-- SOMETIMES IT BURNS &&

[JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE]

SOMETIMES IT BURNS

maybe i'll wash it out,

IT ALL LOOKS SO BIG, NEVERMIND
I DON'T FEEL ANYTHING

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001 | 01/14/Y1 | BURN YOUR FAMILY TREE
002 | 02/27/Y1 | I'M THE KING OF COWARDS
003 | 04/05/Y1 | ONE OF US IS GOING DOWN
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[JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE]

02/27 YEAR ONE
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I'M_ T H E_ K I N G_ O F_ C O W A R D S
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Even though he'd lived here almost all his life, it was still taking an adjustment, moving back to the mansion. He had set off the security defences yesterday by accidentally driving through the gate without disabling them first.

Today he remembered to hit both the disabling button and the one that opened the gate, not in the mood to go through the motions of requesting that the butler let him in.

The house was rather quiet as he entered the front door, but when he shrugged off his jacket and put it in the closet he noticed his father's favourite coat hanging up. Dad's home, he thought. He didn't know whether he should be relieved or spooked. He wanted to talk to Donovan, but he was already having second thoughts about this. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat.

Donovan was in his office, head bent over some paperwork he was scanning. Josh hesitated, swallowed hard, then rapped very slightly on the open door.

Gray eyes met gray as the older man looked up, narrowing his gaze ever so slightly with suspicion.

"Joshua," he said. "What do you want?"

His tone alone made his son want to back out. He didn't sound like he was in the most sociable or pleasant of moods. He never did lately.

"I, uh..."

Damn it, why was it that any interaction with his father completely erased his ability to appear cool and collected? His hands were clamming up and his throat felt dry.

"If you can't tell, boy, I'm busy," Don said testily. "Either get to the point or get out."

Do it, he ordered himself. Do it now or you'll never have the guts. Because he seemed to have lost the ability to speak as well as appear calm, he simply took the wad of cash from his pocket and strode forward, placing it on the desk.

"What's this?"

"The money I took from you," Josh replied, unable to meet his father's gaze. Chicken. Coward. "I, uh, couldn't remember exactly how much I had, so... I just rounded it up."

Donovan stared blankly for a long moment. Then, "I never asked you to pay me back."

Josh rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. "I know," he said somewhat awkwardly. "But I did take it from you, so..." He trailed off again and cleared his throat a bit, still not looking at him.

A pause. "Where did you get the money?" Donovan sounded suspicious.

"Well I sold my car--the crap one, not the one you bought for me--and some of the furniture, then worked overtime at the parlour to make up for the rest--"

"Wait," Don cut him off. "Worked? Since when do you have a job?"

Joshua blinked. It hadn't even occurred to him that Donovan didn't know. "Since you ki--um, since I left. I had to pay the bills somehow..."

His father seemed at a loss for words. It certainly took him quite a while to formulate his next sentence. "So you really weren't staying with anyone from that... that... band of mindless thugs?"

Really? Really? You're going to ask me that after they tried to slit my throat?! "No, Dad, I wasn't."

"Parlour, you said?"

"Tattoo parlour," Josh clarified. "Downtown." He risked a glance at the older man, but he didn't look angry. Just... contemplative. Maybe a little confused.

"Isn't that illegal?"

Well, way to hit the nail on the head. Josh opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything to say. "Um..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Donovan decided grimly.

"Heh..."

There passed another period of time where neither man spoke. Then Donovan coughed slightly to clear his voice. "You should probably quit while you're ahead," he decided. "I suppose I can... accept this as a form of apology." He gestured at the money, as if he didn't know what to make of it. "But I will not have you getting arrested." Then, as if he realised that this might be turning into a softer sort of moment, he quickly added, "It would only bring more shame upon the family name."

Of course, Josh sighed internally. "I will," he promised.

Donovan stood and Joshua winced instinctively, almost as if he expected the older man to throw a punch of some sort. Instead, the critical gaze of the doctor studied the vicious wound on his face. "You removed the bandaging," he remarked.

"It was in a rather uncomfortable place," Josh replied, glancing to the side to hide the mark from his father's view. He was still ashamed of the scar.

"It'll heal badly if you aren't careful."

"Too late for that," Josh sighed.

"You are taking precautions to make sure it doesn't get infected?"

It sounded just like your typical visit to the family doctor. It might have been comical if he hadn't grown up like this. "Of course."

Donovan nodded, seeming satisfied. "How's your hand?"

Instinctively, Josh looked down at his left hand and flexed his fingers, clenching his jaw and cringing with the agony that exploded in it. Not a good idea!

"It's fine," he lied.

"It certainly looks fine," Donovan said sarcastically.

Joshua said nothing, causing another awkward pause between the two.

"Stay away from downtown," Donovan said seriously. "If they see you again--"

"I'm a dead man if they see me again," Joshua said grimly. "Believe me, I know."

Normally Don would have scolded his son for cutting him off, but the reason was sound enough that neither of them commented on it further.

"I'll... let you get back to work," Josh said quietly, taking a step backward toward the door. "And I'm, uh, sorry I stole that money from you." And broke into the house. And cussed you out. And nearly ruined Mom's career...

Donovan nodded a little as if he didn't know how to reply, then went back to his work as his son departed.

[JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE]

04/05 YEAR ONE
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O N E_ O F_ U S_ I S_ G O I N G_ D O W N
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“Joshua, come here. I need to talk to you about something.”

The nineteen year old paused on his way to the dining room, plate still in hand and containing the sandwich he’d been about to polish off. “Can it wait?” he asked, though he said it politely. “I was kind of hoping to eat. Haven’t had anything all day.”

Donovan frowned at him. “You can always ask the butler to make you something,” he pointed out, then, “and no, it can’t.”

Josh sighed, giving up and hesitating awkwardly for a moment as he wondered where to put the plate.

“Set it on the counter,” Donovan told him, “and meet me in the living room. Don’t take your time.”

Knowing that his father would grow impatient very quickly, Joshua didn’t even pause to cover the plate before he strode back out into the foyer and through one of the archways that led down a long hall. Branching off this hall was the main sitting room, which stretched up two of the four levels of the home with its high ceiling and polished wooden floors. Donovan sat on one of the couches, and he indicated the seat across from him for his son.

“What did you want?” Josh asked once he’d sat down.

“It’s about your birthday.”

The teens brows arched in surprise. They didn’t usually discuss things like this. It was generally his mother who asked him what he wanted to do. “Oh?”

“Your grandfather is coming.”

There was an icy, intense silence. “You mean Mum’s dad, right?” His voice was sharp, a challenge. He was well aware that Don was probably indicating someone else, someone who Joshua most definitely did not want around him ever again--let alone on his birthday.

“No, Joshua, I am talking about my own father.”

“No.” The response was immediate. “He can’t.”

“Don’t be a child,” Donovan scolded. “Patrick is your grandfather--”

“Patrick tried to kill me!” Joshua was outraged, rising from his seat as his voice climbed a couple levels. “How could you even think about letting him around after that?”

Perhaps he imagined it, but Joshua almost thought he saw his father wince. As soon as he’d witnessed it, however, the moment had passed, and Don was once again glaring him down. “He says he had no idea those men meant you any harm. He thought they were your friends.”

A noise of almost hysterical outrage bubbled from his lips. “Friends!” he cried. “Sure, maybe they could be if they hadn’t tried to slit my fucking throat!”

“Language, boy!”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me to watch my language after you’ve just invited a murderer into our house!”

“Patrick is not a murderer.”

“He would have been if he had any say in the matter!” Joshua was standing now, and his father slowly rose as well. Normally such a slow and methodical gesture would have intimidated the younger male, but he was so angry that he didn’t react. “He tried to kill me, Dad! He tried to have me killed!”

Hurt had snaked its way into his tone, raw and biting. Donovan didn’t seem to be affected as he replied, “Nonsense. Your fear of the situation has muddled your thoughts.”

“They paid him to find out where I was!”

“Stop with your lies, Joshua,” Donovan cautioned--though his son was telling the honest truth. “Your grandfather has plenty of money. He has no need to take cash from such low-class sources.”

His jaw trembled for a moment and he recoiled at the accusation. “L-Lies?” Joshua stammered. “You… you think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re confused,” Donovan said, not outright denying that he was calling his son a liar. “You were scared, you lost a lot of blood--”

“I think I can tell when I’m being murdered, thanks!”

“Raise your voice one more time, Joshua,” Donovan hissed, “and you are going to regret it.”

“Know what I’m going to regret? Coming back home, that’s what! At least when I had my own place I didn’t have to deal with you!”

He regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

Smack!

The hand across his jaw was more forceful than usual--so forceful, in fact, that the taller of the two staggered back and clutched the point of impact with a stifled curse.

Rather than subduing the younger boy, the physical contact only enraged him further. He straightened up and closed the gap between himself and his father once more.

“That’s your fucking response?” Josh snarled. “I remind you of the fact that your father’s a would-be murderer and you whack me across the face? That’s great, Dad. I’m sure we can both see who the real man is now.”

He staggered back as his father shoved him hard, stumbling against a piece of furniture and stabilising himself on the arm of the couch.

Striding forward, Josh swung a fist and clocked his father across the jaw, finding an odd satisfaction in the way the older man recoiled. Such satisfaction was lost moments later when Donovan grasped his arm, twisting it and throwing him against the wall.

“Show some respect, boy!”

“Not until you’ve earned it!”

”Agh--fuck!”

Pain erupted in his shoulder as his father bent his arm back further, blinding stars bursting before his eyes.

“Watch that mouth of yours!”

“Will I hell!”

Wham!

Another explosion of pain as his head was slammed into the brick wall. He shoved against his fathers weight, panting from the exertion of his anger as the older male was propelled away from him.

A loud crash was heard as Donovan fell into the ornate coffee table, a vase on a nearby mantle slipping off and smashing. Neither man paid attention to the bits of broken glass that had sprayed everywhere--the older of the two had gotten up and charged the younger again, holding him against the wall, hands wound through the collar of his shirt like he wanted to strangle him--

“Stop it! Both of you, just--just stop!”

Joshua grappled with his father's strength--Patricia's shrill protest from the archway distracted the older man enough for Joshua to wrench himself free and stagger away from him, bent over slightly and breathing hard. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, his hair was a mess and his shirt rumpled from the fighting. Blood from a busted lip tasted salty against his tongue.

At least the dark bruise flowering on Donovan's chin was well worth it.

Whilst Joshua had paused, Don apparently wasn't finished, for he started toward Joshua again. The reaction was immediate--Josh raised a fist and readied himself to throw another punch.

“Have you both gone mad?” Trish demanded furiously. She stormed into the room and slapped her husband, then glared fiercely at her son. “Behave yourselves, both of you! Annabel will be home any minute now--do you want her to see you like this?”

Joshua immediately winced and ducked his head, the expression on his mother’s face and the mention of his little sister filling him with guilt. “Sorry, Mom…”

“I don’t think it’s me you should be apologising to,” she pointed out, lifting a carefully maintained brow at him.

His glance became a glare as he directed it toward his father. “He hit me first!” the boy insisted, sounding like a child protesting a schoolyard fight.

“The boy has no respect!” Don snarled.

“You both sound like children,” Patricia spat angrily. It wasn’t often that the woman got angry, but when she did, she was quite the terrifying opponent. She was shorter than them both at around 5’10”--still tall for her gender--but both hesitated a little at the wrath in her eyes.

“Donovan, this boy is our son, or have you forgotten?” Blue eyes were intense as she stared. “You have no right to lay a hand on my boy, no matter what he’s said to you!”

Then she rounded on Josh. “Don’t think you’re getting away with anything, Joshua Donovan Dale,” she said coldly, breaking out the full name for effect. He winced as she jabbed a finger into his chest, stabbing him with a perfectly manicured nail. “Your father was wrong to hit you, but you didn’t have to hit back.”

“But I--”

“Don’t bother finishing that sentence.”

He closed his mouth smartly. Not even an apology was spoken, he was taking her that seriously.

“Sit down, the pair of you.”

Josh felt like a child being lectured--and really, he was, just not as much of a ‘child’ as he felt--as he lowered himself onto the couch, wincing at the pain in his arm. He wondered what was going through his father’s mind as Donovan seemed to consider arguing with his wife.

“I’ve had it with you, Don,” she said testily.

He sat down, scowling.

Mother and wife of the scolded duo remained standing, probably to give more effect as she said, “You could have killed one another, or at least gotten very hurt!” She gestured at the vase. “Look at this!”

“I’ll get you another vase, Patricia,” Don said shortly.

She snorted. “I don’t care about the vase, Dale! I care about the fact that the vase is now a mass of broken glass in my living room!” He said nothing, so she went on, “What if one of you had fallen? Joshua, that vase could very well have fallen on your father--”

“Wouldn’t mind if it had,” Josh muttered, tone bitter. He didn’t mean it, of course, but that didn’t matter to Mommy Trish, who closed the distance and slapped him as hard as she’d hit Donovan.

“Ouch, Mom--what the hell?”

“Show respect, Joshua,” she said. “And I won’t have that language spoken under this roof. Understood?”

“Why did you--”

“Understood?”

Jesus, she was almost as scary as Donovan when she was this angry at him. She’d only ever showed such wrath toward her son once or twice, he’d forgotten how it felt when her penetrating blue gaze was threatening him.

“Yeah,” he said, giving up.

“Good.”

“Apologise, both of you.”

“Sorry, father…”

It was resigned and spoke of defeat, and he wasn’t looking at Donovan when he said it. Still, it was more of an effort than Donovan himself, who insisted, “I will not. You will not tell me how to parent my son.”

“He’s our son, and unless you want to be sleeping on your own tonight then yes you fucking will.”

Josh knew things were bad when she brought out the language. His mother rarely swore. Donovan apparently got the message too, for he snapped, “Sorry,” under his breath. Like his son, it was insincere and not coupled with a glance.

Yeah, I’m sure you meant that, Joshua thought sarcastically, though he didn’t voice his thoughts.

“You can stay in your room for a few hours until you’ve cooled off,” Patricia said shortly to her son--though it wasn’t worded with much force, her tone said it all. “And you--” She shook her head and didn’t even seem to want to speak with her husband right now. “I don’t even want to look at you right now. Joshua, go.”

Josh didn’t protest--his injuries ached and his pride hurt all the more, so he slipped silently past his enraged mother and started to climb the stairs. The last he heard before he was out of earshot was Patricia furiously shooting down Donovan’s attempt to talk to her, and then a slam of a door from somewhere downstairs.

What a day.

[JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE]

The slamming of the front door was the first indication, if there were any indications at all, that something was amiss. From where he sat curled up in the armchair in the living room Joshua froze, gray eyes flicking toward the archway that led into the main hall. The heavy clunking of shoes against the floorboards immediately clued him in to the fact that it was Donovan rather than Patricia who had returned home from work. Early. Why was he early? It sent a slight chill down Josh’s spine. Things had started to become tense around them once more lately. Worried that Donovan might have had a bad day, the nineteen year old was just scrambling out of the chair to take cover in the upstairs when the older man entered the room. “Hi, Dad,” said Joshua nervously, taking a step back and fiddling with the book in his hands. “I was just--” Before he could get a word out, however, the older man cut him off with a quiet demand, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Joshua had absolutely no idea what this was about and thus could only stammer incoherently for a moment before managing, “Dad, I don’t--” This was also cut off prematurely. “If you decide to date a fugitive it seems only sensible that your mother and I should be informed!’

Oh. Oh, no. Clarity and understanding suddenly and rather unfortunately came flooding back to him. This was about Nell. Joshua wanted to cover for her and insist that he had no idea what the older man was talking about but he knew that the way his gray eyes had widened in horror had been enough. Donovan knew. He knew that his son had been hiding this for months, that Nell had been hiding this. Only she hadn’t been hiding from Joshua. He had known even before she’d decided to tell him that she was guilty of matricide. It was out of his love and his friendship for the girl that he’d kept it silent and waited for Nell to disclose the information on her own terms. Donovan wasn’t going to be so kind. Shaking slightly from nerves, Josh took a breath and managed, “How did you find out?” Nell had done an excellent job of hiding it thus far--Joshua was well aware of that. Hell, she hadn’t known that he was standing there to overhear her when she’d unknowingly confessed to him the first time. It had been due to stress that she’d finally caved for real. He doubted that she would be stupid enough to spill the beans to her boyfriend’s rather judgmental and fierce father. No, there was something else going on here. Taking another step away from his father for good measure, Joshua waited uncertainly for the response.

“Nevermind how I found out,” Donovan snarled at his son, making Josh flinch back slightly. Though shorter than Josh by around an inch or so he still managed to intimidate the boy who had grown up with a fear of him, both rational and irrational at times. “Presently I’d think you would be more concerned with what this means.” Joshua’s brows pulled together in a sort of worried confusion. “What it means?” he repeated, shaking his head. “I--I don’t follow.” He could feel a lump in his throat and he tried to hastily swallow it down, only succeeding in nearly choking himself instead. Donovan didn’t seem the least concerned about the fact that his son was now massaging his throat with a pained expression. “Come, now, Joshua,” the man said in exasperation. “You can’t seriously be considering dating a--a murderer.” The word cut deep. He hated it every time Nell used it in regards to herself and it was even worse when Donovan said it. Disgust and contempt had laced through those words and even though he respected the man who’d raised him he didn’t much like the sound of them. “Don’t call her that.” It wasn’t a plea and it wasn’t spoken with any sort of trepidation--instead, it was a demand. He was not going to tolerate anyone slandering Nell when they didn’t know the full story. It was remarkable that his affection for her was so strong that he would stand up to his father simply to protect her honour. Twisted as well, perhaps, defending a killer over your own parents… but the circumstances in Nell’s case were in her favour. At least Josh thought so.

Donovan did not agree. This was apparent by the way his own eyes, steely gray just like his son’s, narrowed to a glare. “Watch yourself, boy,” he warned. “I will call the girl whatever I like. To think that my own son--” He cut himself off and shook his head as if he were troubled about something. It was several seconds of tense silence before he drew breath and spoke again. “To think that she has managed to trick even you into believing--but, no. I mustn’t forget that you are the same child who got involved with a gang that later tried to kill you.” He was resorting to his usual tactic of guilt and shame in order to make his son feel as if this was his fault. For a moment it seemed to be working--Joshua winced and ducked his head slightly in submission. He knew that Donovan would likely never forgive him for what he had done involving the gang and the years of secrecy from his parents. Then, however, he analysed the words again. “Hang on!” he protested, temper flaring up again and colourless eyes sparking with anger. “I haven’t been tricked! I’m not--I knew about Nell!” He was both offended that his father thought someone could hoodwink him so easily and also that his girlfriend was being attacked for something that Donovan clearly knew nothing about. Instead of having the effect he was hoping for, however, his father only sighed. “This only proves how much power she’s had over you.” Joshua was so angry that he could barely form a coherent sentence, shaking his head vehemently and quite literally dropping the book from his hands. “I cannot allow it,” Donovan concluded. Josh found his voice then. “Allow it?’ By this point he was beyond outraged. ”No. No! You can’t--this is my life! I’ll decide who I can and can’t go out with, thanks!”

The age argument was something that cropped up often between them. Indeed, Donovan seemed almost used to it by this point and held the same argument each time. “This is my house,” he stated simply. “Therefore, as resident, you abide by my rules.” In theory it might have made sense but the fact that his father was trying to pick and choose even his romantic partners meant that this was getting out of hand. “You’ve met Nell!” he exclaimed, desperately trying a different approach. “You know what she’s like, she wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Perhaps it was not too late to get his father on their side. Unfortunately, said hopes were dashed a moment later when Donovan icily replied, “I thought I knew the girl--thought that you did.” There was no sympathy in his tone and Joshua could already tell that this was a losing battle. He might have simply left the room in anger and thought of new ways to settle this between them… that is, until his father decided to continue. “Now I see that she’s simply a selfish, no good--”

“Don’t talk about Nell like that,” Joshua scowled, practically bristling.

“--lying murderer. I cannot believe I let such scum grace my doorstep.” And that was that. With his last words Joshua could hold in his anger no longer, swiftly crossing the room in a few long strides and striking out as hard as he could. There was a satisfying hiss of pain from his father as fist connected with flesh and then an unfortunate retaliation as the older man slammed him against the wall and pinned him there. The expensive vase and collection of photos above the fireplace shook with the impact. “Apologise to me right now, boy,” Donovan commanded. “I am willing to forgive that slip of the tongue if only because that witch of a woman manipulated you--” Josh was not having this. “She’s not a witch!” he spat. “I will not!” He shoved hard against the weight holding him to the wall and succeeded in making both men stumble slightly and nearly lose their footing. Punches were thrown and cheap shots were made--Donovan dug an elbow hard into his gut to put an eventual end to their grappling. With a weak gasp of pain the Fire graduate slackened his grip on Donovan’s shirt and sank forward onto his knees, clutching his stomach and blinking his watering eyes. “Sh-shit,” he spat, having forgotten just how tough his father could get. Donovan took advantage of his son’s incapacitation to step out of harm’s reach and glare down at him. “I want you out,” he said in a tone that allowed no argument. Josh glared darkly at him as if he wanted to leap up and wrap hands around his neck. He was certainly thinking along those violent lines. “Countless times I’ve allowed you to get away with shaming our family name--”

“Get away with? I’ve never got away with anything!”

“but this was the last straw.” Donovan didn’t appear to be listening to his son, who was presently getting to his feet with the aid of the nearby arm of a couch. The boy was certain that he’d have a nasty bruise where he’d been elbowed in the gut soon enough. He didn’t really care. He went for his father a second time, but the pain in his side made him a little more slow and less calculated. Donovan stepped aside easily and cuffed his son across the back of his head rather violently, causing Josh to gasp with pain. Within the next few seconds he found himself against the wall again, only this time he was not stupid enough to fight back. If he was using his full strength and willpower he just might be able to overpower the man, but the twisted respect he had for him made him restrain just enough to make himself the weaker man. Even with Nell threatened with insults and coldness Joshua couldn’t force himself to shake the instinct that had been drilled into him since childhood. He panted and glared and felt the express desire to spit, but he withheld such an urge. Donovan eventually removed the arm that was barring him against the wall and gestured to the door. “It’s either Nell or us,” he said quite plainly. “No son of mine will ever be seen dating a murderer, and if you insist on breaking this rule then you are no longer any son of mine.”

Joshua stared at the man whom he’d called his father for nineteen years, then said quite simply, “Fuck you.” He didn’t look back as he shoved past the older man and headed for the door. Trish and Annabel wouldn’t be home until later but he wasn’t going to stick around to stay goodbye. “Don’t bother collecting your things,” Donovan called after him. “You aren’t deserving of anything this family has ever provided for you!” Joshua didn’t look back, merely flipped him the finger over his shoulder. He left through the garage door despite angry protests when Donovan realised what he was up to, ignoring his father’s shouts as he got into the sleek white Lamborghini Aventador that lay as if in wait. The bastard wasn’t leaving him without a car again. He didn’t have any money on him at present--nothing compared to what he’d left with last time, at least. He only had the keys to his precious car and whatever few bills he had in his wallet. Donovan wouldn’t forget to shut down his credit cards and lance access to the family fortune; oh, no. The last glimpse of his father was of red-faced fury in the rear view mirror before he slammed his foot on the gas and tore out of the gates before they could be closed. His lip was busted and bleeding, he had a mark on his jaw and he was pretty sure that he’d bruised a rib, but Joshua barely thought of that as he drove as far away from the mansion as possible. He didn’t have any clue what he was going to do in terms of a place to live, but losing shelter was better than losing a girl whom he knew to be much less of a monster than Donovan made her out to be.