
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8264173.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      AOMG, 2PM, DBSK/TVXQ, Jay_Park_(Musician)
  Relationship:
      Kim_Jaejoong/Park_Jaebeom_(not_really), Jung_Kiseok_|_Simon_D/Park
      Jaebeom_|_Jay_Park, Lee_Sunghwa_|_Gray/Park_Jaebeom_|_Jay_Park
  Character:
      Kim_Jaejoong, Park_Jaebeom_|_Jay_Park, 2PM_Ensemble, Kim_Minjun_|_Jun._K,
      Park_Jaekyung_(Male_OC), Ok_Taecyeon, TVXQ_Ensemble, Park_Jehan_
      (Brother), Nichkhun_Horvejkul, Amy_Jung_(Female_OC), Hwang_Chansung, Jang
      Wooyoung, Kim_Junsu, Jung_Kiseok_|_Simon_D, Lee_Sam_(Formerly_Of_9Muses),
      Lee_Seonghwa_|_Gray, Kim_Hyuna
  Additional Tags:
      Crossover, Angst, Incest, Pedophilia, Murder, Depression, Anxiety,
      Obsession, Death, Suicide, Religion, Degrading_Talk_of_Religion, Underage
      Rape/Non-con, Childhood_Trauma, Bullying, implied_rape, Molestation,
      Trigger-Warnings, Internalized_Homophobia, Father/Son_Incest, Age
      Difference, Aged-Up_Character(s), Emotional/Psychological_Abuse,
      Psychological_Trauma, Trauma
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-11 Updated: 2017-11-18 Chapters: 3/? Words: 3620
****** The Boy Who Never Prayed ******
by Floater
Summary
     "..to which my heart felt a beat for merely a boy with nearly no
     soul, and where my works of art were dust as to him; a beautifully
     cursed cherub of sorrow.
     whereas my books of lives' were so far outdone, by an unfortunate
     boy; made by the hands of me, set off to live in a world by him.
     and to the story of a forgotten child with the problems of a God
     resting on his shoulders, ended all by the bitter of his own hands:
     here is the story of park jaebeom."
***** prologue *****
          god was a careless man; he'd throw together random parts
          and fix together messy souls and call them beautiful--
          sending down ugly men and women with even uglier
          personalities to be born.
          how he could ever love such hideous creatures, I'd never be
          able to understand; how he could betray his so called
          angels when they turned to evil and did bad--I would never
          even fathom.
          but Iam not like god, you see?

          I take my time when I create my beautifully cursed humans--
          and this one, I felt proudest.
          though created by me, who was known for haste and power--
          bloodthirsty beasts and barbaric ways; he was very
          beautiful.
          having carved him from a slab of white diamonds, he was
          pale as if he were me, and he shined with beauty--I dusted
          his skin with colour, he glowed with life. along with his
          lively skin tone, slight tinge of melanin a blessing, came
          his scent; sweet, sweet things such as fruit and flowers
          and his hugs would surely be soothing. his face small and
          his jaw soft, his waist cut thin, his form petite; I was
          already taking to the beautiful boy.
          his eyes made of stars, his nose set straight, hair silky
          soft, his pouty lips made plush and coloured pink with the
          petal of a rose--and when he'd stick his cute little tongue
          out at me I'd laugh with joy. and his smile, so
          magnificently bright I would smile back. why would I not
          take to the boy?
          without the time to laze around as I made his soul, I
          picked the most innocent one and directed him to open his
          mouth--though sloppy, I kissed his soft lips; his eyes lit
          up with colour and the stars hidden within sparkled and
          shined; a galaxy of innocence and child-like dreams of
          sweets and happiness. that is when he finally became,
          "park jaebeom"
          he answered to my call with the sweet, soft voice that
          paired with his personality--I doubted my thoughts on
          sharing him with that dirty world, I wanted to keep him to
          myself; I just wished he wouldn't have to witness the
          things on that 'earth'.
          before he could leave me to do the hateful deeds I was best
          at, I pressed kisses onto to his perfect body--top to
          bottom, all that was mine; first a kiss atop his fluffy mop
          of brown hair, the second on his forehead. a peck on the
          tip of his button nose, a kiss longer than the rest on his
          lips; to his chest where buds hardened from my cold breath
          to his soft stomach where muscles tightened from my gentle
          touch.
          a kiss to his pelvis, he gasped, to his thighs, he
          whimpered, down to his hairless legs and finally to his
          small feet--he looked at me with a understanding of my
          affection--wanting more of my affection, I could not give
          him what he wanted though.

          with a final goodbye, I sent him down to earth to be born--
          I was a little down to have given up such a beautiful boy,
          but what was done was done and I would have to watch him
          grow.
          sadly, I ascended the stairs to heaven and relay to my
          dearest god that I had made the most breathtaking boy and
          had sent him to earth. his words had left me dumbstruck, "I
          do not care for your sinful work." tone unforgiving, albeit
          popular belief of his "honourable" inability to hold
          grudges. I could only shout in anger as I was dragged out
          by hypocritical angels whom sensed my immediate wrath--but
          how could I have not seen it!?



          the cruelty of a man, living a double life; with many
          names, many powers, and many lies.
          my beautiful human would be treated cruelly, all because of
          a careless god.
          and I could do nothing of it.
***** one *****
was there absolutely nothing, I could’ve done in those pitiful three years?

no, but my feet ached.
no, but my eyes burned.
no, but my mind raced.
no, but my skin crawled.
no, but my hands twitched.
no, but my skin paled.
no, but my eyes dulled.
no, but my heart stopped.
no,
but I had excuses.
who would’ve been creative enough, to imagine the ruler of the underworld
wasting away in the refines of his chaotic mind; sat on his throne as fire
burned and blood spilt?
no one.
I and my mind had never been connected, and so I only would think; would know.
I and my mind were never connected, but guilt was so strong both could think
so, could know so.
three years of an immobile king, saddened and with statues to compare with;
because of a boy.
I am pathetic.
but he is careless.
who’d of known that he, such a worshipped man with stories of bravery and of a
sacred death on upright wood, would have abandoned the most pure of what he
called angels, but I knew to be monsters—that he’d give up on such a sweet soul
just because it was created by me—who’d of known!
three long, quiet years—to which, in a sorrowful intoxication, I wasted—full of
little wonders and an unadulterated soul, had passed and, with little known but
lot to learn; my beautiful boy grew.
...
he’s three when his father’s face appears on the local news station, on the
colourful t.v in the very center of his rundown daycare.
he doesn’t understand though, what the big bold letters mean; nor the strange
black lines and the dark numbers behind his father in the picture, the mean
grin etched onto the man’s bruised face and the black board graced with his
full name in between his usually warm, clean hands all so unfamiliar and
confusing.
though the minute it appeared, in clear colour and perfect sound, his mother
and brother were pulling him from the building—his friends watching curiously,
confusedly, as his toy-sized book bag was forced onto his tired little arms and
he was rushed out of the class, “bye-bye jay” they squeaked in unison, a mantra
of high pitched yelps more like; but nonetheless he was leaving—and guided into
a van he’d never seen before.
but a van he’d never seen before, and a driver he’d just seen on the wide,
colourful screen of his daycare television set; glowering like a madman.
“appa?” he calls with innocent questioning, clambering into the van with his
brother’s help until he was secure in the big space; his little feet barely
swinging off of the edge in his smallness.
the man growls at him a bit to hurry up—“shut it ‘nd strap up.” he says,
already moving the wheel in a rush of adrenaline—though he cared not for the
little one’s safety, but for his own anonymousness, he yelled for the
struggling child to hurry.
though his tone makes the three year-old weary, his lips quivering in an income
of confusion struck tears, he ignores the toddler and takes no heed in stomping
on the gas so hard his frail company (family, I suppose) flings forward in
heaves and huffs—a mere sob leaving the three year-old in quakes despite trying
to keep silent when jehan pats his hair.
the unfamiliar van zooms and rushes past the streets he’d seen so often;
leaving them a blur to his unfocused eyes.
he wants to ask if they can visit the café with the big muffins because his
tummy rumbles (though he’s not quite sure what words to use) and if they can
get a blanket because jehan is cold and shivering—he wants to know why they’re
leaving ulzzang, the charming orange tabby that eomma fed tuna every weekend;
he wants to know why they’re leaving, why they’d be leaving their cozy
apartment empty of them, why’d their neighbour, the swanky woman with pretty
dark skin, would have nobody to greet in the morning...but..he doesn’t speak,
and so he gets no answers.
soon enough, those familiar streets were replaced by the unknown, with night
having fallen and light having diminished to lamps and signs, the unknown
loomed heavily over the windows—and the unknown never ceased in its dark
streets and shameless people hiding in the shadows.
although, it indeed brought adventure (with trees that stood tall like mountain
giants and clouds that moved like the sea, shadows that crept like clever
heroes and sounds that meant a villains defeat), a little mind knew not what to
expect; but what to remember...and so he cried and cried when the road got
bumpy and when the sky turned grey and rain ‘pitta-patted’ on the windows; neon
streetlights glowering down at them and twinkling stars seemingly dying out
just at his gaze—he cried.
but after whiles passed, his mind venturing, sleep calling yet evading him when
tears found themselves dry with tire; the delicate boy finds that the car has
stopped. there is no sound, where they are; nothing but howling winds and his
mother’s pitiful sniffles from the front seat.
his father whistles delightfully, getting out of the car to greet an unfamiliar
figure that emerged from the darkness. his father opens her door and barks at
her to leave. “eomma!” he cries when she abruptly gets out of the car, leaving
him behind with a sullen jehan.
suddenly, the newcomer is inside the van—sitting in the space between the front
row and their seats, where he and jehan sat cuddled together in silence. the
man stares at them quietly, for what seemed to be forever, until he smiles at
him, and jay hides his face in jehan’s arm shyly when the man puts a large hand
on his leg, whispering lowly.
“you’re very pretty.” he breathes, coming close to his tiny chest to indulge in
the speedy beat of his little heart—his fingers alone wrap around the three
year old’s entire thigh, but his grip is strange and warm, just like his face;
stubble scratchy through his shirt and breaths hot, jaebeom becomes
uncomfortable and gargles out in upset; jehan pushes him away gently, “don’t
touch him.” he mutters, the seven year old staring coldly albeit his gentle
tone.
“ooh. a protective older brother? how alluring.” he smiles—more like a grin,
scathingly bright and yet so perverse—and jehan scowls, upset as the man in
turn caresses his face.
he huffs a bit, “your little one,” he says to jehan, poking the three year old;
“he’s very pretty.”
once more, he turns to jaebeom, little and shy and unable to understand —“have
you ever been on a plane?” he asks, saccharine tone miffing the toddler,, he
doesn’t answer; ignores the man in favor of embracing his hyung tightly.
“you two...” he mumbles, obvious amusement making him fall back with a grin.
“when you’re older...could maybe make thousands; ‘cept the older one—he’d mess
it all up trying to save you.” he then laughs again, “you've gotta keep 'em.”
he announces out the window, causing their father to groan in dismay as he
opens the door and crushes a fag beneath his worn boots.
the man, smile darker than before, turns back to the small children, “so, a
plane?”
jehan growls at him when he attempts to touch his little brother again.
the man chuckles a bit, eyes reduced to dark slivers; “you’ve not been, I
suppose.”
he cackles idly before getting up and out, leaving the van behind in the
dampness of night until their parents arrived to collect them from the car.
no, he’d never ridden in a plane before.
but as he’s pulled into his mother’s arms, he notices the little plane and the
strange man going into it.
really: he’d never ridden in a plane.
but there he was, huddled in the corner of a trashy plane with his mother and
brother—watching his father grin at the lights and buildings they left below,
“home is where you’re not a criminal.” he jokes with that dark eyed man that,
in turn, rasped out a smokers laugh.
he wondered aloud, idly blinking up at his brother as he gurgled out a
mispronounced ‘criminal’—the older boy shrugging his curiosity away with a kiss
to his forehead, a ghost of a smile lifting his lips.
with no luck in trying to ask again (his brother having turned away to peer out
the window) he whispers a messy question to his mother—she shakes her head and
kisses his cheek until he giggles.
“we’ll be in our new home soon.” his mother had pitifully said, attempting some
form of comfort as the three year old realized he'd left his favourite toys;
though his tears faded when his attention was snatched by the rattle of the
plane's insides.
soon he was too tired to care, and he found his eyes drooping and sleep coming
to him—his little limbs heavy and his mother too loud with question of why she
had to do something so late.
...
late in the night he wakes up to the thick air of the ocean, salty and bitter
to his nose and mouth—his eyes stinging with sleep as he tried to make out the
burning light before them.
a boat, way bigger than he’d ever seen—“bigger than dino!” he’d exclaimed to
his mother, whom only smiled before covering his head with her jacket and
walking towards the giant ferry.
he gets to go on a boat, and it makes his tummy hurt because the water moves so
much and he thinks there might be monsters in the dark spots that float by the
lower parts of the boat— but when he throws up his father slaps him and tells
him to stop and his mother soothes his heaves with a hug and says bad words to
the angry man for slapping him.
he cries when his mother gets yelled at and he gets pushed out of the area to
sit with jehan, his older brother hugging him and telling him their new home
would be even better.
the comfort of jehan’s embrace lasted only so long before he was called by
their father and such a dirty looking man (his head was bare and his face was
covered in white hair, his teeth were yellow and his mouth stunk of smoke—when
the man put his mouth against jaebeom’s, scaring the three year old, he’d
smelled of smoke and tasted like alcohol (the thing appa always drank)—the man
had taken jehan away.
and though he wanted to see what had his family distanced from him, he felt
tired again; sleepily peering at how jehan and their father stood so far away
from him. when sleeps consumes him again; he doesn’t notice the look the dirty
man sends jehan; and he doesn’t see when jehan disappears into a faux bedroom.
he does, however, notice that he is alone.
and he could not bear the loneliness, so he slept it away; wishing for home.
the waters rushing the boat and the engines moving it never stopped for him
though, and light soon seeped through the horizon even when his tears began to
run once more.
in the hours that followed, seattle was a mere memory and fear was the new
reality.
***** two *****
getting off the boat is fun—for once, appa holds him, and he runs fast; so fast
air rushes in his ears, and plays with his hair.
eomma is fast too, and jehan looks so big in her hands.
when they stop running, it’s silent again.
the time had begun to roll by uselessly.
as they finally arrived, in a boring looking place with people just like eomma
and appa, hyung and him; he became restless.
everyone dressed differently, with different hair styles in varying colours and
many different body types—yet each happened to resemble little jaebeom in one
way or another, with white skin and sharp eyes each sat proudly beside a thin
and tall nose bridge.
jaebeom doesn’t like them.
he doesn’t like how they look, how they act; he doesn’t like how they smell,
how they breathe—he doesn’t like this place.
he misses home.
he misses the pretty woman next door with her thick curls and giant earrings,
the hairy man with a thick accent who ran the bakery, the blue eyed baby sitter
with the round belly and pretty clothes—he misses them, the shapes and colours
of their small existences.
he hates any and everyone here, wherever it was, because they were all just
colourless copies: carelessly pasted on each street; primped, proper, and
close-minded, without a single strand of originality.
this was not home.
the tears fight their ways out his eyes, and his father grimaces before turning
away; he wants to go home.
he wails, loudly, into the crook of his mother’s thin neck; unsure of this new
world so big and far before him. she hushes him, distracted as they walked and
walked; feet afire as maybe miles slid beneath them and hours rolled with
them—he doesn’t understand, doesn’t get that something bad might happen;
doesn’t get that they weren’t regular people anymore, they were fugitives all
under the fault of one’s name.
“wanna go home!” he cries, tears fat and endless as he hugs onto his mother—he
doesn’t like this place, all grey and boring.
time doesn’t cease his cries, the concept of it barely even exists to such a
small boy anyway, but for maybe an eternity he cries, wailing in sorrow as he
longed for the warmth of his home; but then jehan, so tall and wise, hands him
a snack and pats his head and says words that only big brother can make sound
right.
little jaebeom cries no more.
he smiles, a little smile still incomplete with its collection of tiny
teeth—and jehan smiles back, his eyes sparkling under the bleary lights of
wherever they were.
they continue to walk.
forever and ever, the world passes by slowly; everything replacing itself with
something new yet similar each heart breaking step.
they walk on.
hushed conversations and the stillness of a saddened city accompany the lonely
buildings and plastic people, and soon enough his single digit age confirms
itself; and he sleeps, breathing small breaths in his sleep as he nuzzled his
mother’s thin shoulder.
for whiles, even as he slept; they walked.
////
little jaebeom sleeps too long.
when he blinks, his eyes burn, his tiny mind muddled and curious of how it
could rest so much—he can’t remember falling asleep, but finds his attention
taken by the sight before him.
all he recalls from before is the gray sky and the even grayer people living
beneath it, but it slips from his mind when a colour so bright it makes him
smile appears.
a small, red car.
it looked like a toy for a giant, all rounded and childish in design—the doors
are unlocked, but from afar his little eyes spy messy seats and another’s
belongings.
eomma gently lets him down to stand on wobbly legs and opens her door, frowning
while jehan struggles to open his own—their father easily sliding into the
front seat with the strange wheel as they all collected in such a toy like car.
the space was limited and held no area for comfort lest you were the size of a
pea, but even so jaebeom found it more inviting than the dreary place beyond
them.
////
they live in the car for no less than a penny, nowhere to go and nowhere to be
leaving the little red buggy a blessing to wide spaces and parking lots—the
floor of the car is dressed with takeout boxes and plastic bags galore,
receipts taunting the little money they have when they do return to little
shops and fast food chains.
every time they go hungry, jehan disappears into the grey of outside—“hyung,
hyung, hyung; where are you?”
he could wail it for hours and never be answered, but his qualms are sated as
soon as something just good enough to quench his thirst and endless hunger is
offered to him.
little jaebeom doesn’t understand how time flows, doesn’t understand what time
is, but months have passed it seems; and he’s slowly growing, slowly learning
more.
his fourth birthday is spent inside the small red car, waiting for eomma and
appa to come back, as jehan feeds him an apple. the red skin is just like the
paint on the plastic of the car, and it sits in jehan’s hand like a planet. it
takes all the time in the world for them both to finish it, but jaebeom is
small, naïve; and satisfied.
he lays in his brothers arms, tiny and happy, clueless as can be; and they wait
and wait, wishing to see their parents.
when the two adults, all so grown up and tall, return; little jaebeom is
drowsy, full, and happy. he falls asleep as the car begins to move.
what he doesn’t see, though wouldn’t understand nonetheless, as he dozed off;
was the shotgun tucked between eomma’s shaking legs, and the red, red blood on
appa.
when my fingers rub against the edge of the paper, and the page turns, the sun
rises, and they have a home.
a real home.
little jaebeom no longer cares for the red car, or the apartment back in
seattle, but for the big house sat on a quiet hongdae street; empty of people,
yet filled with furniture; just for them.
a house, just for them.
a home, just for them.
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