In which Silas gains the father figure he never had and always needed.

Warning: elements of domestic abuse

~

Silas Karlisle jolted up in bed as the sound of shattered glass reached his ears. The faint flourescent light of the kitchen down the hall pooled into his messy bedroom from the crack under the door. He began to tremble as he heard his parents fighting yet again.

"Please calm down, Angelo - "

"You expect me to calm down, woman!?"

Silas threw the blanket off of him and rushed to lock his door with shaking hands. It was the same routine. Silas would go to bed after a tense family dinner, tucked in by his mother despite his insistence that he was too old to be tucked in. Then, the shouting. Every night, the shouting. Sometimes, there would be hitting. Or broken glass, like tonight. Or both. Occasionally, Silas would dash out of his room to try to defend his mother like the heroes in the stories he read about. But every time, the results would be the same: going to school, tae kwon do class, or bey practice with fresh bruises. It was humiliating, but the nine-year-old boy never learned.

Struggling to take deep breaths, Silas thought quickly and grabbed his new beyblade out of his nightstand before barricading his door with his desk chair. It was ridiculous, having to carry an inanimate object for comfort. He had been a fan of the sport for as long as he could remember, and for his ninth birthday, his mother had finally gotten a one-of-a-kind bey made just for him.

Kinetic Satomb. That's what it was called. Silas wasn't very good yet, and the other bladers in the neighborhood teased him for it. But one day, he would show them. He would show them all what it felt like to be weak.

Silas sat behind his bed as he heard a smacking noise from the kitchen, followed by a cry of pain from his mother. He flinched. The hitting had started. He clutched Satomb tightly to his chest.

"I didn't work my butt off in retail for fourteen goddamn years," Angelo Karlisle roared, "to be stuck in a tiny ass Manhattan apartment with you and that scrawny ass boy who isn't even into any real sports!"

"You're gonna wake up Silas!"

"Do I look like I fuckin' care!?"

Smack! Smack! Thump! With every hit and every cry, Silas flinched. He feebly covered his ears, pressing the metal of Satomb close to the side of his head.

"I'm never gonna be like him," he whimpered to himself, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Never, never . . ."

"For your sake, son, I hope not."

Silas gasped and flung Satomb across the room, the metal clanking against the wall and landing on the floor. The carpet muffled the impact. He tried taking a moment to calm down, but the conflict down the hall made that impossible. His heartbeat began to pick up speed. Had he imagined that?

"Relax, I ain't gonna hurt ya."

Nope. Not imaginary.

Silas crept through the darkness towards Satomb and gingerly picked it up before heading back to his hiding place. He sat back down, folding himself in an uncomfortable position against the wall. He looked down at Satomb's black and purple crest. This was stupid. He didn't believe in fairytales anymore.

"Who are you?" Silas asked shakily.

"I'm Satomb, obviously."

Silas raised an eyebrow as he adjusted his purple tinted sunglasses; he didn't really need them, but he wore them everywhere, even inside the house. The voice was low and gruff, and shared the same Bronx accent as Silas's father. But it was a lot . . . calmer. Safer, even.

"Th-that doesn't make sense," Silas argued. He tried to keep his voice quiet, hovering just above a whisper.

"Yes it makes sense. Don't you know that beys share their bladers' souls?"

"No, I-I didn't," Silas admitted. He gritted his teeth in shame. But that sounded pretty cool.

"That's alright, kid. Now get in the closet, I don't think behind the bed is exactly the best hiding place."

Silas didn't have to be told twice. He jumped to his feet and bolted to the closet, hiding under the hanging clothes as he heard footsteps thumping down the hallway. . . .

~

"Goddamnit, Kit!"

Silas's sharp voice rang out in the BC Sol gym, making every other blader tense up. Now nineteen years old, he had taken the beyblade world by storm, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to be the best. He was going to be the best. And he wasn't going to tolerate weak teammates.

"How the hell d'you expect to get on the top team now?" Silas roared at the younger boy, hands planted on his hips.

Fourteen-year-old Kit Lopez flinched before glaring back up at Silas. He had grown up with BC Sol, as his mother Ange was the cafeteria lady. All his life, he had watched bladers come and go, and he had eventually decided to join the student blader program.

"I've got as much talent as you!" Kit snapped back.

Silas almost laughed.

"The only reason you're here is 'cause your mom works the cafeteria." he snarled. "It's shocking how you're even on the second string with how fuckin' weak you are."

Kit's lime green eyes widened, and tears began to well up within them. At first, Silas scoffed. But then he recognized the look on Kit's face: fear.

"What the fuck, Silas!?" Valt Aoi shouted from across the room, rushing to Kit's aid.

"Who pissed in your cereal?" the beautiful Shasa Guten added sharply.

Silas stuffed his hands in his pockets and sauntered off as shame rose within him. Why the hell did he do that? He could hear Shasa mutter, "Don't listen to that asshole."

Ears ringing, Silas made his way back to the dorms and stumbled into his dim bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 'Weak.' He had developed a habit of throwing that word around a lot. Wasn't that what his father used to call him?

No. No, Silas was not like his father. He had vowed to never be like him years ago. But the way Kit was looking at him . . .

"I'm not my father," Silas muttered desperately, as though repeating it out loud would help in some way. He began to hyperventilate, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He took Satomb out of the casing in his belt, peering down at him as though looking for an answer. Right on cue, Satomb's deep voice, a voice Silas had found comfort in time and time again, echoed in his mind.

"That wasn't needed." His tone was stern.

"I know," Silas mumbled as he bent over his desk. He massaged his temple as though he had a headache.

"You know that kid looks up to you, right?" Satomb reminded him. "Don't be so hard on him, he's trying his best."

Silas raised an eyebrow of skepticism.

"No, he doesn't!" he snapped. "Who'd look up to me?"

That's when it hit him, like a boulder to his chest. All the beys he had damaged. All the kids whose confidence he had shattered over and over again. Every single person he had called weak. He thought he was just motivating them. At least, that was his excuse. That was what he tried to tell himself. . . .

"I'm disappointed in you, son." Satomb sighed.

Not again . . .

The final nail in the coffin. Silas's knees buckled, and he collapsed, head falling onto his arms as he started to sob pathetically. He couldn't hold in the tears that streamed from his eyes like an angry river and fogged up his purple sunglasses. He grabbed at his green dyed hair with his free hand and tugged on it harshly, needing to feel some sort of pain as though to punish himself.

"I'm sorry," Silas whimpered, his voice ragged. "Fuck! I'm sorry, Dad . . ."

There was no response on the other end, only silence. No, Satomb had to say something back, right? But Silas didn't know whether he wanted words of encouragement or a verbal lashing. All he really wanted was to stop crying like a baby. He was above crying.

Tok, tok, tok

"I know you're in there, Silas."

Shasa's voice made Silas's whole body stiffen up. He wanted to shout at her to go away, but he knew he didn't have the right. So he wiped his tears on the sleeve of his black leather jacket and turned away from the door.

"Whaddya want?" he snapped.

Silas heard the door swing open behind him.

"You owe Kit an apology." Shasa told him sharply, wasting no time in cutting to the chase.

"I know," Silas replied, his voice breaking unintentionally. He felt so . . . defeated.

A tense silence fell between the two, and Shasa sighed deeply. Silas wanted to punch a wall.

"You're better than this. I know that."