Disclaimer: I do not own 'Complete Savages', nor do I own the characters, however given the rights of a fanfictionnaire I can willingly do whatever I want to them in my imagination… and onscreen (computer screen).


Chapter one.

After a few hours of wandering around the isolated old park just a few roads from where he lived Sam made his way home. His distressed state, the after effects of a very painful break up between him and Angela. She wanted something he could never give her; himself. Deep down there'd always be a part of him buried with his mother, a part of him that died long ago, and he could never give it to anyone because he wasn't even sure it was there anymore. Or maybe it was just the guy he'd seen her with weeks before the climax of their long term suffering relationship, maybe she just couldn't stand to be with a guy as pathetic as he was…

"Hey Dad, you know if I got any post today?" he asks morbidly as he enters the house.

"Oh yeah." Nick mumbles, then becoming distracted by the super bowl.

"So…?" Sam says.

"What?"

"Where is it?"

"Erm…" he becomes distracted once again.

Frustrated, Sam walks in front of the TV.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

"Making you listen to me for once, now please tell me where my post is!" he almost shouts.

Nick points towards the kitchen. "Now get out of the way…"

Sam follows the direction in which Nick pointed in, and then standing in the centre of the kitchen glances around for his post. He looks on the kitchen work top, he looks in the bin, he looks down on the floor… but no paper, no letters, no parcels. He then decides (as not to disturb his dad further) to check the cupboards and the drawers as well, but still, nothing.

"Dad…" he shouts into the living room.

No reply comes.

"Dad!" he repeats.

This time there was, "Talk to me after the super bowl, Christ don't be so selfish…"

He decides to give it up and go to bed, it didn't matter too much anyhow, he was feeling too depressed for it to mean anything to him. A moment before he exits the downstairs part of the house Kyle comes running in, a crumpled up attempt at an airplane model in his hands.

"Oops" he states as he runs into Sam.

"Oops indeed, Kyle I paid fifty bucks for this, that's hours of hard work - down the drain. It was the only thing left I was looking forwards to… a model of the original fighter planes used during the Second World War… and you've ruined it."

"Big deal, the wars over why'd this thing be so important to you anyway, it sucks" he replies arrogantly.

"So that's it. You're not even going to apologise?" Sam says, tears forming in his eyes, this was one of the worst days of his life, his girlfriend dumps him, his father doesn't give a shit, and now his little brother breaks his things and doesn't even care about him enough to apologise for it…

"Sam? Are you crying? My god you are… you're such a baby."

This just makes the strain on the back of his eyes even worsen and the water banks are about to burst.

"Grow up." He says forcing out his words.

"No…" Kyle replies, thinking himself a big man, he shoves Sam backwards until he hits the kitchen worktop. "…You grow up." He was enjoying every moment of feeling bigger than his 'big' brother, but Sam would soon shut him up.

Sam lowers his head in shame, and then a moment later without warning his fist shoots up and smacks Kyle right across the face. Kyle falls back onto the floor, and begins to cry.

"Who's the baby now?" Sam spits as he heads out of the kitchen and makes his way upstairs to his bedroom.

He throws himself on the bed sighing, and wipes at his eyes, 'I can't cry, I can't cry…' he tells himself over and over again. He isn't the violent one, they are. He's the kid that does everything right. Kyle deserves what he got, being so heartless and all, but being the soft old soul Sam is he still feels bad about what he's done. Minutes later he hears loud thuds coming up the stairs, followed by a pounding on his door.

"Who is it?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

The door swings open with a crash and there stands Jack, Dad, and Kyle with dad holding onto his shoulders, blood smears across his face, and yet he has the same sadistic smile upon his face that he'd been forming before the fight.

"Who is it? Who do you think it would be? Hey!" Nick lunges forward and grabs hold of Sam's shirt from behind him, pushing him forwards toward Kyle. "I'll teach you to beat up your little brother like that…"

"But dad…" Sam began.

"I DON'T wanna hear it."

So Sam shuts up like he always does, and he does as he is told like he always does. After all he deserves to be punished for his crime, doesn't he? It's only right, isn't it?

"Stand up."

So Sam stands.

"Now, I want you to tell make me understand what on earth possessed you, practically an adult… to beat up your pre teen little brother. Go on. Explain it to me. I'm all ears."

"Well… I've had a really bad day, Angela…" he pauses thinking that this is not the right time to bring up Angela.

"We had a fight, but then I came back and Kyle had broken my new Second World War plane that I'd spent like…"

"All this over a broken plane?" Nick interrupts, "Right. Here's what is going to happen, Kyle here, is going to punch you 5 times, where ever he likes. You know why?"

Sam nods, but Nick continues anyway.

"…Because that is equivalent to a fully grown man hitting him… Christ, all this over a stupid plane. Kids."

"It's not a stupid plane… what about your old basket ball, you went nuts when we lost it to Mrs. Riley's backyard and anyway Kyle was asking for it, he was trying to bully me… the other boys, they hit me all the time just because they're bored. Its what brothers do…"

"…Oh, it's what brothers do is it, well lets have Kyle do his job then, and we can all be off then."

Sam stands silent, and then he walks towards the door. Nick steps forwards pulling him back.

"Who said this was a choice?"

Sam stares into his angry aging face and then he looks down at the floor. "I can't deal with this right now, please Dad… Dad, please don't be a bastard…"

Nicks grip however unexpectedly becomes tighter until Sam winces with pain.

"You'll do what I tell you to, understand?" he says, his breath smelling somewhat of chips and alcohol. "Boys, Come 'ere, Don't you think Sam should take his punishment like a man?"

They all nod. A wariness Sam has never really felt before starts creeping over him and shivers travel down his spine - like a defence mechanism creating the hairs on the back of his neck and arms to stand on end. Before he knows it Nick and Jack are holding him tightly by the arms in front of Kyle. Kyle wipes the remainder blood from under his nose and clenches his fists. It's almost as if he's been waiting for this his whole life. Sam doesn't struggle, he can't be bothered, he'd just let Kyle get his way and when it's over he'd go to bed, safe and a sound. He couldn't be bothered trying to escape because he couldn't stop thinking about how his family could do this to him. He couldn't stop thinking about how they cared so little about him that they'd let someone beat the shit out of him – and that someone is his own brother.

"One" Kyle states before landing a punch to Sam's kneecap, causing him to call out in pain.

He struggles to stay on his feet for a moment, and fights back the pricks of tears stinging his eyeballs.

"Two" This time he hesitated deciding on the best method to inflict the most pain on Sam.

"Hurry up Kyle, we're missing the Superbowl…"

"Two" he repeats and then kneels and hits Sam in both shins with two fists causing his legs to give way. For a few seconds he's on the floor and then… he's being dragged up to eye level again.

"Three" this time Kyle lifted Sam's face up with on hand and then brought the other in a clenched fist down on the side of his face creating a collision of such force that even Kyle shook his hand in pain. Sam's face stung, but he lifted his head soundless nonetheless. "Please…" Sam whimpers unable to look any of them in the eyes.

"Four" Kyle states hitting Sam in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of him. Struggling to breathe for the next few moments, Sam doesn't even see the last attack heading in the direction of his private area. Kyle's foot collides with this area so hard that Jack and Nick have to use all their strength to keep Sam on his feet. The tears finally fall like rain drops, and the pain is unbearable. However Sam does not moan about how they'd said five 'punches' and no mention of 'kicks', he doesn't even make a sound as the tears fall silently. But Kyle just stands there, observing his discomfort, and is on the verge of laughter.

Nick and Jack drop Sam to the floor unsympathetically and run out of the room to catch the rest of their Superbowl programme. Sam lies there, confused and sniffing. For a moment he thinks he is alone. Being so worn out and tired he doesn't bother to open his eyes until he hears the creaking of floorboards, and then a foot, which soon turns into a fast blur as it makes contact with his face.

"Don't you ever lay a finger on me again fag, no wonder Angela left you, you're such a freak.. Yeah I know, I can see in your eyes. You're all alone again and you know it. You think dad will give you any kind of comfort - yeah right. I own them and now I own you… you do anything I don't like and you know what'll happen…" On his last threat Kyle lays one last kick in between Sam's legs and then leaves. The laughter is finally evident in the soon to be eerily silent room.

Sam finally looks up, his whole body aching. He can feel the blood flowing from a swollen cut in his mouth, and his nose begins to let loose its warm red liquid. He drags himself over to his bed, and using what little strength he has left lifts himself onto it. As he curls up on the bed trying to drag the thin sheet over his bruised body he's too shaky to pull it over himself, and after some long hours of crying and running out of tears he falls asleep to the sounds of cheering males and fuzzy voices of Superbowl commentary.


So, any thought's people?