So, I'm in university now, and you know what I do during boring lectures?
Think about Fanfics I want to write.
Especially about our boi Aaron Warner and his wonderful Daddy issues.
And what to I do to reward myself when I've figured out an annoying integral?
Write a few sentences before I realize I have physics to study as well TTuTT
It's a slow process, but I've actually managed to map out a few things I want to do with this.
Which includes bringing Adam and James into this mess.
I'm sitting in the closet.
I'm sitting in the closet thinking that it will prolong dinner with my father.
It's dark. And disappointingly small.
Out of all the scenarios I have been trained for I stand hand fallen before my current predicament.
I am eleven again.
I am tiny and lanky and hiding in a closet without a lock.
I wish that was a sentence I had made up.
But does anything of that even matter? The impossible has happened. Juliette.
My one saving grace after such a long time in this personal hell that is my life.
Is gone.
And even if I had had the forethought to even consider that she wasn't actually unstoppable, not immortal and the solution to all my problems I would have figured that I, too, at least would be dead at this point.
Which again brings me to the current situation.
My father; calculative dictator of what used to be the continent of North America; executor of families, cities, countries; abusive father and husband; seem to want to play house with me.
And I can't understand why.
My thoughts are interrupted as someone knocks on the door.
I listen as they try to push down the door handle, then rattling it, in case it was the mechanism that was acting up. After a pause a gentle thud follows, as the person on the other side is putting their shoulder against the wood.
My chair doesn't budge though.
It stops for a moment. Then, another knock, followed by the muffled voice of my father.
"Aaron?" A pause. "Dinner."
I do not move. I just sit there in the dark with the bottom of a blazer draping over the top of my head.
Father seems to realize that I'm not making my way to the door.
"Aaron, open the door please."
The silly part of my mind returns. It believes that if I just don't reply he'll think I'm not here. That eventually, he'll go away.
Obviously it doesn't work.
"Aaron, I am going to give you one minute to open this door."
I remain where I am. After all, I don't have anything to lose by disobeying.
Five minutes go by, and from within the closet I can hear how the lock is being rattled again. This time in intervals.
At first I'm confused, figuring they would have kicked down the door. Turns out I was thinking too dramatically.
They were just taking the lock apart.
Sadly my chair barricade relies on the presence of a door knob, and as soon as the mechanism hits the floor I can hear the door bump into the chair as it opens; followed by someone stepping into the room.
My ability reads my father's mood. He's impatient with my behaviour. But also a little amused.
I startle as a knock sounds right next to my head. It makes the clothing hangers scramble, revealing my already flimsy hiding place.
The door is pulled open and I am momentarily blinded by the sudden light pouring into the small space.
"Hi there", he says.
"How is Daddy's favorite rebel doing?"
My nose wrinkles ever so slightly in distaste.
Daddy?
I don't know how many years it has been since anyone referred to him by that name. Even as a joke.
He doesn't seem to matter the lack of a reply. Instead he briefly looks back over his shoulder.
"Nice move with the chair", he comments.
He turns back to me. I look down to avoid having to look at him.
"Are you done sulking and ready to have some dinner?"
"I'm not hungry", I lie.
Once again I'm surprised by the sound of my voice. Small and whiny.
I detest it.
"Don't be silly Aaron. You haven't eaten since yesterday", he says.
He's offers me a hand. Beckons me with a flick of the fingers.
I ignore it.
He sighs, unsurprised, then his hand is around my arm and he's firmly pulling me up from my sitting position on the floor and out of the closet.
I almost stumble, but I manage to adjust my balance against his hold on my elbow.
That's when I look up and is once more struck with an unnerving feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My father is undoubtedly the same size as always and I have, at least since the age of sixteen, been able to look him in the eye from with a margin of only a few inches. But now...
I'm somewhere in between 4'5 and 5 feet.
And my father is towering over me in a way I cannot recall.
I do not have much time to ponder over this, however, as he ushers me out of the room.
The dining room is the same room where I last had dinner with my father. Back when I had a gunshot wound in my shoulder.
Back when I still did not know that the reason I could touch Juliette was due to a supernatural ability.
The table is set and ready. Someone has covered the plates with lids to keep the food warm.
"Sit down at the table", he tells me as he brushes past me and starts uncovering the food.
Despite my best efforts my mouth does start to water at the smell.
Still, I glance at the door we just came through.
One of his guards, seemingly appeared out of nowhere, meets my gaze.
I turn back and take my seat. I try not to think of it as begrudgingly. Only children do that...
My father does not waste any time to start loading his plate with food, and as soon as he is done he puts food on my plate as well; not leaving me any room to protest the amount.
"Eat up", he tells me, then digs into his own meal.
I do not touch the food.
"Where are they?", I ask.
He looks up. Still chewing. He raises his eyebrows in unconcerned confusion.
"You never answered where the Unnaturals from Omegapoint are", I say.
He rolls his eyes then.
"Because I assume they're not dead, with the tense you were using", I persist.
He just continues to chew, unimpressed, and nods at my plate.
Eat up, he had told me.
That spark of emotion from before returns full force. I suddenly want to stand up and yell at him. Demand things. Overturn things. Go back to my closet and sulk in the dark because what reason is there for me to be here unless he will answer my questions?!
Anything but to eat my food like a child-
It hits me like a brick to the back of the head.
Oh the irony.
The roles have been reversed now.
Juliette and I.
Now it's me and my father.
All those breakfasts, luncheons, dinners. Her glaring at her plate, me scolding her for refusing to eat. Alternating between humor and frustration at her behavior.
She needed the strength and nutrition to grow stronger after being starved for almost a year. And she refused because it was the only thing she could do to strike my nerves.
I could do the same. To disobey my father. Just for the heck of it. After all, there is nothing he can do. I have nothing to lose. Not really.
But I'm not Juliette.
I'm not a stubborn brat, an actual child, like her.
Because, as much as it hurts my pride to admit it: My father is right. I need to eat.
And if I want answers to my questions, this is what I have to do.
So, I grab my fork and pierce something that looks like sweet potato. I shove it into my mouth and start chewing.
It's sweet. It makes my stomach scream for more.
I can tell he is surprised by my obedience. And also pleased in a smug way I have learned to know.
It swiftly disappears, however, as I swallow and repeat:
"Where are the Omegapointers?"
"They are being contained."
"That is not what I asked. Where?"
"That is classified, son", he replies.
I can't say I'm surprised by this answer.
"What do you plan to do with them?"
His mood gains a taint of suspicion then. But all he does is give my plate another nod as he continues to eat his food.
Again, that feeling resurfaces, but I push it down; and consume more potatoes.
He takes longer to answer me this time, and I even start on my meat just to fill the time.
"We haven't actually decided yet. But whatever we come up with it's going to be rather interesting, I think. They make quite an exquisite collection of abilities, don't they?"
"It's too bad there were so few useful ones that survived", he ponders.
Maybe you shouldn't have bombed them, then, I think as my hands clench around my utensils.
"We?", I say.
"The Supremes."
"So they are in on this as well?", I ask.
"Oh yes", he says.
"And they are all very curious about you."
I do not ask anything else, and dinner continues in silence.
"Excellent", he says as I finish the last bits of foods and set down my fork and knife.
"Do you want any more?", he asks gesturing towards the serving plates.
"No", I reply.
He nods.
"Then you may return to your room and prepare for bed."
I blink. Glance at the antique clock on the mantelpiece. It's just past seven in the evening.
"You can't be serious", I say.
"I told you, Aaron", he says as he wipes his mouth with his napkin, as if explaining something very simple.
"Part of your punishment is an early bedtime. Now go put on your PJ:s. I'll be there in ten to make sure you've brushed your teeth."
I can't tell if that is meant to be a threat, a fact or an attempt at a joke. But I also know that I he won't answer any more of questions even if I attempt to refuse.
So, I stand up, leaving my chair pushed out, and walk to my room.
My father arrives, as promised, in the doorway twelve minutes later.
I am already sitting in bed. I have no actual plans of sleeping, but the image of my father forcefully tucking me in if I refused was too real of a possibility.
Or, I had no plans of sleeping, but now my eyelids are suddenly feeling heavy. And the warmth that is slowly being created beneath the covers is becoming more and more inviting.
And this bed is very soft...
I yawn, despite my best efforts to suppress it.
I can feel his amusement like a ripple across his mood as he approaches the bed.
I attempt a serious glare, but it only seems to make him think I'm more adorable.
"Did you put something in my food?", I ask. It was illogical for me to be so tired after sleeping for an entire day; as my father had claimed. It would explain why he was so keen on me eating so much.
"No, actually...", he says, making no attempt to hide that it was a plausible idea.
Then he furrows his brow as he sits down on the bed.
"Are you not feeling alright?"
It's a strange question. Not only due to the fact that I have been deaged against my will, making me feel anything but 'alright'; but also due to it coming out of the mouth of my father. He, who has never cared about my wellbeing; and specifically gone out of his way to physically, and mentally, abuse me.
Then suddenly the back of his hand is on my forehead.
I am so surprised I back my head into the headboard.
"It could be the vaccines…", he muses.
"What?", I demand as my brain catches up with the information.
"I've been vaccinated?", I add as I bat away his hand.
"Yes", he answers plainly.
And once more he is amused by my reaction.
"Against what?"
He shrugs.
"Oh, I don't really know. You were injected with lots of things."
I shouldn't be surprised by the fact that things keep happening to my body without my consent, yet, I still feel majorly offended. Not that it would have made much difference, with the UN having been dissolved years ago.
So, I settle for what I can do: I glare at him.
"Please, Aaron, surely you understand. There wouldn't be much of a point to spend all those resources on reversing your age for you to die from the common cold after five minutes."
My confused look must have spoken for itself.
"Your immune system isn't up to date anymore son. Or, at least that is the hypothesis. Evie is going to run some tests just to be sure."
Evie.
It takes a moment for me to recognize the name of the Supreme commander of Oceania.
And at the same time I realize what I used to assume was a quirk for science and empirical testing has probably always been the source of my father's knowledge of the Unnaturals.
I feel a chill run down my spine.
'It's too bad there were so few useful ones that survived'
Useful.
A tool to use.
I had been the one to suggest using Juliette's ability as a tool for the Reestablishment, but clearly my father have known about the Unnaturals far longer than I have. And it's impossible that the same thought has not crossed his mind as well.
The reason my father has gone out of his way to keep me alive, could it be… because he knows?
I can't resist the shift I make backwards.
Luckily he interprets this as me being uncomfortable with the topic at hand.
"Oh, don't worry Aaron. We've already taken the blood samples", he says, as if to calm me.
Then he leans forward. Leans towards me; and I don't understand at first, because he's just getting closer and closer until the last moment when he tilts his head and-
"Goodnight!"
- he kisses me.
On the cheek.
It's wet. And his stubble prickles the skin on my cheek.
It would have been a perfect opportunity to elbow him in the face. Perhaps surprise him enough to be able to take the gun that is surely hidden on his body. Or just make him mad.
It would surely have been worth it either way.
Instead I'm too stunned to do anything.
He chuckles at my wide eyed expression. Then stands to leave.
"Try to actually get some sleep", he says and walks out, momentarily looking back over his shoulder before shutting off the light with the switch by the doorway. He shuts the door behind him, leaving me alone in the dark.
With the small amount of dignity I still have left I wipe my cheek with my sleeve.
I can't remember my father ever kissing me before.
- It was not like I had imagined it to be; back when I still had hopes for my father to show me he loved me.-
And without permission my eyes water.
I wipe at them, more aggressively this time and lie down to start planning what to do tomorrow.
I do not get much done, except establish the fact that I want to know where the Omegapointers are being kept. And hopefully they haven't already changed the password to my quarters where my computer, hopefully, still is.
Instead I think of signs that my father would in fact have known of my ability. For how long? Perhaps for my entire life. It would certainly explain why I was here.
Still, what was he hoping to accomplish with me being eleven.
Sure, I was more controllable in this state. Light weight and apparently more prone to emotions. But rendering me paralyzed or otherwise immobile would have worked the same, if not better, if my father wanted to use my power for his own gain.
I don't have that much time to think about this, however, before I fall asleep.