#this is a ventfic and its not very good i didnt edit much but

[flowers-that-sing]

mommy's boy

844 words, just a short little fic | rated T | TWs for past child abuse, physical abuse, violence, yk. the works

Steve sat at the edge of his bed. Room a mess, hair still sleep-mussed, eyes crusted. A glance at his alarm read 9 o'clock. Later than he'd usually wake, but he'd had a nightmare, and he felt as if he hadn't slept at all.

His mother stood over him with an icy glare. 

"Why won't you fucking wake up, Steven? No wonder you didn't get into college. You think you could make it there if you can't even get out of bed?" 

"Mom, I'm sorry, I just—I slept late, and it's my day off, so—"

"Save it. I don't want to hear any silly excuses." 

She talked to him like he was a child. He was nineteen years old, and he wanted to sleep. What right did she even have to talk to him like that? It was his day off. Steve felt the drowsiness slowly seep into anger. 

"And you know what, I didn't want to go to college anyway. It's my day off, if I want to sleep in, why shouldn't I?"

"Because you're being a lazy slob, that's why!" she snapped, before seeming to notice something across the room. Her expression shifted suddenly. "Oh, is that your new girlfriend? She looks sweet."

Steve turned to see what she was looking at—a photo of him and Robin climbing a tree together, her clutching tight to him for support.

"Oh, um, that's Robin. We're best friends." What the fuck? I thought she was angry. Okay, well. Maybe I can get out of this. 

Deborah Harrington rolled her eyes. "God, Steve. You don't have time for friends." 

Steve glared. "What? Why would I not have time for friends, Mom? That makes no sense."

Her eyes narrowed. "You don't get to talk to me like that. I am your mother. I make the decisions, Steven," she left the words unspoken, but he could hear them: "I own you." 

A surge of anger flared up in Steve, and all of a sudden, he was angry, for him at seven getting screamed at for not cleaning his toys, for him at eight getting locked out of the house after a fight he couldn't even remember, him at fourteen getting between his parents and taking both their hits, him at seventeen and having not seen either of them in a year but taking their immediate anger upon their return.

"I'm an adult. I can make my own decisions." 

His mom's gaze hardened, and she stepped closer. The anger quickly began to recede, making way for a helpless terror. Ah, shit. 

No, no, I'm standing my ground. I promised to myself, next time she did this, I would. I'm not a kid anymore. If she hits, I defend myself. If she hits me, I hit back. 

She smacked him across the face, hard. His teeth slammed into the inside of his cheek. He steadied his shaking. 

"What's wrong with you, Mom?" 

She hit him again, same cheek, even harder. It must have hurt her hand, Steve thought distantly. 

The dam broke, and Steve couldn't stop shaking. He was a child again, small, he couldn't. He knew he was stronger than her, bigger than her, but he just couldn't. But still, he kept glaring, even as his lip wobbled.

I promised I'd defend myself. 

"You wanna get hit again, huh? You deserve to get hit. You're going to Hell, you know that?" she said, and she hit him, again. On the same cheek. It throbbed, it burned, it somehow stung worse than the bat bites despite only being a measly slap.

Hit her back. 

No. I… I can't. 

I can't hit my own mom. 

"I'm—I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll—I'll behave. I'll do better. I'm so sorry." 

He put his head down. 

"You fucking better. Now get dressed. Useless child. After all I've given for you, damn parasite." 

He heard the door close. He trembled, raised a hand to his cheek. He tasted blood, his ears rang, and his cheek was hot to the touch. 

Steve wanted so badly for it to bruise, for her to see what she had done, for everyone to know what she had done. But he knew it wouldn't. 

His head was pounding. 

Steve got dressed. 

I'm so pathetic. I—I said I'd do something. I said it wouldn't happen again. 

A smaller part of Steve recalled his mother apologizing, once, crying, calling herself a bad mother, while drunk on wine. Promising she wouldn't hit him again. 

It was foolish to believe her even for a second. 

Steve felt cold. 

He wanted to feel angry. But he was just tired. 

Part of him wanted to call Robin or Eddie or something. He knew they'd understand, he knew they'd help, but all he could hear was his mom. 

"If you complain about your parents to your friends, one day they’ll be smart enough to realize the problem is you. I don’t want that for you because I love you. So listen to me."

He blinked away tears, took a deep breath, and picked out his clothes for the day.