A/N: I know I should be focusing on "Restart" right now but this AU came to me recently and I just really like the idea of Superhero!Ressler. Very very AU, totally different from anything canon, focuses on Liz and mostly Ressler; just having fun with the characters. This prologue focuses on Ressler's back story (again, very AU), so next chapter is set present day. Not sure how good this is, but hope you like it :) Chapter one should be up soon.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the writing. Everything else belongs to NBC.
Prologue
Special. That's the only word that Donald Ressler has allowed to be used when he is being described.
Ever since he was young Donald Ressler has always known that he was different.
Special.
As a toddler in kindergarten he would do little things unintentionally, like move one of his stuffed animals from one side of the bed to the other, but they were little things and they wouldn't always work.
But he came to the full realization of his abilities when he accidentally made an oblivious Vanessa Cruz's skirt lift up in first grade by just looking at it as he was waiting in line behind her for the water fountain after the dismissal bell had rung. He was quite amazed by his newfound power so he tried it again, moving closer up and made her skirt hike up even higher. Unfortunately both Vanessa and their teacher noticed this time and Vanessa screamed, causing their teacher to scold Donald and promptly send him to the principal's office, thinking that he had purposely lifted the skirt up with his hand.
Donald, however, was too excited about his abilities to care as he sat by the bench in front of the office, waiting patiently for his parents to finish up their meeting with the principal half an hour later.
Being sent down to the office and walking past the stares never bothered him; he was used to never fitting in because he was too quiet or too immersed in his own little world of superheroes and villains (that seemed to be all Donald cared about at the time. He found a collection of his father's old comic books in the basement when he was three and hadn't stopped reading them since). He made sure he did what he was told and focused on his work, but never tried to do anything else. The teachers treated him like any other average kid, the rest of the students didn't even speak to him nor was one of them a close friend, and that was the way Donald liked it.
He was about to test his powers again when his parents emerged from the principal's office with a grave expression on both of their faces.
"Donald, sweetie, let's go home." his mother had said gently, taking his hand and guiding him out the front door into the parking lot.
Donald nodded and glanced back at his father, who was walking behind them with a sullen face.
His mother was always the nurturing one, bringing him to school and such, but his father was cold and unapproachable, and spent so much time with his work which he never talked about that he didn't know how to interact with his only son. He never really came around to Donald, and Donald was okay with it.
The drive home was quiet and awkward, not that Donald had cared. He was too busy watching the trees outside blow violently in the nonexistent wind knowing that it was him who had creating the sudden change in weather, solely with his mind.
His parents never noticed, they were too busy discussing something in hushed voices.
When they had arrived home, his parents sat him down on the couch and faced him, their expressions serious.
Low It was Donald's father who spoke first. "Donald, do you understand what you did today?"
Donald nodded, playing with his shirt sleeve. He didn't really care in particular about whatever his parents were going to tell him. He loved them, but he'd rather be upstairs
His parents exchanged a look and this time his mother spoke. "Sweetheart, we need to tell you something, but you have to promise you can't tell anyone, alright? It's a secret."
Donald nodded, his eyes wide.
His mother glanced at his father one last time for reassurance, then had said, "What you have, honey, it's. . . different. Unique. Special. The reason why you can do what you do. . . uh. . ."
She stopped after noticing her husband's stern gaze, but continued. "You have powers."
Donald broke into a big smile. "Powers? Like superhero powers? Like Superman, and Batman, and Captain America?"
His mother beamed, but his father had quickly said, "Similar to that, yes. But what have you gathered about how they deal with their powers?"
"Um," Donald blinked. "they saved people using their powers?"
"No," his father quickly interjected, receiving a sharp look from his wife. "well, yes, but they never told anyone about their alter-ego. You following, son?"
Donald playfully bobbed his head up and down.
His parents exchanged several discreet words again before his father had gravely turned around and had told him those life-changing words he knew he would never forget.
"Donald, you have to know, what you have may be special, but it is very dangerous. Telekinesis - what you have - it can harm people including yourself. You have to learn to control your powers, you can't use them or let anyone besides your mother and I know about them. Ever."
Donald nodded again, but he was confused. What was the point of having powers if you couldn't use them to save people then?
Noticing her son's discontentment, his mother was quick to add, "But, if one day, you feel ready, you can use them, for the greater good."
She gave him a hug then, while his father looked on, still not completely convinced that it was a good idea.
That made young Donald grin. It was like his childhood dream; to grow up and be a superhero and save the world.
Secretly, of course.
As the years passed, not one more word was spoken about Donald's powers among the Ressler family or anyone else.
By the time Donald turned fourteen, he had full control over his powers and followed the advice his parents had given him so many years ago; he never used them.
He had occasionally wondered where they came from, but, following his parents' advice, he never bothered to find out more about them
In fact, he barely thought about them. He had changed a lot since he was in kindergarten. He had become more cynical, or at least as cynical as a fourteen-year-old boy could be, like his father. He even found a friend who shared similar interests; a boy named Sam Raimo who Donald had met at the start of freshman year, but Sam had moved away by eleventh grade and Donald was left alone again. His focus was no longer on superheroes and such; he was now wholeheartedly committed to becoming a successful writer.
A successful non-fiction writer. A journalist.
He was obsessed with facts. That was why he did so well in subjects in school like math and science and geography; he loved learning about facts. His father had rubbed off on him, in a way; being the realist that he was, he encouraged Donald to stop reading comic books when he entered fifth grade, saying that he needed to focus more on real life or he wouldn't be able to succeed in life. His mother disagreed though, saying that it was good for children to have a good imagination
But Donald, not wanting to cause trouble, had hastily agreed with his father and shoved all the comic books into his closet, vowing not to read them again.
He loved his mother dearly, but he was understandably less fond of his father.
He then began to read nonfiction, specifically the newspaper. He loved to read every single article in each section, and his father approved of it all.
So then journalism became his dream, and saving the world (as Donald had put it) was pushed aside.
As the years progressed and Donald grew older, his parents began to grow apart. They would have fights almost every day and Donald hated when they fought but he never spoke up about it; he just stayed in his room and shut it all out.
Even though he had done nothing wrong, Donald had a feeling that his father despised him. Maybe it was because he was too cynical or he just simply hated the fact that he had a child, Donald was never quite sure.
And those events soon led to the worst day Donald would ever see in his young life.
It was a rainy Saturday evening, three days after his sixteenth birthday, he would never forget that, and his parents were fighting again. This time, it was about him. Donald heard nearly everything they said even though he was locked away in his room doing homework.
Then he heard his father yell and throw something.
His mother had screamed. That was a sound he would never forget.
There was a brief pause before Donald heard the garage door open and someone drive out.
Judging by the sound of his father's heavy footsteps inside the house, it was his mother.
Throughout the whole ordeal Donald never left his room. He was too afraid.
He waited for his mother to come back as each minute turned into half an hour into an hour. Nothing. He was starting to worry. But he didn't dare speak up to his father, which he later immensely regretted. His mother returning late was something that they were used to; she worked late at the real estate agency so he convinced himself it wasn't that big of a deal.
Donald skipped dinner that night and never spoke to his father. But then they got the call at ten-fifty six pm.
His mother's car had skidded off the road and she was killed instantly.
And just like that, Donald's life was over.
Donald's father had informed him of the news in such a flippant and dismissive manner Donald knew from that moment on that family was no longer a priority in his father's mind.
He didn't even show up at the funeral.
The rest of Donald's high school years were hell; he didn't bother making any new friends (or girlfriends, for that matter), his grades started slipping from As to Bs to even Cs, and his father didn't even care. In fact, his father completely stopped paying attention to him, except for when he needed a favor (and Donald usually complied).
But as he grew older, Donald was starting to wonder about his telekinetic abilities.
Where did they come from? Why does he have them?
One day, Donald was sure, he was going to find out.
Donald couldn't wait until high school was finished so he could finally move out of his father's house and just get away from him for good, and maybe even get a career in journalism.
Or even find out about his powers.
He was surprised that his father let him stay in his house for so long even after the death of his mother. Donald figured it was because he helped pay a portion of the bills. He missed his mother a lot, though. He knew that she secretly believed in his powers.
Because now, in Donald's mind, he was completely and utterly alone.
Invisible. The special boy with the powers, who thought he was destined for greatness, was now invisible.
How times have changed.
So the only thing he had to keep himself sane besides school was writing. Writing for the school newspaper wasn't really a job in high-demand, but Donald enjoyed it. It was a way to keep himself busy. He wrote about anything and everything. It became his life.
And lucky for him, his favorite college had accepted his letter. It was in Manhattan.
Thousands of miles away.
His father couldn't stop him. He was free.
Donald couldn't be happier.
He was starting a new life.