AN: Ok, so I have decided that the discussion forms are evil. I have been having this little thing in my head turn into an even bigger thing and then I read a certain post (I am think about PMing her simply to tell her how MEAN of a post this was) which simply made my idea roar and beg to be let out. And the post was this: "…And G is pretty sweet too. I wonder what his background is, though."

Yeah, mean. Because now I know that if I don't start writing it down and posting it I will never get any sleep. Evil.

Hope this is good though. Warning of child abuse, since we're talking G's past here. Rated T simply because I don't think that it's M worthy. Also, I have no clue if this will be a one shot or what. I've got a bunny that keeps popping in at unexpected times, so hopefully not.

Here goes nothing!!

The house is silent again, though he doesn't trust that silence. His foster father could be asleep, but he might not be. The little boy with blue eyes, who looked like he hadn't had a shower in weeks, with hair that might have been a dirty blond if it were only clean, had learned long ago to never trust the silence in any home.

Sitting in a dark closet, part of him screamed for him to turn on the light so that he could see, so that he could know that there was no monster there. But as he wasn't sure if there really was a monster in the dark, he knew that there was a monster out there, one that would hurt him worse than anything in there with him if it knew where he was hiding, and that monster was his foster father.

He missed the old days when the only reason he moved from home to home was because they ran out of room, or they simply did not want him anymore. One woman had wanted him, he remembered, but she couldn't adopt him because she had gotten sick. Maybe it had been his fault, he didn't know.

After the last couple of homes, ones where the belt was used, he learned to sleep in closets, even if the beds were fine, and if nothing else they where good to sleep under.

But for now, he would stay in the closet, in the safe dark, and no one would be able to put their hands on him and hurt him.

He woke up to someone picking him up and smoothing out his hair. He moved his arms to protect his body and the woman caring him sighed.

"It's alright Mr. Callen. I've come to take you to another home. One where you will get to eat."

"Are you sure?" the little boy asked. He was afraid of new places, he had just gotten used to this one.

"Yes." She said, smiling. "I am sure."

And she was no liar. The next home feed him, but they did not want a child who was afraid to be touched, who was so deathly silent, who slept under the bed or in the closet. One who never seemed to smile.

He stopped trusting people by age six. At age seven he realized two things: There was no Santa who tried to make children happy, and there was never going to be a family who wanted him. Sure, he would behave. He wanted to eat after all, but beyond that, there was nothing more that he expected from any of them.

Please press the button!! Even if it it one of two words: 'Sucked' or 'Good'. More words would be nice, but just to make me happy.