Disclaimer: not mine...except Danny, yes, he's all mine! No! you can't have him back!
A/N: wrote this for a character of mine in a PBEM and thought it was perfect for Daniel. I _told_ you to run away. :)
Just a boy, that's all he was, just a child. He was only a child that wanted and needed some stability in his life. A child that wanted someone to love and care for him. A child that nobody wanted to deal with, and so that left him crying as softly as possible some nights.
Like tonight.
He scrunched into the smallest ball possible under the covers. A tear made a line across his face and he hastily wiped it away. He couldn't cry. Last time he'd told himself that he wouldn't cry again, not over this.
He had been eavsedropping. No intentionally, but he had walked by and heard his name. Naturally the young boy had wanted to know what was wrong that had to do with him, but he couldn't just walk in, so he had stayed right outside the door.
He was happier not knowing.
They were going to get rid of him again. Nobody could deal with the shy, small boy that prefered school over sports and had nightmares 4 out of 5 nights, but mostly, they couldn't deal with his past. It was his past though. What did they have to deal with? Nobody seemed able to understand him...Nobody wanted him. So the time was here again, of course, he wasn't suppose to know about it.
Tomorrow it would happen then. Tomorrow would be the carefully worded
explanation, the packing, the uncertainty of where he was going next. The false smiles. The horror of realizing that, for a time, he would be back in the orphanage until they found another family.
And he would be gone. and they would turn around, sigh, and wonder what was wrong with the boy they had agreed to foster, but found that they couldn't.
And the boy in question would walk away with whoever had come to collect him and he would walk to who knows where, to another place. And the people would watch him, shake their heads. To bad he can't stay in one place, they'd say,
Such a pity, such a pity.
He hated pity.
The boy wiped another tear away. Tomorrow, he knew, would be a whirl of
meeting new people, of "Getting settled", the somehow gut-wrenching sensation of being ripped from a place and put down in another in which he had to rethread trust and hope. He didn't know how many threads were left to weave.
Another tear, and he scowled at himself for crying. Crying never helped. He had learned that long ago, after the dust had settled. He had cried then, the tears making weird patterns down his dust covered face. But it hadn't helped.
It hadn't helped then and it didn't help now.
Sometimes, on nights like this, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard, he could sometimes remember laughter. A beautifull, golden laughter that he knew to belong to his mother. And sometimes, as he was falling asleep, an image of a face with brown hair and kind brown eyes would float in his minds eye and he knew that to be his father.
He was afraid that he was forgetting them. He was afraid that one day he would wake up and he wouldn't be able to remember who they were, what they looked like, what they sounded like. That fear haunted his nightmares.
But now he lay under the covers and cried as softly as possible and hoped that morning would come quickly, so the agony of waiting would be over.
A/N: wrote this for a character of mine in a PBEM and thought it was perfect for Daniel. I _told_ you to run away. :)
Just a boy, that's all he was, just a child. He was only a child that wanted and needed some stability in his life. A child that wanted someone to love and care for him. A child that nobody wanted to deal with, and so that left him crying as softly as possible some nights.
Like tonight.
He scrunched into the smallest ball possible under the covers. A tear made a line across his face and he hastily wiped it away. He couldn't cry. Last time he'd told himself that he wouldn't cry again, not over this.
He had been eavsedropping. No intentionally, but he had walked by and heard his name. Naturally the young boy had wanted to know what was wrong that had to do with him, but he couldn't just walk in, so he had stayed right outside the door.
He was happier not knowing.
They were going to get rid of him again. Nobody could deal with the shy, small boy that prefered school over sports and had nightmares 4 out of 5 nights, but mostly, they couldn't deal with his past. It was his past though. What did they have to deal with? Nobody seemed able to understand him...Nobody wanted him. So the time was here again, of course, he wasn't suppose to know about it.
Tomorrow it would happen then. Tomorrow would be the carefully worded
explanation, the packing, the uncertainty of where he was going next. The false smiles. The horror of realizing that, for a time, he would be back in the orphanage until they found another family.
And he would be gone. and they would turn around, sigh, and wonder what was wrong with the boy they had agreed to foster, but found that they couldn't.
And the boy in question would walk away with whoever had come to collect him and he would walk to who knows where, to another place. And the people would watch him, shake their heads. To bad he can't stay in one place, they'd say,
Such a pity, such a pity.
He hated pity.
The boy wiped another tear away. Tomorrow, he knew, would be a whirl of
meeting new people, of "Getting settled", the somehow gut-wrenching sensation of being ripped from a place and put down in another in which he had to rethread trust and hope. He didn't know how many threads were left to weave.
Another tear, and he scowled at himself for crying. Crying never helped. He had learned that long ago, after the dust had settled. He had cried then, the tears making weird patterns down his dust covered face. But it hadn't helped.
It hadn't helped then and it didn't help now.
Sometimes, on nights like this, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard, he could sometimes remember laughter. A beautifull, golden laughter that he knew to belong to his mother. And sometimes, as he was falling asleep, an image of a face with brown hair and kind brown eyes would float in his minds eye and he knew that to be his father.
He was afraid that he was forgetting them. He was afraid that one day he would wake up and he wouldn't be able to remember who they were, what they looked like, what they sounded like. That fear haunted his nightmares.
But now he lay under the covers and cried as softly as possible and hoped that morning would come quickly, so the agony of waiting would be over.