Chapter Text
Charles yawned, his eyes fluttering open. He sat up and blinked away the sunlight that was filtering through the window into his face.
He hated waking up. He wished he could stay asleep forever. His crib was comfortable, with all his toys. His teddy bears, his plush dragons and sheep and owls. He had many other toys scattered throughout his room. He even had a dollhouse - his favorite thing to play with. He had anything he wanted - yet he wasn't satisfied. The thought of not having anything made Charles tear up. He was determined not to cry. That's what he told himself every time he cried - that he wouldn't, he mustn't. His tears didn't help him in any way. They would only make him look like a sad coward.
But that's what you are, a voice inside him whispered. What did you do to help George? What did you do when he was dying? You did nothing, you let Samuel save him and you got none of the recognition so what does he owe you -
"Stop it!" Charles yelled to himself, clapping his hands over his ears. He hated when his brain teased him. He hated it, he hated it. He climbed out of his crib and landed on his unstable feet. His legs had never worked correctly - his knees were naturally knocked and he was unsteady bob his feet. He was impossibly clumsy and hurt himself on table corners half the time.
He plunked down on the carpet, dragging one of his smaller doll houses toward him. He also got out a box - and when he opened it, it revealed his porcelain dolls. These were the dolls he never played with - he was too clumsy and would probably break them. He had only picked them up one, just to look at them. He had dropped one on the carpet and broken the doll's arm.
He slowly and carefully took the dolls out and lined them up in a row in front of the dollhouse. The one with the broken arm he left in the box. That left fourteen dolls left.
Charles picked one of the dolls up and ran his pale fingers over its face. It was a girl, with long brown hair and small freckles over her nose. Her lipstick was centered in the middle of her lips and she wore a huge bow on her head and a pink sailor dress.
Charles placed her on the second floor o the dollhouse and moved to the next girl doll. This one had curly dark hair, large eyes, and she wore a blue and yellow dress. He picked her up, but there was a clink as the porcelain broke and her head came off, her body falling to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
A shard of the porcelain dug itself into the side of another doll, and it fell over, breaking as well, but not as bad as the girl doll. Charles stared at the broken porcelain all around him, and he began to cry.
You see, when Charles cries, it isn't like a normal human's crying. His tears don't simply disappear - they act like a cup of water. One simple tear could contain as much as a cup of water, or more. So when the first tear fell into his palm, it flooded out from in between his fingers and onto the floor.
Soon Charles was sitting in a puddle of his own tears, sobbing his heart out. He curled in on himself, his sobs loud and choked. He barely noticed when the blue swirling portal at the end of the room began to make its sound - the whirring and swishing. There was a thump as someone entered the pocket and landed on the floor. Charles didn't look up.
"Charlie?"
Charles did look up when he heard his nickname. He looked up to see the only person who cared for his existence. The one person who would dare talk to such a miserable creature.
Samuel ran up to him and hugged him, letting the smaller boy cry into his shoulder and french his shoulder. "Charlie, what did you break?" Samuel said, making him look up at him. Charles held up the porcelain. "I-I broke them," Charles sobbed. "I broke them. I broke them, Sam, I broke them."
Samuel held Charles to his chest again. "Shh, I know, I see them, Charlie. I know."
Charles calmed down after a long time. He looked up at Samuel. "Sam?" He said quietly.
Samuel looked down at him, brushing his tears off his cheeks. "Yes, Charlie?"
"What if George comes back and tries to hurt us again?" Charles whispered, his eyes glossy from tears.
Samuel pursed his lips. "I-I don't - I mean, no, he won't come back. We locked him in his pocket, remember? Silly goose, you forgot."
Charles smiled a little at this, and leaned into Samuel. But Samuel glanced nervously at the portal as if expecting their psychopath nemesis to come crashing through.