A Fallen Angel

Train was drunk. Again.

That meant that Criss was nowhere to be found.

Again.

"Where the hay is that fucking flank-munch?!"

Criss flinched at those words. Drunk or not, it was his father, and those words hurt. He wasn't a stupid colt, though. He made no noise, nor did he move.

He had to suppress a whimper as his "dad" stormed past the sink cupboard he was hiding in. One of the negatives of being a pegasus child in a non-cloud house, every fiber of his being wanted to get out of that small space, ASAP. But Criss had learned at a very early age: Don't dare get into eyesight when Train was drunk, and don't ever leave.

Getting into eyesight meant that his father, being older and faster, would easily outrun him. Leaving, although safer in the short run, would inevitably end in some "helpful" pony thinking he was lost and escorting him home.

Not being able to be recognized by the facial disfiguring had been demeaning enough.

Having to tell ponies he'd fallen off the porch hurt more-so.

Criss was not a stupid pony; he'd grown up fast, and grown up strong. Only a foal, he had to deal with fighting at school and his drunken b- father, and taking both verbal and physical beatings while young had given him a very thick skin, quick mind, and a very needed skill: the want and need to always, above anything else, survive.

"Ah, damn it all."

Criss almost let his guard down enough to sigh. Almost. Criss had learned.

"Where the hay are the garbage bags?"

Oh.

Oh no.

Oohh...crap.

Criss looked in-between his legs and saw the one thing he wished had been anywhere else in the house.

A small yellow box.

With a very foreboding "Garbage bags." written on it in large print.

Criss started tearing up.

This is still salvagable... Right? His brain held no response.

"Oh yeah, under the sink..."

Nononononononononononononono-

The thought was cut off by a new feeling: Blinding light, glaring into his dialated pupils. Criss squinted at the light, trying to pull away from it. But he knew only one thing was going to come now.

"I. Found. You. You. Li'l. Shit."

Fucking l-

Any further thought was cut off by a sudden blow to both sides of the head; One side was his fathers drunken hoof, the other was his head impacting on the drain hard enough to dent it. His vision went red and clouded. Feeling himself being dragged out of the sink-cupboard, Criss's brain went into safety mode as he curled up into the foetal position, fell unconscious.

And took every blow his drunken father had to land on him.

Criss woke up in the hospital. In pain.

A lot of pain.

"...Oh. My everything."

Trying to force his eyes open resulted in him slamming them shut as he found a large lamp shining into his face. He could feel a mask strapped tight over his face.

K, so oxygen mask.... What was that for again? ...Can't remember. Damn, what was I doing?

Criss's memories rushed back like a tidal wave. Oh, yeah.

Trying to lift his head, he felt several things. Pain, a tube in the side of his head, pain, and a hoof on his wrist.

And pain. Had he mentioned pain?

Criss realised the hoof couldn't be his father's: it wasn't holding his arm down. Train did that to make sure Criss couldn't yank away from him, raising awkward questions if anypony else was in the room.

Tube in the side of the head...... That meant it was a.... Concussion, right?

Criss's thoughts were fuzzy. That was probably really bad.

"So, you've been awake five minutes and haven't currently panicked." The voice at the side of his bed said. The voice sounded muffled, like Criss was listening through a pillow. He couldn't see who the voice belonged to: the lamp shining into his face blocked him from seeing into the darkness around his bed.

"What?"

The voice barrelled on, as if it hadn't heard him. "That either means that A: you're in a lot of pain, and drugged up pretty heavily. Your pupils aren't dialated, though. So that's not it. B: You've been in a lot of falls around your house..."

A small silence filled the room quickly, leaving only the whirring and beeping of medical machines. Criss swallowed nervously.

"Alright, so at least your brain's going through it's normal nerve reactions, so no brain damage." The voice continued. "Psychology 101 could tell me you haven't been in that many falls. I'd say you've been in none. So, C: you've been in a school fight and got your flank kicked, and you're dad brought you here, worried about you. He is crying after all..."

That bast- was typical.

Still, it pissed Criss off.

The voice was good at this psychology stuff, though, because it said "So, that was fake crying. I knew I wasn't getting rusty."

Another silence.

"D: Your father beats you. Regularly."

Criss realised what this was about now. He winced, trying to pull away from the hoof.

"Good to know. Listen, kid..." The voice came into view, showing somepony Criss didn't recognise. At all. Not even the uniform matched up to anything he'd seen. It was a rather contrast unicorn, with an orange shaggy mane, short stubble, and a light blue coat. "I know your father beats you. But I won't tell anypony unless you speak up. If I press charges, and you don't want to, it'll just be a waste of my time"

"Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm with a... sort of... well, a..." The pony fumbled with his words for a bit. "An 'Equestrian rights' group. Sort of. At any rate, we've had repeated reports of you, specifically, falling down stairs, tripping off balconies, just being a suicidal clutz, really, and coming to the hospital with serious injury. I'm hear to help you, kid."

"Kid." That word pissed Criss off.

It was his father's pet name for him.

"Look, Criss, if you don't do something, we will be forced to."

Criss swallowed. B- Jerk or not, he didn't want to force harm on his father.

Not to mention, he'd find out. He always did.

"...I can see what's going to need to happen."

"Don't! Don't do anything!"

He was forced to watch as the strange pony left the room.

About thirty seconds later, a nurse came in.

"Hey, Criss. How're you doing?" He noticed she, too, sounded muffled.

"I'm fine." Criss said sulkily.

"Criss? Can you say something for me?"

"I said I'm fine." Is she hard of hearing?

"You sure you can't say anything?"

Criss's nostrils flared. "Yeah, I can! I'm talking to you right now!"

"Ok, I'll just get some data, then."

The nurse looked over at the machines. Once she seemed to have gathered what she needed, she pressed a button on one of them that was hooked up to a tube that lead into his arm. A small whirring, accompanied by the sound of depressurization came from the machine.

Sleep came quick.