He didn't really know what he did wrong, but the figure looming before him didn't care. The fists flew, there was a kick thrown in for good measure now and then.
By now he had learned that there was no amount of reasoning or pleading that would make it stop, so he saved his energy and waited for it to be over.


Gerrit awoke with a stifled scream. Already the dream started to fade, the only things remaining clearly in his head being pain, fear and confusion.


The worst thing about dreams like these was that he was never sure if he was reliving his youth or his Durance. Joke's on you - I went through years of therapy to deal with the same kind of stuff you've been throwing at me.
Still, with his father there was at least some rhyme or reason to his temper: he was either craving the stuff he was smoking, was high off of it or was hungover from days of partying. And the insults and accusations were mostly incoherent, but they gave a semblance of motive for the things he put Gerrit through. His keeper though, he never said a word.


He learned to keep his head down and endure, but he never accepted to take the blame his father wanted to put on him. He was bright enough to know that the abuse wouldn't last forever, that - unless the junkie he shared his home with overdid it and killed him - he had his whole life ahead of him. Same as now.


It would take some time until he was able to go back to sleep. Gerrit laid on his back and stared at the darkness above him - pride, anger and fear running circles in his mind. Underneath it all was sorrow. While his dad took his chance at a normal childhood, it's not like Gerrit knew the difference back then. The Fae took something the Ogre has learned to treasure, has earned himself. He'd be damned if he allowed it to happen again.


The abuse has stopped, he was twice free and he made sure to remember the lessons he had learned. He could outlast, he wasn't powerless and most importantly: he deserved a good life.


Finally he slipped back into a dreamless sleep.