc,” Sebastian said as he sipped his tea, his cup was now half tea, half room temperature liquor. The radio was playing another soft. Murdoc didn't quite know how to react other than to sit back down in his father's chair, he swallowed hard. “We don’t waste tea in this house.” He began as he pointed to the mug sitting next to the chair. “Finish it.”
Murdoc just looked to it and grabbed it, it was bone cold. But he took a sip of it anyways. He didn't care it was cold, tea was still tea, he scared that he had let himself be vulnerable so close to this time of the day. Sebastian set a hand on his thigh and went back to his tea, his eyes closed and his fingers mimicked the key presses of the piano’s notes. Murdoc didn't notice. “I'll turn it off.” He said, reaching for the knob.
“Leave it,” Sebastian said. “I haven't heard this in quite a while, so leave it.” Murdoc could tell his father was sober because of his tone. If he had been drunk, he would have started yelling right away.
“Right then…” Murdoc said as he finished the last of his tea. “You're the one who changed the station.” He said softly, remembering now that his father did have an affinity for classical music, and Hannibal did not. His father could on occasion be found playing the stand up that was against the wall to the kitchen. The piano was among one of the few pieces of furniture that were free from all signs of neglect. His father took more care of his piano than he did of his own children.
“Oh what an astute observation, I see nothing slips by you, Murdoc.” Sebastian said, rolling his eyes.
“Don't have to be a cunt about it, you bastard.” Murdoc muttered as he got up and took his cup to the kitchen.
“Pot calling the kettle black, Murdoc.” Sebastian called after him.