This is my first DPS fic so please go easy. Also a note, I have no clue what year the Dead Poets Society takes place in I know it's the 50's but I just decided that when the movie starts it's 1959 and by the time this story starts it's 1960, so if anyone actually knows when the movie takes place and I'm wrong about it please forgive me.
Charlie made his way through the cold London streets, his head bowed low to shield his face from the cold harsh wind. He looked at the paper clutched tightly in his hand and then up at the street sign in front of him, he realized the street name on the paper and the street name he stood in front of were the same. His eyes scanned the row of town houses to his left until he found the one he was looking for.
It had been a long journey for Charlie, made in the middle of the night so no one would know he was gone until it was too late. Now in London it was 5:30 in the morning on a cold day in January 1960 and Charlie began to wonder if he should come back at a decent hour. He didn't know where else to go however, it had taken him almost 2 hours to find the house he was looking for, he had no idea how long it would take him to find a hotel in the state he was in. So with a heavy sigh he painfully made his way up the stone steps to the front door and knocked part of him hoping he was home and the other part hoping he would ignore Charlie's knocking.
He waited for a few minutes and was about to turn around and leave when he heard the large oak door in front of him being unlocked and then there in front of him was his captain, standing in the doorway his blue robe tied tightly around him, hair mussed from sleep.
"Charlie?" Mr. Keating said in surprise and horror as he looked at his former student.
"C-captain," Charlie said, his teeth chattering from the cold.
Mr. Keating looked him over and Charlie knew it must be a shock to see the great Charles Dalton bruised, shivering, and wind swept.
"Come in, come in," Mr. Keating said as he came to his senses and ushered the boy inside the warm house.
Charlie managed to walk inside without limping; he didn't need to worry his former teacher more than he already was.
"My God, Charlie what happened?" Mr. Keating asked as he closed the door and walked over to examine Charlie's black eye and bruised cheek.
"I fell," Charlie lied lamely.
Mr. Keating reached up to touch Charlie's face and frowned when Charlie flinched and moved back a step.
"Charlie what happened?" Mr. Keating asked his voice calm and concerned. Charlie missed the sound of his captain's voice, missed at how just the very sound washed over his soul and calmed him.
Charlie swallowed back his tears and answered emotionlessly "My father was upset that I got kicked out of Welton…so he disciplined me."
Mr. Keating's eyes went wide horrified at the news that Mr. Dalton had beaten his son, but also horrified at Charlie's emotionless form.
"I'm sorry I woke you, I just…just wanted to see a familiar face before I went to get a hotel," Charlie said as he picked up his suitcase and made to leave.
Mr. Keating placed a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder his heart sinking when Charlie flinched once more. "Please Charlie, you shouldn't be wandering the streets in a place you don't know in the state that you're in, I insist you stay here for the day at least."
Charlie should have known his captain wouldn't let him out of his sight until he knew Charlie would be ok. The thing was, Charlie didn't know if he would ever be ok again.
Mr. Keating peered into the guest bedroom where Charlie was sleeping soundly. He sighed sadly; his heart was broken into pieces both over Neil's death and now by Charlie's abuse. He couldn't understand any of it, how parents could force their children to follow a certain path when the child wanted to do something else with their life.
He had seen more of Charlie's bruises when the young man had taken off his coat, large ugly black and purplish bruises covering his arms, but the bruise that chilled John Keating to the bone was the bruise of handprints around Charlie's neck. Mr. Dalton hadn't disciplined his son; he had tried to kill him.
Mr. Keating shivered as he thought of what could have happened if Charlie hadn't gotten away when he did. John couldn't handle getting the call from one of his former students informing him of Charlie's death.
John turned to walk downstairs and get breakfast ready when he heard Charlie mumble something in his sleep. Once more, he peered into the guest bedroom and saw Charlie tossing and turning in his sleep, his face twisted in pain.
"No please, I'm sorry," Charlie called out desperately.
John didn't know what else to do; he quickly made his way into the room and sat on the edge of the bed as Charlie tried to get away from his invisible attacker.
"Charlie, Charlie wake up it's ok no one is going to hurt you any more," Keating said as he shook Charlie gently to wake him.
Charlie's eyes snapped open and he saw someone leaning over him, he let out a startled yell and tried to get away from the figure.
"Charlie, it's alright, it's me," John said trying to calm the young man down.
Charlie looked at his captain for a moment and the past few hours came rushing back to him. He was at Mr. Keating's house in London, there was no way his father knew he was here, he was safe. He felt embarrassed as Mr. Keating looked at him, his eyes full of concern for him.
"Sorry Captain," Charlie mumbled.
"You don't have to apologize Charlie," Keating said softly.
Charlie looked away from the other man and John sighed, he didn't know what to do. The person in front of him wasn't his Charlie it was an empty and bruised shell. 'Wait, my Charlie, when did he become my Charlie?' Keating thought to himself confused.
"You should rest, I'll wake you when I get breakfast ready," John said and Charlie only nodded as he settled back down onto the bed.