Title: Harder to Let Go
Fandom: Real Steel
Rating: T (for language)
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Charlie and Max Kenton.
Summary: When Max fell off the cliff, his heart immediately stopped working. When he pulled him into his embrace, Charlie knew that it would be harder to let his son go.
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own any.
Warning: For grammatical mistakes, and some others, I presume. Might find this not to your liking, but still, I wish you'd leave a review before leaving?
"Charlie! Help me!" Max's cry pierced through the silent night as he fell down further and further until god-knew-where. His heart immediately stopped beating, and Charlie knew that if he couldn't save him in time; that brat would most likely be dead or worse, traumatized and paralyzed for his entire life with broken bones, cracked skull, dislocated joints, and the impossibility to be normal and healthy again—
Oh god fuck no.
"Max!" he screamed out at the top of his lungs in panic, running as fast as he possibly could toward the endless staircases and jumped down, skipping two or three stairs while cursing inwardly to himself. All the blood in his veins rushed faster and faster, adrenaline coursed throughout his entire body but not in a good way, and Charlie couldn't help but realize what kind of impact that both he and the kid would get after this.
He's not protective of him—not at all, but he was being cautious, because if Max died, he'd be in a big trouble and that's all there was to it—and it's not like he was fond of him either—not at all despite their similarities and barely-there-bonds—he didn't give a damn about that kid or his existence. He just wanted to hand him to Debora or Debra or whatever her name was and got this over with.
But then, that stupid small part of his heart deep, deep, far too deep down there knew better than that.
It's not that he didn't want to protect him; as a matter of fact, he had been protecting him all along (from himself, the harshness of reality, and all kinds of danger). And it's not that he wasn't fond of him, for god's freaking sake, he's in love with the kid since the day he was born, but he didn't show it, because he was afraid to be too attached to him and even though he wanted to stay (he should have stayed); with his messed-up life-style, there was no way he would be able to make things right. He knew it from the start, so it's best this way.
But then—he pulled him into his arms, and everything seemed to be just perfect—Max was perfect. He somehow made his heart stop aching so fucking painfully against his ribcage, warmth and relief replaced the panic and frightened feelings in his chest, and in that moment, Charlie knew; that it would be harder to let his son go, now that it came to this.
I should've stayed.
This is, by far, is the shortest story I've written so far. 425 words—even shorter than my X-Men fic, but I think that this is worth it. Truly.