#trigger: child neglect

[phleb0tomist]

did you grow up with chronic pain? did you get called sensitive as a kid/teen with chronic pain? were you bombarded with wisecracks from adults who said you won’t know real pain till you get older? join my initiative to ban this vile practice from planet earth!

i had chronic pain as a kid. (still do now.) my physical ability was best in childhood, like, i could do cartwheels then, meanwhile i can’t walk now. but istg my pain was regularly at this very same level back in childhood. ok i have extra symptoms now which make things harder, but if we’re JUST focusing on the pain part, it’s often the same. this blows my mind. the level of pain that i have now, bedbound and with opioids and a million accommodations, is the same level i had when i was 10 when i was just walkin around all day, asking my teachers nicely if i could sit indoors during playtime. (they said no btw.) back then, every time i tried to tell people how much everything hurt, adults said i was “sensitive”.

was i sensitive? is that what i was?

I think i must have been insanely powerful as a 10 year old to be out and about with a level of pain that makes me nonfunctional as an adult. I wonder how many kids and teens are in that amount of pain right now and are being dismissed because of their age. i think the way adults treat children with long term pain is evil. “you don’t know real pain! it only gets worse as you get older! wait till you grow up!!”

okay i waited.

i’m closer to 30 now than i am to 10, and the more hindsight i gain, the more i realise what a horrific violation it is that my pain was ignored when i was the most vulnerable to the trauma of unmanaged pain and had the least frame of reference for what level of agony is normal to experience while climbing stairs

[matutito]

i digitized this post from @nerves-nebula tm(n)t version. its been months since i last drew these guys aaaaughh

mike doods

[duskyashe]

CAMP NANO DAY 6

[chapter 4] [AO3]

(please see tags for trigger warnings)

============<×^-^×>============

It was a little known fact that Bruce Wayne hadn't only fostered his boys. As one of the few above-the-board trained and highly experienced foster parents in Gotham, Bruce had actually fostered dozens of children from all kinds of situations over the years. The only kids the press ever actually found out about were the ones he legally gained custody of, in one way or another, due to stringent privacy policies set in place back when he'd applied to be a foster parent for Dick.

Sometimes Bruce is able to keep in contact with his former foster kids, and he's always happy when that's the case, but other times he loses complete contact with them and can't legally track them down again. It's those children, outside of the ones he's legally able to claim as his own, that he worries about relentlessly. But even among those kids, there's two he worries about the most.

Jasmine Madeline Fenton and her younger brother Daniel Jackson Fenton had come into Bruce's life and home when Dick was thirteen. They weren't the first kids he'd fostered since adopting Dick, but they were the most impactful. Jazz was six, her hair was freshly cut and washed, her clothes neat and a bit on the baggy side, and her backpack still had a tag on it. Danny was three, he, too, had freshly cut and washed hair, his clothes were brand new, and his diaper bag was fully stocked.

Jazz was six and her clothes hung off her frame. She had bags under eyes and didn't know how to brush or wash her own hair. The backpack she had when she walked in his front doors was the very first new thing she'd ever seen that her parents hadn't immediately cannibalized for their experiments.

Danny was three and hadn't been given a real bath in almost a year. His clothes were all either too small or his sister's hand-me-downs. His diaper hadn't been changed in over six hours.

Bruce had been so sure he was going to be awarded permanent custody of the two. There had obviously been criminal neglect going on in that household at least, it should have been child's play to gain permanent custody of them. His lawyer and the children's case manager had assured them their case was practically airtight.

The kids had only been in his custody for two weeks before the state awarded full parental rights to the Drs Fenton. Jazz had only barely started getting used to eating three times a day again. Danny had just started smiling whenever Dick played peekaboo with him. And the courts sent. Them. Back. A month later and the Fenton's moved without a word, leaving behind not a single trace. It was almost as though they'd vanished.

Dick had been devastated. Alfred was crushed. And Bruce? Bruce experienced the five stages of grief for the second time in his life twice over. For years, he had private investigators searching everywhere he could think of for the siblings, desperately hoping to find even the slimmest glimmer of hope that they were alright, that they were still alive.

Jason coming into the household lessened some of that pain and desperation, especially after Bruce obtained full custody of him, but the tension between Dick and Jason drove the lingering tension between Dick and Bruce to critical levels. Argument after argument, fight after fight, all about the same topic: Why did Jason get adopted when Jazz and Danny were still out here?

Eventually the tension exploded in one of the worst ways possible, and the family was reduced back down to three. The first six months after Jason's funeral, Bruce refused to take on any new children. He even asked the private investigators to only contact him if they definitively found proof of the kids. The pain, the grief, the guilt was just too much for him. He'd failed Jazz and Danny, and he'd failed Jason, too. He couldn't handle failing yet another child.

Then Tim showed up, too tiny and too determined to get his way. The shock of seeing the obvious evidence of yet more criminal neglect from his own neighbors drew Bruce out of his downward spiral just enough to realize he needed help. Tim was right, he had been killing himself with his work, and doing so was the exact opposite of what Jazz, Danny, or Jason would have wanted from him. He notified CPS of a possible situation he was keeping an eye on, as well as the fact that he was pulling himself back together so he'd be able to reapply to be a foster parent, and then sought the help of a therapist sworn to absolute secrecy with the help of multiple NDAs.

A year later, he was reinstated as a foster parent, awarded first temporary, then later full, custody of Tim. He fostered a pair of blonde little girls for a few nights before an aunt was found in Vineland, New Jersey, who got custody instead. About a month after them, he fostered a ten year old boy for a week before his dad regained custody. He even fostered Tim's friend, Stephanie Brown, for two months while her mom went through rehab.

And then Red Hood came to town.

Between trying to track down and figure out who Red Hood was, Bruce also took on twin eight year old boys for about five days, a fifteen year old girl for two and a half weeks, a pair of cousins for ten days, and three siblings for a night. When Red Hood was finally revealed to be a revived Jason, angry at the thought that Bruce had replaced him and missing a few key memories, it had been two years since the last time he'd heard from the private investigators he'd hired eleven years prior. After weeks of careful negotiation and peace talks between Bruce and Jason, the family of four was well on their way to being the family of five they legally were, when Bruce decided it was time to get back in contact with the team he'd left in charge of the investigation looking for the Fentons. They only had a potential sighting of the Fentons at a class reunion in Wisconsin a few months prior, but any sighting was better than what they'd had for most of the eleven years prior, so Bruce asked them to double down and see what came from it.

Two weeks later, there was a knock on the manor door. It was the middle of a torrential downpour, one of the worst thunderstorms Gotham had seen in years, yet there was undeniably someone knocking at the door. Bruce, who'd been passing through the entry hall on a late evening stroll through the manor, was the one to answer the door.

She was in her late teens, her hair was long, wet, and stuck to the side of her face, her clothes in poor repair with splotches of dark red and neon green on them, and her backpack was worn and frayed. He was in his early teens, he, too, had long, wet hair that stuck to his face, his clothes were rags and barely hanging onto him with more of those dark red and neon green splotches, and his duffle bag was stuffed to the gills.

"Mr Wayne?" Jasmine Madeline Fenton asked, voice quivering as the two of them huddled on his doorstep, Daniel Jackson Fenton's eyes drooping to half mast from exhaustion. "We need your help. Our parents are trying to murder us."

============<×^-^×>============

I'm not gonna lie, it took me forever to figure out what I wanted to write today, but once I decided on this, it just wrote itself (⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠メ⁠) I actually got the idea for this fic from a prompt @evandarya had posted in the Batpham server a while back, which I absolutely loved and just had to write, so this ficlet is dedicated to them (not that they're aware of it yet lol)

Once again, I have no idea if I'll ever continue this ficlet, for my muse is fickle and likes to play favorites ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠⊙⁠_⁠ʖ⁠⊙⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I might get lucky and get sudden inspiration for a sequel for this, or I might not, who knows? Honestly, if anyone wants to add onto this, go right ahead lol that'd be amazing.

[laxi0v0]

Jonathan Crane, character analysis.

Jonathan is a man who doesn't waste food whatsoever, he doesn't treat himself to very expensive food, would make a scene if the burgers are way too overpriced, and is very stingy when it comes to sharing.

He'd rather eat a bug infested fruit than throw it out, because at one point in his life wasting food was the difference between life and death.

His grandmother neglected him to the point he didn't eat for days, and didn't have any proper nutritions for weeks.

Sadly that resulted in trauma that was never resolved, and he stuffs his pockets with food whenever he can but eats very little amounts so he can save them up.

When he's treated out to dinners he eats as much as possible like his life depends on it (and it does in his head.) he's very sneaky and secretive about his eating habits (I'm sure he had to adapt to fool the old lady into keeping him alive as a child)

He'd probably also eat the food you label as yours in the fridge without a second glance, and don't try to get back at him, you'll never find his secret stash.

Bonus:

Eddie is absolutely horrified at the stuff Jon is willing to eat, regularly empties the fridge and restocks so that Jonathan doesn't reach for that moldy cheese.

[youredreamingofroo]

Inner child

- -

"I know you were tired- So many hours of your days were spent being small, holding yourself together in the corner. Some days you could muster up a smile... Other days you could hardly get out of bed. It was all wrong. You were just a kid."

[ Transcript under the cut <3 ]

Panel 1 : I remember how sad you were

Panel 2 : You'd go to the bathroom every morning and cry.

Panel 3 : You were angry. But too feeble from neglect to express it.

Panel 4 : And even when you changed yourself to be above them, or to be among them. You were prey. A target.

Panel 5 : I still remember how sad I was. I remember every course of rage in my veins

Panel 6 : Eventually desperation took over. To fit in was to be same. To be same was to be free of the heckling.

Panel 7 : But all along you and I were always going to be different from the crowd.

Panel 8 : I'm sorry it took this long. But everything is okay now. I've learnt to love our differences from the crowd.

Panel 9 : I did this. I did this all for you. But you'll never know that. You'll never know why it was wrong to be treated that way. You'll never know peace.

Panel 10 : I was just a kid. / I'm just a kid.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

October 1: "I've Got You"

Draco Malfoy had had more than his fair share of humiliating moments. There seemed to be no shortage of things in his memory that made him simply want to crawl out of his skin with embarrassment, but this had to be one of the most horrifically mortifying things to ever happen to him.

His bank card was being declined at the check out. Face and neck heating horribly, he looked at the items he had to try to decide what to put back; a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, a jar of apple sauce, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen eggs, and a container of yogurt. "Oh," he said, heart racing as he tried to get past his anxiety to make a decision.

"Here," the man in line behind him said, "I've got you."

He turned, ready to decline his help, but those words fell away in favor of a spluttered, "Potter?"

"Hey, Malfoy," the other man said, nudging him out of the way with his elbow to insert his own card into the machine.

"No-" he started, too late.

Potter looked over at him, then back at his card, "I've got it," he said softly. And somehow there was compassion and understanding in his voice without any pity.

"I-" he tried again, looking at the fresh fruits and vegetables, the rice and potatoes, meats, and other delicious foods that Potter had piled on the belt behind him.

"Don't worry about it," he said before Draco could get any other words out. "Seriously," he added, looking at Draco from under his fringe, looking like he was the one feeling embarrassed as he pulled his card out of the machine and a receipt was printed.

Draco took his bag from the cashier and all but fled the store.

He wasn't too far, though, when he heard a set of footsteps jogging to catch up with him. "Hey-"

"Thank you," he said politely, "I-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head. "Don't thank me. I just-" he broke off and Draco stared, waiting for him to continue.

When no other words were forth coming, he said, "If you were wanting to make fun of me-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head vigorously. "No. Shit," he ran his hand through his hair. "Look, come to my house for dinner."

He blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I'm just making up a stir fry," he rambled on, "Nothing fancy just some rice, peppers, snap peas, onions, broccoli, steak, and some teriyaki sauce-"

"I'm fine," Draco said, even as his stomach growled at the thought of eating some actual fresh vegetables.

"Please," Potter said, grabbing his wrist to prevent Draco from turning away.

"Why?" he asked and he wondered if Potter could hear all of the questions in his head why would you help me? What's in it for you? Why aren't you mocking me? Do you just want to mock me in your home? What will this cost me?

Potter swallowed and looked down at his feet, "I know what it's like to not have enough," he said softly. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Just," he huffed, "Come on. Let me feed you dinner. Please."

"You have an insufferable martyr complex." he snapped but before he could go anywhere, Potter spoke up again.

"My aunt and uncle," he said, "they didn't feed me enough. I fucking hate peanut butter sandwiches. No one should eat them day in and out. Just," he shook his head, "let me make you some dinner. You don't have to stay to eat it, you don't have to talk to me, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"And that's it? You just want me to come to your house and eat your food?"

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Potter said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not going to drag you to my house or anything because that would be creepy," he said when Draco didn't reply, still weighing his options, "but I'd really like to do this for you."

"Alright," he whispered, still feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed but also a deep longing for vegetables.

Potter grinned at him, bright and charming, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Brilliant. Come on then."

And that was the first time that Draco found himself having dinner with Harry Potter, but it certainly wasn't the last.

By the time he left that evening, with a full belly and a container of leftovers, he'd let himself be convinced to come back the following week. A weekly dinner on Wednesday became a Wednesday dinner and a Saturday dinner, which became dinner every other night. And then before he quite knew how it had happened, he was at his house every night for dinner, staying later and later like he never wanted to leave.

Because the truth was that he didn't want to leave. Harry listened to him talk about his dreams, about how hard he was working in the muggle nursing program he was enrolled in, about his shitty job that didn't pay enough. He loved Harry's cat, Milo. He loved looking at Harry's art and listening to him talk about the creative process of making it. He loved hearing about Harry's childhood and getting to talk about his own. He loved having someone to do the mundane things in life with like cooking, chatting, watching telly, even just having someone to sit on the other end of the couch while he studied.

Still it took him by surprise one evening when they were making waffles and bacon for dinner, Harry was at the stove and Draco was cutting up strawberries, when the other man said, "Hey, Draco?"

"Mmhmm?" he hummed around the strawberry that he'd popped in his mouth.

"You know how your job is shit?"

He laughed, "I do. Thanks for reminding me."

"Right," he said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "But what if you didn't have to pay rent, would that make things easier?"

"It would," he said slowly, not allowing his heart to rise, not allowing himself to hope.

Harry nodded, "Do you think you might ever consider moving in with me?" he asked. "No pressure or anything, but I have an extra room," he continued, "well, five, actually. And Sirius gave me the house, so I own it, and-"

"Harry," he said softly, fingers lighting on the other man's bicep to get him to slow down. "I would love to, but I can't take advantage of your generosity."

"You wouldn't have to," he said earnestly. "If you're not paying for rent, you could maybe help with the cost of groceries, if you feel like you need to. But I don't have a ton of expenses, and I have a stupid amount of money, and a ridiculously large house for one person," he babbled. "And I just really like you," he blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Draco blinked at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "You like me?"

Harry nodded, hand still firmly in place over his mouth.

"I like you too," he said softly. "But I don't want you to feel like I only like you because of what you can give me."

He dropped his hand, a tiny smile blossoming on his face, "I hoped you might." Harry reached over and took Draco's hand, "I don't think that you only like me for what I can give you. You see me and hear my words, you know me. I'd really like it if you stayed."

And really, who was Draco to deny Harry Potter anything that he wanted? So he stayed.

-----------------

[ninadove]

Miraculous’ story is so deeply intertwined with the notions of child abuse and neglect that they kickstarted the entire plot.

I hate Master Fu. You hate Master Fu. We all hate Master Fu. But that doesn’t change the fact that, at some point, he was a child who was:

Abandoned by his parents so he could fulfill a mission he never chose; in the process, he was ripped from his siblings and isolated from other children, exactly like the Senticousins were.

Put through intense training — like all Sentikids, but especially Kagami — and deprived of food and rest by his guardians (Get it? Guardians?) on at least one occasion, as a way to prove his worth.

Left alone to deal with the strong negative emotions that such a treatment would inevitably stir up in a young child (his only support, his apprentice’s staff, becoming home to Feast’s amok as he yearns for companionship).

The result? Utter chaos and destruction, which led to the loss of the two Miraculous that are very explicitly linked to emotions and control. And, of course, deadly damage to the Peacock, which is what got us into this mess in the first place.

DISCLAIMER:

I am aware that the Order of the Guardians was inspired by actual religious practices in Tibet and am in no way condemning these. However the show, through Master Fu’s perspective, clearly wants us to understand that this was a Bad Thing That Happened and that the consequences continue to haunt our heroes nearly 200 years after the fact.

And haunt our heroes they do: Master Fu (who had literal decades to fix his mistake — don’t get me wrong, I still hate the guy) is forcing the same responsibilities that broke him on two innocent kids — especially on poor Marinette, who is just as unprepared to deal with them as he was back then.

The cycle keeps repeating itself.

[nerves-nebula]

you ever wanted to read a second person perspective fic about Splinter being an awful menace and a bastard? no? well that doesn't really matter cuz i made it anyway

[star-trek-fandom-confessions]

#1015

I remember when Star Trek 2009 dropped it was in an era of female character bashing, Uhura in particular and while I totally get why people stopped doing that to characters who weren't actually bad like Uhura, I can't figure out where the Winona Kirk apologism came from other than overcorrecting the behavior from "how dare that female character exist" to "all female characters can exist however they want and shouldn't be questioned even when they are questionable". With the deleted scenes included Winona was off planet while her kids suffered under someone else's watch to the point one ran away and the other did something so dangerous it nearly got them killed and even without she's no where to be seen as her son nearly goes barreling over a cliff. In what world is this not a bad parent regardless of what's happened to her husband? She's abandoned her kids. People weren't bashing Winona because she was a woman they were bashing her because she is canonly, per the Kelvin Timeline, a shit mom. There are ways to have both a career and kids and leaving the kids behind for years at a time with someone they clearly don't like isn't it. It's a total double standard too because the father characters are always held to their abusive behaviors but Winona's (and other female characters) questionable parenting is "complicated" and "needs understanding".

[godneuteredmeforbeingtoopowerful]

CW: discussions of child neglect, food policing, abusing autistic children, fatshaming

I’ve always been confused why I have food insecurity trauma behaviors, but my family has always had the privilege of having enough food and money and whatever else. I was reflecting on this with one of my partners this morning, and realized that my parents had a lot of rules around eating that other people… didn’t? So I wanted to share some of them and… idk. I just don’t want to feel alone. Also, understanding that I am (undiagnosed as a child) autistic with sensory issues that sometimes explode into ARFID, is vital to this conversation and adds a whole other layer. Again, CW ahead.

We always had ingredients, not pre-prepared meals. And you couldn’t eat things bc they were an ingredient

Things like cheese you could snack on but you could only have a little. If you’re hungry, eat a fruit or a vegetable (notoriously some of the worst things for textural sensory issues.)

Pre-packaged snacks have a purpose- if we’re leaving the house, or if you want to take one to school. You may have one snack after school, but there’s a specific amount you’re allowed to have, and it cannot be pre-packaged. I was banned from goldfish for a period of years bc I kept ignoring the rule with it. (I was unwittingly self-medicating for POTS, because it was the saltiest thing I was allowed. The diagnosis came years later.)

Sugar was evil. I could have it several times a week, but only as dessert. I had no say in what dessert was or when. If I asked for it, the answer would automatically be no. Breakfast cereal, one of my only safe foods that I could count on, was not allowed to contain more than 8-9 grams of sugar. That ruled out things like fruity pebbles, my favorite cereal. Occasionally this rule would be broken for things like Golden Grahams, because my dad liked them, but not for anything else unless it was a special occasion.

If you miss your time slot during the day, you just don’t get that thing: i.e. snack time is from 3-4pm. If you don’t eat then, you can’t eat until dinner at 6. No food after dinner. No food between 8am and noon. No food between 1 and 3. This schedule was only allowed to deviate if mom deviated from it.

Also, if you don’t like what’s been prepared for a meal, too bad. Eat it or eat nothing.

In a similar vein, if you don’t eat all of your lunch at school, the leftovers are now your snack after school the next day so mom can watch you eat it. It was supposed to teach me to eat all my food at school. Instead I just learned to throw food away.

Foods other kids got a lot, we didn’t really. They were only for car trips or birthdays, so a few times a year. Things like chips, soda, cracker jacks, etc.

Since safe foods were policed so heavily, I learned to eat a shit ton when I could, so I could make it through potentially not eating anything else substantial until the next day, or even several days. This was usually breakfast cereal, which was guaranteed, and snack time food, which was usually something like popcorn or peanut butter celery (which I did like) or pretzels or yogurt. Hated trail mix and granola bars with a passion. This got me consistently criticized for “eating like a pig” or “wasting food” or “eating up money” when I would have 2 bowls of cereal for breakfast, especially in middle school and high school. But if I wasn’t really eating anything else during the day, and I ran out of energy from those 2 bowls by 10am, what else was I supposed to do but take it?

There was also a lot of competition for getting ahold of my safe foods when they were in the house- because I have 3 siblings. So I grew a habit of stealing and hoarding food in my room- even though that was strictly forbidden. I got busted often, but I was fucked otherwise. Or when we had things like pizza for dinner or other safe foods, I’d have several helpings (consequently getting fatshamed) because I wouldn’t know when I’d have a pleasant sensory experience again, or when I’d get to really eat again.

Also, had to clean my plate whenever I complained about dinner. Think I got bungee corded to the chair once. Had to sit at the dinner table past my bedtime a few times because the lasagna or avocado was too much and I’d puke. And then get verbally abused for it. They stopped that with my siblings. They were allowed to have pb&j after eating 3 bites, but only pb&j. What I would have given for that when I was a kid.

Anyway. Any solidarity is unfortunate but appreciated. A bit sobering now that it’s all listed out like that.

[duckandash]

PROMPT 008 - DENOUEMENTS

The story's beginning stays the same even if everything diverges after a point.

Maybe Axel eventually finds people who get him. Maybe he finds somewhere that he can be seen, appreciated, and encouraged to flourish. Maybe he manages to find a job that he thoroughly enjoys. It's one that allows him to use all of his intellect and take credit for it instead of putting in all of the work just for someone else to put their name on top of it. The whole thing is enough to have those shoulders relaxed and the tense face smiling more than it ever did back home.

It's enough to get the attention of a guy who likes that smile and ends up liking the rest of Axel, too. A guy who is more than happy to listen to his rambling and reassure him when the dark thoughts from his past that still have deep claws in him get too loud. A guy who sees that Axel is someone worth loving and is willing to give him everything he's got to help him see that. A guy who is so in this for the long haul that they eventually make it official. Years after that, they even bring more unconditional love into their lives. Another child who was never given the chance to be shown the love of a family with time, patience, and attention.

Axel gives it to him, both of them. And their friends. And even throws it into his job. Because this Axel has been given the love he deserves and now can properly accept and give it in turn.

-

The other path isn't that lucky.

The other path leads him further and further down the path of being forgotten. Lost in obscurity, he lets the ditch he'd dug himself into when trying to get out of another swallow him whole. No friends, no contact with family. Coworkers, bosses and clients are the only real sources of communication he has regularly, and that's because it's necessary. All of his work, all of his research done and handed off to someone else who'll add it to their dissertation or breakthrough think piece which may or may not even have him as a footnote. He doesn't care. He's just here to help and keep on moving. He doesn't matter to anyone, not even himself.

That's why when the accident happened, no one was there to visit him. He doesn't even have anyone down as an In Case of Emergency contact. It's been so long since he's had contact with his family that it takes a while for them to be found and called.

And by the time they manage to squeeze a few hours to go see him?

He's already gone.

[manasurge]

bleh

[angria]

Dug up my memory box I made with T. Pictures of her. Circa 2001. Crooked glasses. Dead eyes. Smile for the camera. Barely.

The fear, the lack of safety, the conditional love, the aloneness, the numbness, the hypervigilance of what is next.  What will happen next where she will need to shrink away, become invisible.  Shatter till there is nothing left to harm. Gone.

And all those shattered pieces are drowning in her.  Her breaking out from the locked imprisonment. To hide in that black throbbing void.  To punish until there is nothing left.

A nothing that was never meant to be born.

Fear is sitting in the corner, waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for the Hell to begin.

[duskyashe]

CAMP NANO DAY 8/9

(please see tags for trigger warnings)

[first three chapters] [AO3]

============<×^-^×>============

It had been a long time since Bruce had been this unbalanced by the thought of a conversation. He was unafraid to admit, if only to himself, that he was terrified about the kinds of things he'd hear from the young woman now sitting across from him. On the way to his office, he'd asked her if she felt safe and comfortable talking to him by herself, or if she'd prefer having his youngest adopted son sit in with them, and while she was understandably hesitant to let an unknown fifteen year old sit in on their discussion, he'd also seen the way she'd unconsciously relaxed when she saw Tim walk in.

"Before we start, my name is Timothy Drake-Wayne, please call me Tim, and you have permission to hug me, cling to me, cry on me, or even squeeze my hand tight enough to break it. Whatever you need to do to get through this discussion. I'll even leave for snacks if you need to say something intensely personal or that you feel I shouldn't hear," his son said with a small, supportive smile. Bruce was so proud of Tim, he'd come so very far since first coming to them. "I'm very well used to standing in as an emotional support person when a foster kid gets comfortable enough with Bruce to want to tell him exactly what happened wherever they'd been before coming here, and I'm perfectly content to keep doing so for as long as I live here."

Bruce watched as Jazz processed everything Tim said and caught the question in her gaze before she'd even opened her mouth to speak it. "Tim has decided he wants to work with CPS when he gets older, take his own experiences with the system and use them to help improve it. I do whatever I can to help him, to help any of the children who find themselves in my care, achieve his dreams," he explained softly, pride warming his heart and voice. "I'm not sure how well you remember him, but my first adopted son, Dick, recently decided to open his own gymnastics studio here in Gotham. His experience with you and Danny when you lived with us really left an impression."

Jazz nodded in understanding before glancing at Tim, reached for his hand, and took a fortifying breath. "My—the Fentons are… scientists, inventors, innovators, they—they discovered, independently, an entire species of interdimensional beings with incredible powers and such a rich mixture of cultures, and… and they decided those beings were unnatural, that they were evil and needed to be experimented on and exterminated. They created a portal to these beings' home dimension in our basement without following any sort of safety regulations or protocols." Jazz took another breath, swallowing as she looked down at hold on Tim's hand. "Th-the green on me and Danny when we first got here, it's called ectoplasm. It's basically the lifeblood of these beings, it makes up almost their entire bodies. Their dimension is full of it, as any excess they produce gets shed off into the environment around them.

"When the Fentons created their portal into the Infinite Realms, they didn't realize they'd installed a secondary switch that also needed to be flicked for the thing to work. A switch that was on the inside of the portal shaft and could only be reached by physically going inside it." She shuddered as she tried to bite back tears. "I wasn't home at the time. I was tutoring a fellow student in English at the local fast food joint. Danny was at home with his two best friends. Mom and dad had left the day before to track down the supposed "ghost" that had caused their magnum opus to fail to work. He should have been safe.

"I got a frantic phone call from Danny's friend, Tucker, telling me I needed to get home ASAP, that Danny'd had an accident and wasn't waking up. The student I was tutoring asked me what I was waiting for, to get going, and so I did. I—by the time I got back to the house, Sam and Tucker had managed to drag Danny away from the portal, but i-it was pretty obvious what the accident was, I mean… the portal hadn't been on before I left…"

Bruce had a bad feeling about where this story was going. He'd seen the product of lab accidents too often to be able to con himself into thinking it could be going in any other direction. He almost stopped her from continuing, but while she was very obviously distressed, the process of telling him, of telling them, seemed to actually be doing her some good, so he kept his silence and watched as she clenched Tim's hand even harder for a brief second before relaxing her grip almost entirely.

"Sam was fussing over Danny's prone form, trying to make him more comfortable on the steel flooring without moving him too much, while Tucker was pacing between the two of them and the swirling mass of green that was the portal when I got there. As soon as they saw me, Tucker was on me with tears in his eyes. "We thought he'd died," he said. "The screaming—we thought he was dead. We're so sorry, he could have died—we're so unbelievably sorry,"" Jazz quoted with a strained voice. "Sam's makeup was running from how much she was crying. Sam never cries, and there she was, kneeling over my barely breathing baby brother, nearly sobbing in terror and guilt. They—Sam had apparently dared Danny to go inside so they could get a picture, and while in there, Danny tripped, and he hit the secondary switch. The Fentons had apparently not turned the other switch off after the thing didn't work the first time, and Danny ended up paying the price of their stupidity. He was alive, he'd survived, but now he's rightfully terrified of anything to do with electricity above what comes out of your stranded wall outlet. Only, come to find out, Danny hadn't survived. Not entirely… not unchanged."

Knew it, Bruce thought wearily as he leaned back in his chair. He resisted the urge to rub his hand across his face or run it through his hair and instead just continued to listen to Jazz's tale.

"The combination of all that electricity running through him, killing him, as a portal made pretty much entirely of ectoplasm opened up literally right on top of him changed Danny on a molecular level. He's no longer fully human. He's now something called a halfa, half human and half… half ghost."

============<×^-^×>============

FINALLY got that finished! I sincerely apologize for not getting this out yesterday, I had to take a general health day due to both my lactose intolerance realizing, three days after the fact, that I'd eaten dairy and decided it didn't like that at all, and my sleep schedule being crap the past two days (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠) that's why today's post says "day 8/9", I'm counting it for both days since I *did* start writing it yesterday (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

For anyone reading this directly after day 6 but hasn't read any of the reblogs of day 6, this is actually chapter 4 of this fic, not chapter 2. I have two amazing co-writers who have each written an amazing chapter for this fic, which can be more easily read on AO3 by hitting the link up at the top!

Also, due to this fic having two co-writers for it, from now on, when I post a new chapter for it here on Tumblr, I won't be linking back to my previous chapter, since there will be two chapters between each of my own. Instead, I'll be linking back to the first post back on day 6 and to the AO3 version, where the entire fic will be readily available for reading.

Also also, because this is being co-written, any and all updates for this fic will be highly sporadic at best. Please don't harass me or my co-writers for quicker updates, we're all very busy people working together to write this purely for fun.

Have a wonderful morning/day/night everyone!

[captainrogers-thepatriot]

The Forgotten Child part 1

Summary: Steve goes on a mission to find a weapon at a Hydra lab and instead discovers a boy with strange powers. The child is found malnourished and badly abused. Steve decides then to take the child home and give him a loving home. Yet things take a turn when they discover other plans had been made for the child by people who wanted to use him for there own gain.

Trigger warning: mention of abuse and neglect

---------------

 It had been a total of  60 years since Steve had went back in time to start a life with Peggy. They got married, had children and now the two of them lived together in the home they raised their kids in. Peggy was in her 80s and certainly was begining to look her age. Although Steve still believes she was still the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on. Steve well he looked the same as before. Still fit and looked in his 20s, although he was far from that in years. 

When Peggy and him were raising their kids, Peggy worked at shield and Steve was a stay at home dad to their children. Now Peggy had recently retired and Steve was going on missions for shield. Although only high level agents even knew he was still alive. 

On a recent mission he rescued a boy. This boy was being used as a lab rat by Hydra. They had injected him with different chemicals and liquid elements hoping to create a super serum of their own. Most of these chemicals only caused the child pain and horrible side effects. 

Steve entered his home holding the boy in his arms. The child clinging onto Steve as if he was a life raft. The child was extremely pale and had scars and bruises all over his body. He was extremely thin. Hel looked like he hadn't eaten a good meal in a long time. He had long blonde hair and blue eyes. 

Peggy sat in the living room reading when she saw Steve and the child. She couldn't but gasp at the sight of the child. She immediately got up and rushed to them.

“What happened to him?” Peggy asked.

“Hydra. They were experimenting on him, trying to recreate the super serum.” Steve told her.

“Those heartless bastards.” Peggy exclaimed. “I knew they were bad…but this is a new level. This poor. Does he have any family to go to?” 

“The mother died. I tried to save her, but she was killed as we were trying to escape.” Steve told her.

As he said that the boy began to cry silently. Peggy put out her arms and motioned for Steve to pass her the child. 

She rocked the child and kissed his head.

“Your alright, dearie.” Peggy assured the child. “Your safe here. We won't let anyone hurt you.”

 “The father, isn't around. The kid said he never met him.” Steve continued.

“Anyone else? An aunt or uncle.” 

“I checked. There's no one else.” Steve answered. “So don't freak out, hear me out. I was thinking we could take him in and raise him. This poor kid has been through hell and the last thing he needs is more term oil. He needs love, a home and family. We can provide that for him. If we're to go into the foster system, it's likely he will get a family that wont care about him, who won't give him the attention he needs. It's a broken system. He also has abilities, ones that he can't control and I'm sure if he went into foster care, he would just be shuffled from home to home. He doesn't need that he needs stability. I know that you just retired and I know that you were looking forward to spending more time together. Especially now that the kids are out of the house. But I really think we need to help this boy. He really needs us and I think-”

“Steve, would you shut up for a second?” Peggy laughed. “Of course we can take him in. I agree he needs a good home, a good family. We can provide that for him. I don't know how many years I have left. But I know I want to continue to make a difference in people's lives until I die.” 

“Your the most amazing woman to ever exist. That's a fact.” He replied. 

“Aw Darling, your so sweet.” Peggy answered. “Your a good man, with a big heart. It's wonderful that you want to help him. I will be at your side to do that too.” 

Peggy set down the kid onto the couch. Then Steve hugged Peggy and kissed her lips. He felt so thankful to have a wife as kind as her.

She then looked to the child with a smile.

“Hello little love, my name is Peggy Rogers.” Peggy began. “Your new friend Steve is my husband.” 

The child just stared at her, nervous and unsure about this new person.

“I just made some chocolate chip cookies would you like to try some?” Peggy continued, putting out her hand to the child.

The child looked to Steve. He smiled at him and nodded.

“You can trust her.” Steve told the child. “I have trusted my life to her many times, she has never failed me once.” 

The boy moved forward and then took Peggy's hand. She then lead him to the kitchen.

****

Peggy watched as she sat across from the boy and he scarfed down her cookies. It was strange especially cause she was a horrible cook. No one liked her cookies, expect steve. Whom she’d venture only said he liked them to make her happy. 

She looked at the little boy up and down, he looked as if he hadn't eaten in days.

“Did they feed you at Hydra?” Peggy questioned.

“One meal a day, it was a protein bar with water.” The boy answered. “My mom would sometimes try to sneak me more food. But they would hurt her if she got caught. I didn't like seeing mommy hurt.”

“Course not.” Peggy answered with sympathy. 

“Did you see what happened to your mother?” Peggy asked. 

She hoped the answer would be no. This child didn't need more emotional scars.

“Me, and mommy and Mr. Steve were running out of the building. The bad guys they had guns and they shot at us. A bullet came toward me and mommy blocked it. She got hit instead of me.”

“Sounds like she's a very brave woman.” Peggy said. “I wish I could have met her.”

“She was the best. Me and her played lots of games like ‘I Spy’ and ‘Going on a Picnic’. Oh and she loved to tell me stories about heros like Hercules and Robin Hood. She knew lots of stories just from her head.” 

“Wow that's really lovely.” 

“Do you know any stories?” the boy asked.

“I don't know many by heart. I do have a bookshelf of stories though, that I can read to you.” 

“wow that's a lot.” The child remarked.

“Do you have a name by the way?” Peggy asked.

“They called me 2342 at Hydra.” 

This saddened Peggy further. 

“Well we will have to change that and think of something proper to call you.” Peggy told him. 

“Okay.” He answered simply. “Like what?”

“My husband and I, raised all girls. They were wonderful, strong, beautiful girl who grew into extraordinary women. Anyways Steve always said if we had a boy, he'd want to name it James after his best friend.”

“I like that name.” The boy answered. 

He was silent for a moment. He appeared to be thinking.

“Are you and Steve going to me my new mommy and daddy?” 

“If you want us to. We're going to take care of you. You don't have to call us mommy and daddy if you don't want to you. You can if you’d like too.” 

“....Well I never had a Dad so I would like one. I ldon't know if I want a new mom, I really liked the one I had.”

“That's okay, love. I understand.” She told him. “You do what feels right to you.” 

“One last thing, do you know how to take a bath?  Cause honestly, my love, you stink.” 

“What's a bath?” James asked.

“Your gonna find out.” Peggy answered. 

Peggy then took the child to the bathroom and drew him a bath. As she took off his clothes she noticed scars on his back. She didn't want to know how or why. She was sure it was a tragic story. They were long scars as if he had been cut. On his arms were red bumps, which she had assumed were injection scars. She cleaned the child. There was layers and layers dirt on his skin, she had to scrub hard to get any of it off.

*****

Steve had been cooking lunch in the kitchen. It was a simple meal of homemade macaroni and cheese. 

He had set the table with the macaroni pot in the center of the table. He also had the radio playing the latest baseball game. He loved the LA dodgers, he used to root for the dodgers when they were in Brooklyn.

Peggy then entered the kitchen holding James’s hand. James was dressed in one of Peggy’s pajama tops. It had pink and blue striped with buttons down the front. He wore matching striped pants and a pink robe over the outfit. The clothes were clearly to long for him. The sleeves consumed his arms and he had to roll up the pants legs to be able to walk. 

Steve could contain his laugher at seeing the child. 

“I didn't have anything in the the house that would fit him.” Peggy explained. “I tried putting him in one of your pajama sets but it was worse.”

“We will have to go into town and buy him some clothes tomorrow.” Steve replied. “For tonight, it's fine, at least he will be warm and clean.”

“Thank you for the clothes. These are comfy.” James spoke. “I like them alot. I didn't get many new clothes before.”

They then sit down and begin to eat.

“Can I ask a question.” James spoke.

“Of course, always.” Steve answered. 

“Why did you save me?” he asked looking to Steve.

Steve was taken back by that question. Did he not want to be saved? Wasn't he unhappy living the way he was?

“Well because Hydra was hurting you and I wanted you to be safe and happy.”

“But you didn't even know me. Why would you care about someone you don't know?”

“people are people and they all deserve to live happy lives. They deserve to be shown love and joy. Your no different. When I see someone in trouble, I want to help, I want to help them have a better life.”

“That's really kind.” James answered. 

There was silence as they continued eating.

“Also Peggy said you two had daughters. What happened to them?” James asked.

“They grew up, they are still around.” Steve told him. “They just don't live here anymore. One has a family of her own now and the other moved away to follow a job.” 

“Oh. Are they nice?”

“Very. ones a school teacher and the other is working as an field agent for the government.” Steve answered. “you will meet them some day.” 

“I would like to meet them.” James answered. “There your kids so I'm sure they are really nice.” 

“Is there anything you want to know about us?” Steve asked. 

“What do you do for work?” 

“I'm retired. I used to be the director for a government organization.” Peggy answered. 

“I was retired and now I'm working as a agent to a government organization. Which your going to have to keep a secret.” 

“I can do that.” James answered. 

****

Then suddenly Tony Stark showed up at the home. He has a key since Peggy has always been close with, ever since he was a child. she saw him as a son she never had. 

“So we have a bit of a crisis going on.” Tony began. “How come neither one of you answer your phone?” 

“There turned off. It's dinner time.” Peggy answered. “You could eat with us if you like, Anthony. Just grab a plate.”

“no thank you Aunt Peggy.” Tony answered. “Although I'm sure the food is great. I'm here on shield business.”

“What's wrong?” Peggy questioned.

Tony noticed the child sitting with them.

“No no no no no! What is wrong with you!?” Tony shouted. 

Then he glared at Steve then pointed to him.

“Him. Are you trying to get me fired? Or are you just unwilling to follow any instructions set for you? You were supposed to retrieve him and bring hin back to shield that was what was agreed on. That was your mission.” 

[krikeymate]

I'm thinking about a bigger age gap.

Sam's 10 years old and spoilt rotten when her mother discovers she's pregnant. She doesn't realise for the longest time, never really shows much signs until the end, and by the time she does, it's too late. She doesn't know who the father is, it could be her husband, it could be... well, there were others. The baby's small, comes out early, and who's to say when she was conceived. She has her mother's complexion, her dark hair and dark eyes, and Christina gets to keep on lying.

Sam's not sure about the baby at first, everyone made it sound like things would change so much once it got here. But things don't really change at all. Her mother still always has time for her, and she isn't kept awake all night from screaming. Her parents are a little more tense, but it doesn't seem to change anything for Sam at all.

One night, Sam can't sleep. She's awake thinking of all they learned in class. About pregnancies, and babies, and all their needs and how to look after them. She can't stop thinking about it, there's just this voice in the back of her head nagging her, telling her there was something wrong, but she can't quite figure it out. It feels important.

Her feet find her way to the baby's room.

It's cold, the window's open, the room lit up from a nearby streetlamp. The tiny thing is awake with its hand in her mouth, big brown eyes staring up at her. Sam finds she can't look at them for long, it makes something in her chest ache. She doesn't know why.

She reaches out to touch the baby instead, she's icy cold. Sam thinks of what they learned in class, how much babies cry to tell us what they need, how often they need to eat, how they can't regulate their body temperature. She drags her fingers down its chest and thinks of how quiet it always is, how it never cries. How little her parents seem to feed her compared to how much her teacher said they should.

The thing whimpers when she draws her hand away, and in an instant, her hand is back on its chest, fingers spread against the bare skin, the cold suffocating out her warmth. She doesn't know what possesses her to do it, but she picks the baby up, careful to support her head the way they taught her in class. It's so small and light in her arms, she almost feels like a doll.

She watches the way it suckles on its own fingers and wonders when she was last fed. Mother fed her at breakfast, and again at dinner. She wonders if there was anything in between, there's a heaviness in her stomach as her brain goes no. She doesn't know what mother does when she's at school, but something inside of her is certain she knows what the answer isn't.

So Sam carefully creeps down the stairs, baby in her arms, determined to feed it. She's watched her mother make the formula before, curious, she thinks she can manage it. She puts the baby on the armchair, and takes the blanket from the back of the couch to wrap around her, making a nest so the baby can't fall. It whines again when Sam puts her down, but Sam hushes her softly and tells her she'll be right back. The baby can't understand, but it felt right to say.

She makes up a bottle, and checks the temperature, and returns to the armchair. She picks the baby up and settles herself down and tugs the blanket over her lap. The baby drinks the bottle so fast that Sam's worried it might choke, the way she does when she chugs down her own drinks. But the baby finishes the bottle and it feels like there's a balloon in her chest when it yawns and nuzzles against her chest, tiny hand tangling in her t-shirt.

Maybe the baby isn't so bad, she thinks, curling herself into the seat. She doesn't want to take the baby back upstairs to her cold lonely room. No, she can sleep right here in her arms, safe and warm. It feels right. She'll tell her mother in the morning about what they learned in class, remind her the baby needs to be fed more and that she's too cold. Maybe she just doesn't know. She ignores the voice in her head that says she knows.