This is a very dark fic! You have been warned...

ALL of the Warnings: bullying, violence, blood, self harm, suicidal thoughts, some child abuse (verbal and physical), child molestation but not graphic at all, eating disorder

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Good King.

Even after battling monsters together and going on crazy quests with him, I didn't know my brother as well as I should have. Yet... I never wanted to know this much.

As I watched his life play out before my eyes, tears streamed down my cheeks as I saw the suffering my big brother went through. All this time I thought I had a bad life because I only saw Dad twice a year, but Carter's was way harder than mine. Way harder.

*MEMORY*

While the court battle was going on after Mum died, our grandparents, who had moved to LA for the trail, were awarded temporary custody of me until the trial was over. After the trial, my grandparents would either receive permanent custody or I'd live with Dad (you all know which occurred later on).

Anyway, during the court battle, Carter and I continued to go to school. Gram picked me up when school finished, but Dad was too busy talking to the lawyer, so Carter walked home.

It wasn't far- a ten minute walk- but this proves that bad things can happen in short amounts of time and in relatively safe neighborhoods.

I saw my eight year old brother strolling along the sidewalk when someone big and burly stepped in his path. He had black, greasy hair, a stubby nose, and crooked teeth. Tall and muscular, he had a good six inches on my scrawny sibling and there was a cruel glint in his blue eyes.

"Hey, Carter," he drawled.

Carter tried to walk past him, but the boy just held out an arm and shoved Carter back.

"I'm not in the mood, Marcus," Carter murmured, tonelessly. I frowned; I hadn't realized that Carter was in as much of a dark place as I was after Mum died. I knew he loved her and missed her, but I was Mommy's little girl and he was Dad's pride and joy. But he seemed more depressed than I'd been with dark bags under his eyes and the sluggish way he moved as if he'd given up.

"Well, guess what? I am," Marcus laughed and shoved Carter so hard, he fell to the pavement. "So how's your mommy today? Oh, wait, you don't have one!"

If it hadn't been a memory, I would've stamped over there and punched that jerk in the nose. That was just low.

"You gonna fight back, freak?" Marcus growled. Carter didn't answer. "Go on, hit me, weakling. You think you're so smart and clever when really, you're an idiot! You couldn't tell an ant from a bee, stupid!"

He kicked Carter and my brother inhaled, sharply. Marcus continued talking.

"You know, I bet you're mom's glad she's dead because then she doesn't have to deal with her disappointment of a son! Your sister's pry happy that she can escape you by living with your grandma and grandpa! And they outright said they didn't want you!"

Marcus kicked Carter more and punched him a dozen times, and too my brother's credit, he didn't cry.

I would've. I would've screamed and cried and squealed if I were in Carter's position- a defenseless eight year old that had just lost his mom getting beaten to a pulp by a bully.

"You're nothing, Carter. When you die, people will celebrate. No one will remember your name. They'll all be better off without you," Marcus growled and with a final kick, he stormed away.

Carter lay on the ground for a few long moments before stumbling to his feet and walking home, blood dripping onto the sidewalk...

*MEMORY OVER*

Carter had never told me about Marcus. I was ready to hint that bastard down and kill with my own two hands, but before I could revel on my fantasies of ways to murder the bully, another memory began.

*MEMORY*

Carter was older- maybe nine- and he was outright sobbing. In his hands was a photograph of us- seven year old Carter and five year old me playing in the living room together. This must have been right after Gram and Gramps got custody.

I'd cried over a photo of him and Dad for hours, but I'd never known that he'd done the same for me.

"Carter," I whispered.

*MEMORY OVER*

I never knew how much I loved my idiotic older brother until then. When he woke, I would hug him for the first time since I was six years old.

*MEMORY*

Carter was ten here and he was sitting at a table near a digging sight. I could see Dad in the distance, talking to some guy in dusty digging gear. The boy was sketching something out on a paper, a drawing, and smiling contently.

Suddenly, a man in jean shorts and a white tank top sat next to him at the table, admiring Carter's work.

"Nice drawing, kid," he said, gesturing to the paper.

Carter looked at him, suspiciously, and leaned away slightly.

The man noticed and laughed. "Don't worry. I'm one of your dad's coworkers; I'm not gonna hurt you."

Carter relaxed a little but not much.

"So, you're a cute kid, even at ten. Got any lady friends?" The man chuckled and Carter looked at him a look that clearly read, 'That's disgusting.'

"Yeah, should've known. You're too young for that," the man remarked. "But I wasn't lying when I said you were cute."

The man placed a hand on my brother's knee and rubbed Carter's thigh, much to the child's discomfort.

"What the hell? He's only ten for Isis's sake!" I cried, angry at the man, at dad for not noticing, at my brother for not telling me, at the world for being packed with creeps like him.

"Stop it!" Carter snapped.

"C'mon!" The man said. "It won't hurt."

His hand started creeping higher and higher and then, the man was stumbling away from the force of the shove. My dad grabbed a very uncomfortable Carter's hand and marched off of the digging sight, dragging his son with him.

When they finally stopped at the rental car, Carter started crying.

"I'm sorry, Dad!" He choked out. "I-I-"

"Shh, Carter," Dad muttered. "It wasn't your fault. That man's a sick person. It will never be because of you, Carter."

Carter didn't look convinced.

Dad smiled, soothingly. "Tell you what. How about we go get some ice cream?"

Carter smiled a watery grin and nodded.

*MEMORY OVER*

"Sicko!" I screamed, pry startling Carter in his sleep/unconsciousness.

*MEMORY*

Carter was eleven in the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet.

"Come on, Carter," he mumbled to himself. "You made a mistake and lost control. You gotta fix it."

Finally, he shoved two fingers down his throat and vomited into the toilet. He repeated this and I paled.

My brother had an... eating disorder? But Carter would never... he wouldn't... He always handled his problems so well; what had pushed him to make himself throw up?

And why hadn't I noticed?

*MEMORY OVER*

"Oh my gods," I gasped, leaning my head on Carter's stomach.

*MEMORY*

Carter was twelve and curled up on the floor of a hotel room, trembling with fear. Our dad was pacing back and forth, yelling about stresses at work and Mum and me and visitation day while waving his hands wildly.

"Oh my gods, those idiots took my daughter and they have the right to cut visitation day short? Who do they think they are? They get my wonderful daughter and I get you," he growled, pointing at Carter. "There's no way that's fair."

He hadn't meant it. He was angry and he hadn't been thinking about what was coming out of his mouth.

"Daddy," Carter whispered. He must be scared; he hadn't called Dad that since he was six. "I'm sorry, but p-please, c-calm down."

"Calm down?! Calm down?! My daughter is being raised by those bastards and you want me to calm down?! Why you little brat!" He raised his hand and smacked his son right across the face.

Despite knowing that Dad was rageful and that he wasn't thinking straight, I felt anger fuel me. I wanted to hurt my own father. No one hurts my brother and gets a way with it!

Carter squeaked and ran into the bathroom, locking the door. I appeared beside him and he leaned heavily on the sink, staring at his blotchy face and the tear tracks upon his cheeks.

My sibling opened a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of sleeping pills, most likely Dad's. He slowly opened the bottle and stared at it before tilting the object against his lips.

As I watched in horror, I was relieved when there was a sharp knock at the door, interrupting Carter's action.

"Carter!" Dad called. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it. I was mad at your grandparents and I took it out on you. Can you forgive me?"

Carter frantically stored the pills beneath the sink and slowly edged opened the door. Dad hugged him and Carter hesitantly returned it.

*MEMORY OVER*

Dad had hit Carter? Carter almost killed himself? Oh my gods, why?

*MEMORY*

The next memory was short, but horrifying.

Carter was thirteen and holding a razor blade to his wrist. I watched as blood streamed down his arm and I wanted to cry.

*MEMORY OVER*

"Oh, Carter," I whimpered and hugged him as best I could while he was laying on the couch. "We'll be talking about this when we return to Brooklyn House."

Then, I did something I didn't expect. I kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "I love you, big bro."

Carter's secret name was very fitting for him:

Good King.

thank you all for reading, and I'm sorry if I depressed you all, but I've been in an angst mood lately and somewhere along the way, this happpened.

Review please!