Takes place during the cookie scene and beyond. Spiritual sequel to Once Upon A Childhood. You don't have to read it, but this will make more sense if you do.
Warning: Contains abusive violence and traumatic themes/death/ poverty and starvation. If any of this upsets you stop reading. I didn't rite this for gore, this is just a realistic interpretation of what his life might have been like.
They all lept forward. "No! No! Wait!Wait!"
Lonnie looks at them all. "What? I'm not going to double dip."
Jay zoned out of the conversation after those words, his own thoughts drowning out the probably pointless conversation. Double Dipping? That is what she thought they were worried about? Besides the love potion, if that was just regular cookie mix he was sure all of them would have swatted her hand away and ran.
Slowly, over the days they'd been here, some things were clicking in his mind. He was noticing things, little stuff that no one else would, probably because the rest of the students had grown up with it. It and safety and happiness and innocence. But what really bugged him was how food was the threw the term starving so casually it made him sick. They threw out perfectly good food. They gave food away in there limos. The talked about eating less and getting thinner.
Eating less? Nobody cared on the island about staying thin, all that anyone wanted to do was get food on the table, or just live to see the next blurry sunrise. If you had meat on your bones you were the envy of everyone. The stick thin bodies they wanted, back home were a sure fire sign that you would die in the next few days. Hell, he saw it himself, and it was painful for everyone around that person.
No, if that was his and not love potion, he would have punched her and ran. Back on the isle of the lost, if someone makes a grab for your food they aren't going to double dip, they are going to steal it from you, for themselves, and leave you out in the dust.
It was dangerous, when he started stealing food at such a young age for his mother, even when it was all in vain. Because people fought like hell was loose for the food and if they caught you you'd be crawling back home, if they were merciful.
His bitter thoughts continued, even after they had everything they needed and he was lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, words flying through his mind, memoires surfacing.
He was six at the time. His mother hadn't woken up yet, so Jay knew the coast was clear. He wanted to get her some fruit. She liked fruit, but she said she loved the spicy food from where she was born the most. Once Jay asked if she could make him some. She said no. He asked why. She said that they couldn't ever go back. He asked why they couldn't. She said because they were trapped on this dusty, miserable, sick, poor island by people who weren't willing to give anyone a second chance, or the innocents attached to them. His mother started crying, blurred face changing, eyes shutting and her smile disappearing. Jay ran from the room, ashamed of what he did.
So there he was, walking the streets casually, dodging the dead rats, garbage littering the street and holding his nose from the pungent smell of sickness. Eventually, to his horror, he'd realise he was used to it.
He spotted the only fruit merchant in town, the one who staked they're claim when they first arrived here. They always had business, the three that ran it. Each was busy, making maybe enough money to buy the next load of fruits when the shipment came, but that depended if anyone else was doing well too, enough to buy the fruits, costing a coin each. Sneaking up from behind, he pulled of his hat, gingerly swiping two pears into it.
Turning around, now full hat in hand, he was about to set off when he was suddenly picked up by a large man and staring at his sneering face.
"You better be paying for those." he said .
He was holding his arm tightly, and Jay could already feel the bruise forming. Terrified of the burly man, Jay moved around, spouting any insult he could think of. The man, dropped him on the ground, and moved as though he was about to kick him. But he underestimated how fast a scared and small child could run in a crowded street, and took this chance and ran down the street.
People who witnessed the scene moved partially out of the way, not wanting to get caught up in this, common occurrence, letting Jay get away, to the angry curses of the merchant.
He arrived back home, bruised arm and back, but didn't focus on the pain, but the small, now bruised pears he had gotten for his mother to eat.
If they had lived here, he wouldn't have had to steal, and he could have brought her a three course meal. If they lived there, she wouldn't be dead. But on the isle, there were no farms, just stuff that Auradon didn't need and shipped to them. And apparently, they could have been sending more because they sure as hell don't need it, and back on the isle most people were starving. Not, I haven't eaten in three hours I'm starving. It's I can't afford anything, the shipment won't come in for another week, the bakeries and merchants barely have anything and I might die before I can afford to get more food.
That is when it came to him. The isle of the lost was, to the heroes and their children, a land far, far away, something that doesn't concern them. They just didn't get it, or simply didn't care. Because hunger made people different. Hunger made people snap. Hunger brought the worst out of everyone. Especially people who've snapped before. I should know. Jay shivers, as the mental image of his angry father burns against his mind.
"This is what you've brought me? Are you an idiot?! Do you expect us to make a living off of this crap?" he snarls, tossing the small bag of goods down to the floor.
Jay was seven now. "But the mer-"
"I don't care what the merchant says! He obviously didn't care about it because you stole it with your pitiful amount of skill! If we have been reduced to stealing things, you might as well steal something useful for once!" he interrupts, taking a menacing step forward.
"Do you expect us to be able to sell any of this? Do you think that spending time with that Mal and Carlos is going to get us money? Friends aren't helpful!"
"Mom wanted me to have friends." Jay muttered eyes on the ground.
Jafar stood straighter. With a fire burning in his eyes, he hit him, sending his head crashing into the wall. The small child slid to the ground, dizzy and in pain. His father picked him up by the collar.
"Don't. You. Ever. Bring your mother into this. If she wasn't so focused on keeping you safe, she would be alive right now!" he spat, bringing his free hand jabbing into Jay's nose.
Dropping him, he bent down. "Now, you are going to get something worthwhile, and you aren't going to come back until you do."
Jafar stormed into the other room kicking the items in the bag to a corner. Jay sat up, pressing his hand against his nose, where blood rushes down. "Yes father." he say quietly, getting up, ignoring the pain, and out into the streets, wanting to make his father proud. Or at least give him dinner.
Silently, Jay was crying, tears running down his face, turning his body under the covers away from Carlos although he knew that he was sleeping. He was slightly embarrassed, but right now his emotions won the battle, and his own repressed thoughts dating back years ago. It was partially because of frustration and hatred, partly because of grief, regret and the wish that his life hadn't turned out like this.
Mostly it was because through all of those memoires, he barely remembered his father ever caring. Mostly it was because even with all of that vivid remembering, he still couldn't remember anything of his mother beyond her eyes and a smile.