(Yes, I know that cover is the fan-made Hetalia character, Mexico, but for this story, he is supposed to be Freddy. On Quotev, each chapter will have pictures showing how each character is supposed to look.)
Genres: Tragedy, Drama.
Warnings/PossibleTriggers: ableism, alcoholism, mentioned past death, emotional/psychological abuse, mental illness, non-con, physical abuse, profanity, queerphobia, racism, explicit sexual content, slurs.
A/N: the entirety of the story is told from Freddy's first-person perspective.
We weren't actually siblings, but we considered ourselves that because we came to the Autenburg foster home on the same day.
There was actually a girl who came in before I did. She was young and small in stature. She had golden curly locks cupping her head like an infant's hair. She had brown eyes and skin that was a little tanned for a white girl. In contrast, she wore a pretty dull brown dress with beaten sneakers. Her cocoa brown eyes were wide with fear of her new and unfamiliar home. All of the other kids around her had long gotten used to their surroundings, making her stick out like a black lamb.
At the time, I was just a bratty teenager who couldn't care any less about the other housemates around me. I only cared about my own situation and where I was going after this ordeal. Anger was still brewing within me as I damned my fate and even others who had nothing to do with it.
I slumped down against the concrete wall behind me right then and there, then slid down to the cold floor, tasting the bitterness that boiled in my heart. It wasn't long before I heard scuffling sounds coming towards me. I gritted my teeth in irritation at the mere idea of some toddler hoping to make a playmate out of my presence.
A tiny hand touched my broad, tanned one. It was cold and clammy.
"Uhm…excuse me, sir…" a small female voice squeaked nervously. I could hear a light Italian accent behind it. Of course, she was too young to have developed that deep of an accent "Why…are your clothes burned?"
I looked up at her cherub-like face and into her cocoa brown eyes gazing back at me in apologetic curiosity, then I looked back down at the scorched remains of my blazer.
And for the first time in my life, I cried.
Her name was Ciana, but she insisted on being called Chica, as she said her grandmother called her so much more often than her actual name. I was right to assume that she was Italian.
She was quite the imaginative girl. She spent several hours telling me stories and folklore that her family had passed on and even some she made up on her own. I listened, happy to see her fear of our new home had dissolved so easily upon meeting me. I had so much fun with her, being entrapped in her tales, that I didn't even realize how many hours had passed before another kid arrived.
At first glance, I couldn't tell what gender they were. They had short violet hair in a neat undercut and crystal blue eyes. They had an almost envious pallor of skin and gracefully androgynous face structure. They were too young to have developed any curves or muscles to indicate their sex. Their outfit had also caught my attention. It was a snug-fitting ensemble of a dark purple pants suit with a long-sleeved red shirt and an indigo bow tie. They seemed to be dressed rather fancy for someone who was being taken into a foster home.
"Huh? I don't have time to deal with a goddamned mute…" chided one of the men who led him into the room.
"Look, just feed 'm, keep 'm clean, and and make sure he don't die on us," snarked the other.
"Ah, so he's a boy," I thought as I looked in their direction.
I was actually pretty glad, at the moment, to think of having another boy my age with me.
When they sat over on the old, worn out bed in the corner of the room, I noticed them clutching something to their chest.
Out of pure curiosity, I disregarded any etiquette I had and walked over to them to get a closer look at the item.
A notebook.
A thick one, at that.
I hadn't noticed that I had abandoned Chica and that she took the privilege of following me. Her attention was quickly directed away from me once she saw the kid.
I watched as she walked past me and approached the child with an extended hand "Hello, I'm Chica, and who might you be?"
The child shook her hand with a slight smile and began to flip through the pages on their notebook. They turned it around to show a pre-written message: "Jean Bonnefoy. Please call me Bonnie."
Of course, the first thought that ran through my mind was "Why didn't he just say it?"
At this point, I could assume Chica was really raised to have manners, because she only nodded and said "Well, in that case, I should probably tell you my real name, too. My name is Ciana Cremona, but my grandmama always called me Chica."
Bonnie nodded, turned to a fresh new page towards the back of the notebook and began to scribble a new response: "That's a pretty name, honey."
Chica chuckled in flattery, her cheeks reddening quickly.
Finally, I decided to speak up instead of just standing and watching "Hey, Bonnie, is it?" I questioned, making sure I was pronouncing it correctly "How old are you?"
They flipped to another page close to where they originally had their name written. Another pre-written message was scrawled: "13" I supposed they had these answers already written down because they were frequently asked and common questions.
"Oh, just a year behind me," I commented.
"And seven years ahead of me," Chica chimed in.
At that point, I figured I had broken the ice well enough to point out the elephant in the room "Bonnie, why aren't you talking?"
Their smile disappeared and it turned into something more vulnerable.
They turned to another page close to where their age and name were "I can't talk. I'm mute. I use this notebook for people who don't know sign language."
The man's words from earlier rang in my head: "…a goddamned mute…"
"That's what it means to be mute?" I thought "It doesn't just mean to be deaf?"
Suddenly Chica jumped "Oh! My papa just started teaching me sign language!"
Bonnie's smile returned and they began to scribble a new message: "Can you show me?"
The still excited blonde grinned widely as her hands danced across the air in an array of cryptic signs. Bonnie replied instantly in the same manner.
Feeling left out, I blurted "What's he saying?"
Just as Chica opened her mouth to answer me, Bonnie tapped her shoulder and signed another message to her, longer this time. She nodded understandably.
"At first, Bonnie said they were from France," she answered to me "Just now, they said they don't like to be called "he"."
I raised a brow "Why not?"
"Bonnie says they're not a boy, but they're not a girl," explained Chica "Bonnie says they're an androgyne."
"An…dro-gyne?" I attempted to sound out the word "You mean "androgynous"?"
"Yes," confirmed Chica "It means they're both a girl and a boy at the same time. Please, just use "they" when talking about them."
At the time, my narrow prepubescent mind was ready to dismiss the abnormal notion right away with a condescendingly rhetorical question. However, the minute I opened my mouth to speak, I caught sight of Bonnie's expectant pleading blue eyes. Their pale lips were pursed in nervousness.
"Okay. I will."
The second half of my first day in the foster home was frustratingly boring.
Bonnie and Chica spent hours signing each other, the young blonde's giggles taunting me from afar.
However, things quickly sparked up when a red-headed boy ran into the room.
No, he literally ran in, immediately locking on to a discarded pirate toy in front of me.
His accent was a little thick, but I could get out the words "Wow! A pirate toy! Just like the one from Nana's!"
Over his excited ramblings, I decided to eavesdrop on the men who brought him in here again.
"You say his mama died givin' birth to 'm?"
"Yup."
"Then where the hell has he been these past nine years?"
"With this crazy homeless woman on the street."
"Tch, you couldn't just leave 'm with her?"
"I've gotta do my job, man."
Another fire of anger ignited in my gut and in that moment, I remembered why I couldn't stay too happy for too long in this place. They really didn't give a shit about us. They spoke however they wanted around us and didn't even have the respect to talk about us behind our backs.
"As if we didn't have enough retarded kids in here."
"Quit your bitching. It's just ADD."
I looked to the little Irish boy "So that's why he's so hyper," A sense of deep melancholy dowsed my flaming anger. Perhaps it was because he was another boy like me. Perhaps it was because he was being criticized for being so happy. Perhaps it was hearing how and why he was sent here. Either way, I grew an instant attachment to him.
I crouched to his level "Hey kid, I see you like pirates," I said.
His green eyes sparkled with joy "Yeah! Aren't they amazing?" he cheered, holding the toy in his hand.
"Definitely adventurous," I said.
"And so courageous!" he beamed at the pirate toy in his hand as he started to shift it into a new pose "I've always wanted to be as brave as a pirate. They can travel wherever they want without worry!"
I felt my face spread into a smile.
"I'd call myself Foxy- King of Pirate Cove!" he looked back up to me "What do you wanna be when you grow up? Will you give yourself a new name?"
I chuckled "Heh, I'm pretty content with Fredward Antonio III for now," I then thought to myself "As for what I wanna be?…Alive would be nice, loved, and happy, too."
The chapters are gonna be pretty short since it's just Freddy documenting each moment in his life.