howl barnett {avox} re-sub

name: howl barnett
age: sixteen
owned by: leo arthur fenwick

(seven years ago}

I don't understand why mommy is always crying now. The world is still so big and confusing and I know there is a lot to cry about because we go to bed hungry most nights and Dad comes home stained black and blue from work but I know she shouldn't be crying. Not when there is a beautiful little girl sat right in her arms whose voice is like bells. Even though sometimes she cries and they're loud and annoying and they ring through our house because it's mostly hollow, mommy should not cry. Janie is beautiful. I named her that. Mommy finally let me because I begged for weeks and weeks when I first found out that I was getting a sister.

I'm going to be the best big brother ever and I made sure to give her a name as beautiful as she's going to be. I can already tell. She has mommy's light auburn curls in little wisps on the top of her head and her eyes that are just like honey. She doesn't look much like Dad, which he always jokes about in a voice that doesn't sound very playful. (But I know that he is because my mom and dad are in love and Janie would never be the milk man's daughter like he says. We don't even have a milk man.) 

Mom has been sleeping on the floor with me for weeks and weeks and I don't remember why. Mom and Dad used to always sleep in the same bed with their arms around each other, I would always see them when I brought in breakfast of stale toast which was pretty much burnt bread because I could never reach the butter that was on the counter. (They ate it anyway because my parents are the best parents in all of District Twelve.) It means a lot to me that Mom and Dad are giving up their time alone to make sure that I'm not lonely when I'm asleep. The last time I thanked them for it Mom started crying again and Dad left the house for two whole hours before he came back. 

I can hear her sobbing right now, she must think they are drowned out by Janies's shrill cries but I can hear her. It makes me sad to hear my mother so heartbroken. I would ask her who broke her heart so that Daddy and I can go break his face like the heroes we're supposed to be but I think that might just make things worse. Everything I do to help makes things worse because I'm kind of an idiot so I've given up. It's not my parent's fault. Times are just hard. Times are always hard here. 

Instead I tiptoe into Mommy and Daddy's room which has turned into Janie and Daddy's room. We don't have enough money for a crib so she just sleeps next to him in his arms and I sleep in Mom's so I guess it's even trade. "Here." I murmur, scooping up my screaming sister who is like a feather within my arms, cries disappearing in the wind the instant her eyes meet mine, a stupid smile grows right in the center of my face at that. I've always had a stupid smile, the kind that takes up my whole face and touches my ears just the slightest bit. 

Mom works hard to dry her eyes and to give me a feeble smile. "Well if it isn't the best big brother in the world." her voice is cracked and dry from the sorrow that has eaten up her insides but I appreciate how hard she tries for me. 

"Do you think she knows who I am yet?" I don't look at mom, too busy drawing my thumb along my baby sister's cheek to dry the angry, frightened tears that have dried there. It's easier to look at these simple, innocent tears than the ones that come from such a dark place within my mom. 

"I don't know, Howl, but I can tell she loves you more than anything in the world." 

I don't think I'll ever stop smiling, those words make me so happy. So I leave the room because I don't want to be too happy in front of my mom. That's just not fair to her.

(one year ago) 

"Howl tell me a story!" The demand leaves her lips before she can even see that it's my silhouette flickering upon wooden planks. She sounds stronger today, there is no crack in her voice or an uneven rhythm as she fights searing pain within her skull. It's been weeks since she was strong enough to ask for anything, let alone something as frivolous as a story. I wonder just how many years I took that for granted, groaned when my baby sister tugged at my sleeve and begged for me to whisper fairy tales because we couldn't wake mom. How many times did I turn the other way and pull a blanket over my head because I simply didn't feel like it? Probably far too many to to count. The time before Janie's illness has melded into a kind of dream, filled with bright white and yellow hues. Filled with happiness and filled with stories that ended with happily ever after. 

I force a smile, pulling my sleeve into my palm to hide the wounds left there by an angry steel blade and a man twice my size. As often as Janie sees it, the poor girl cannot stand the sight of her own blood, let alone someone else's. I run my good hand through her hair, trying not to notice how damp the locks have become through a fever that has yet to break. "I think you're missing a very important word there, missy." I tap my finger on the top of her nose, sending the girl into a fit of shrill giggles that fill my heart with something more genuine than happiness. Joy. Pure and utter joy. 

"Now?" She coos, innocent smile turning devilish as she works to force her eyes to mine. From my vantage point, kneeling beside the bed and trying not to embed rusty nails into my knees, I can see how she struggles to move even her head to face mine. I slip my hand to hers quickly, knowing that the girl is too prideful to stop moving even if I tell her to and knowing that my hand will sate her, even if he eyes cannot meet my own. 

"You're lucky I can't say no to you." I groan, trying to sound exasperated when all I can feel is relief that today she has the strength to hold my thumb between her fingers and to squeeze them tightly. 

"I know."  her smile is smug, more obnoxious giggles hiding behind her thin, pursed lips. 

"What shall I tell you today?" I tilt my head in mock consideration, "Should we continue the story of the knight and the dragon or of the princess and evil king?" These were always her favorites, simple but sweet stories that I have been bullshitting for the better part of a year now. They have no consistency, make little to know sense and in all honesty are complete shit but my little sister loves them. And so I tell them for her sake because she is the reason I do anything anymore. 

"No, no." She insists, squeezing my thumb tighter, "Tell me... a love story." 

A love story. The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, forming a thick lump in my throat as I try to think. Mother once told me a beautiful love story, one about a helpless princess and a beautiful prince. The prince saved the princess from an evil king and queen who hit the beautiful princess again and again until they broke her bones. And the princess was so in love with the prince that every time she laid eyes on him, his beauty left her breathless and she knew that they were made to be together. That they were soul mates. 

The story ended with the princess fucking a bunch of random guys in a bar and getting pregnant because the prince was working too hard trying to provide for her and their son. 

So few stories actually end how we want. 

"...there was once a common boy... dressed in ugly rags..." (Howl it's no fun if I know this story is about you. She squeaks from somewhere far under the covers currently pulled over he head) "And there was... a stoic prince... a cold kind of prince that was renowned for his cruelty and for his hate. The common boy... he hated the prince more than anything in the world... blamed him for the life he was living with no food and no home. He blamed this prince for being unwanted." I take a long breath, trying t figure out where the fuck I was going with this because Janie hates unhappy endings. 

Realistically the prince would cut off the poor boy's head and spit on his corpse. They were from two different worlds and the boy would die and the prince would not even remember his name. 

"The boy was... taken to jail for stealing food and he was to be executed in front of the prince's throne but there was something in the boy's eyes, flooded with tears as his life flashed before his eyes that melted the prince's heart of ice. He took him to his palace and made him a knight and they lived happily ever after." I force the words out quickly, trying not to roll my eyes at the sappy ending that I'd somehow pulled out of my ass. 

"They didn't even kiss!" Janie whines, voice feeble as exhaustion weakens her grip upon my hand and forces her eyes shut. "That's not a love story Howl." 

"You don't know that." I cup her cheek, leaning over and kissing her forehead, "Some parts of the story are just better left unsaid." Like the part where this would never fucking happen.

My only answer is soft, deep breathing.

(three and a half months ago) 

"Fuck it, run!" Greyson's shout echoes along empty streets, bouncing across brick walls with a kind of bitter spite as people I know better than to call friends scatter, disappearing into night like the leather-clad cowards they are. I don't look at any of them as they go, I couldn't have if I wanted. There's a hand around my throat, squeezing it so tightly that every time I draw a desperate breath a soft whistle fades into the night. I cannot bring myself to meet the peacekeeper's eyes, instead screaming and kicking and shouting, turning into some feral animal in my desperate attempts to escape. 

"Fuck.... you..." I waste my breath on the childish insult, kicking at the man who now has me two feet of the ground against a wall. My lungs scream, clawing and gnawing at my chest as they try to escape. A bright kind of white creeps into the corners of my vision and I beg, I pray, that this fucker kills me so that I won't feel his grubby hands on my flesh a second longer. 

They're disgusting, peackeepers are. All the same sadistic, power-hungry freaks that get off on suffering. The guys are probably laughing their asses off right now, sitting around a fire and getting wasted while talking about good-old fuck the peacekeepers Howl finally getting caught. I don't expect them to miss me because I sure as fuck won't miss them. 

The peacekeeper's hands force their way into my pockets as all feeling leaves my fingertips. Please don't find it. Please let me go home. I can feel his fingers brush up against the glass vial stowed away, triumphantly holding it in front of my nose with a shit-eating grin that could rival my own. "What do we have here, a late night snack?" 

"Let me go!" His grip loosens, nearly doubling over in laughter as I struggle like a turtle turned on his back. "Let... me go! Sister..." I manage to slip my hand into the waist of my pants, tugging the needle free from its hiding place as panic sends sudden strength boiling through my blood. Tearing through my veins like a razor blade. It feels good, as excruciating as it is. I force my foot into his stomach, loosening his grip just enough to bring my fist around and to shove the needle as far into the side of his neck as I could manage. 

And I run like hell.

(three and a half months ago + five minutes)

I really didn't think it was possible to fuck yourself over twice in one night. At least the peacekeeper isn't laughing anymore, no, he's bleeding all over me with his knee pressed against my back as he grinds my face into the asphalt. There's sharp metal around my wrists, pulled so tight that every movement sends blood crawling down my forearms like thick tear drops. I'm going to die. I don't think I've ever been more sure of anything. If I wasn't going to die before I'm going to die now because I just fucking stabbed a fucking peacekeeper in the neck and I'm doing to die.

I'm going to die, I'm going to di-

Then he kills me and the world goes bright black.

(three years ago) 

I don't think I've ever seen my father cry. Father is big and he is strong and he's the one that held me close nights when I woke up screaming, terrified that we had lost Janie because there is nothing that I fear more. Father is strong and stoic, with warm arms blown large from hard work in the mines. None of us have ever been very big, not me or mom or Janie, but that's okay because we have dad and dad is our superhero covered in blood and coal dust. And he's always let me be his sidekick. Superheroes don't cry like me and mom. 

At least I thought they didn't.

He doesn't wail like my mother, with her long broken cries that shakes the ground beneath her, no, he is quiet, hand placed over his eyes so that tears sink into the scruffy fur sat on his chin. But I see his shoulder shake, I can hear the gentle sniffle drowned out by mother's singing Janie to sleep. 

My feet stick to the wooden floor as I make my way over to him, pulling myself up on the couch and shaking his shoulder because I cannot stand to see him so vulnerable. Not like this. "Dad, what's wrong?" I don't think I've ever seen the point of pleasantries. Hi, how are you? Is a stupid thing to ask when all you need is to look in their eyes to get your answer. 

In father's eyes I see a broken man and that breaks me just a little bit too. 

"Ahh... Howl..." He wipes his eyes with the hem of his shirt, licking lips turned dry from salty water. "Things are just hard..." 

"You always say that!" I protest, bouncing up and down on the couch like a child throwing a tantrum although I just turned thirteen and I'm not even a kid anymore. I'm practically grown. "I know that, but why? Why are things hard?!" 

He regards me with such sadness that I want to take the question back immediately. I don't want to know who has done this to my dad because nothing is supposed to be able to hurt him. Not ever. But it's too late and I'm too stupid to tell him to stop and so he tells me the truth. He tells me what I think I've known for a long time. "Your mother and I... we don't love each other anymore." 

But that wasn't supposed to be possible. True love... true love was always supposed to end with a happily ever after and that's what mom and dad had. "How is that possible, Dad? You're soul mates! I know you are!" I don't sound like the thirteen year old I am supposed to be. I sound small and broken and I am crying too because my mom and dad were everything I wanted to be but now I don't know. 

"Sometimes, even when you're made for each other, love just doesn't work. Your mother doesn't love me like I love her." 

It's like my world has turned to dust, slipping through my fingers around me. "B-but what about us? What about Janie a-and me!!" 

"She's not mine!" He snaps, sob breaking him in half as he doubles over in pain. "Janie isn't my daughter Howl." 

And I lock myself in the bathroom because that is the only room left with a door.

(three and a half months ago + eight days) 

I come to with chains wrapped around my throat, keeping my head pinned between metal bars as something (it must be ice, eating away at my flesh. so cold it has turned white hot) digs into legs left bare. I suppose it makes sense that they would humiliate us, take every bit of humanity we once had and tear it away like the crazy woman did my tongue. Piece by piece, chunk by chunk until if hurt so badly that I begged her to stop, begged her just to kill me but she couldn't hear me. 

She didn't care. 

The boy, the peacekeeper boy, he has not saved me like he promised. I have been chained here for days, shackles cutting into my wrists and my ankles like knives as I struggled. And they hit me every time I did. Every time my chain rattled they pressed their hand into my cheek. I tried not to care at first. I tried to annoy them with the incessant rattling but then they chained me to the bars by the neck and I cannot even breathe deeply without pain searing down my spine. 

I should have known that he was the same as them. No peacekeeper can change, no peacekeeper can be kind. They are power hungry. They are disgusting. 

Rage turns my vision white, impulse trying to free blood-soaked hands from their prison once more. And I wait, I wait for that awful man to come and for him to snap my neck like he said he would a million times over now. 

But he is not alone, winding through rows of metal cages with faceless avox trapped between, there is a boy with him. The boy. The peacekeeper boy whose eyes stick to mine as though they are his only tether to a world he is quickly leaving.

He wants to take me. That is what I can gather as the  chains now dropped at my feet, leaving me shaking and bloody and looking at the peacekeeper boy for a long, long while. His hand is extended, as though he expects me to take it. To willingly grab a peacekeeper's hand although they are all the same. They all want to hurt me or kill me and I don't know why this peacekeeper kept his promise because they aren't supposed to do that.

They're all the same. 

I should spit in his face and I should refuse to leave with the man who helped take my tongue. 

But there is something so genuine in his eyes. Something warm. Something that sends my stomach into my throat and my heart onto my sleeve. He makes me soften, the gentle way he pleads for me to come with him without uttering a single word.

And so I press my palm in his, allowing myself to be led out by this boy. This peacekeeper.

And just maybe I realize it wasn't the prince who was cold and cruel, it was not the feeble, poor boy who changed his mind and changed his ways. 

Just maybe that's not what happened at all.