His Second Childhood
By: Selim
Summary: When Squall returned from Time Compression, he wasn't himself anymore. Now he must grow up again, but would having his father in his life the second time make any difference? Squall doubts it, but time has never been on his side.
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII. I am not making any profit off this piece of fiction.
Rating: T

Squall pushed his bangs back before refocusing on the weapon magazine set out in front of him. Apparently the newest issue was being published straight out of Esthar and all it took was a call from their adored president to get a post-dated copy sent to the palace. In the week he'd been a permanent guest at the president's palace, Squall had locked himself away with the simple magazine, his collection of gunblades from his travels, and a gunblade remodeling kit. He wasn't too impressed with the recent upgrades for the lionheart, so he couldn't find the heart to touch the weapon. Instead, he focused his attention on his first gunblade to make his own model that would cause the blade's fans to swoon in delight.

If only his hands worked the way he wanted. He'd thought that in his smaller form it would be easier to move screws into those small compartments of the unloaded revolver, only it appeared his motor skills didn't work that way. He couldn't keep his hand still to insert pieces or use the screwdriver just right. Instead, he found himself with crayons (thick enough to keep his hand around) and drew scribbles of what his ideal gunblade would look like.

He wasn't the best artist as an eighteen year old boy. As a two-year-old, he was even worse and it was slowly making his patience snap. Which left him with another problem, he realized. No longer focusing on his work, he discovered he was hungry. It was odd, considering he had just recently had breakfast before Laguna went to work, not four hours before.

Climbing to his feet, Squall peaked out the door. No sign of Laguna, yet. The man tended to come back around lunch to make him something to eat, but there were no signs of the goofball of a president. Scowling, Squall continued towards the kitchen that branched into the living room and dining room. The palace was no different than a large set of condo suites, the president receiving perhaps the finest of Estharian goods. Normally, Squall would have looked into his new environment, but the last week had been hectic, leaving him not in the mood.

His stomach growled noisily, reminding Squall of his goal. Striding into the kitchen, Squall eyed the large ice box that he'd seen often enough lacking food. It was a bachelor's pad through and through, but having spent his whole life living off of dorm food, Squall had only seen pictures of these large refrigerators. He'd been surprised to find that Laguna's was as empty as Squall's old, small dorm one. Kiros had explained that the man kept bread, loose meat, and a bag of chips here and there. Most of the time, the man was forced to dine with ambassadors and top ends suits from Esthar so the fine Estharian cooks made him more desirable meals.

They hadn't thought to fill it for Squall. Grunting, the teen decided a sandwich would do. If only he could reach. Looking around for quick solutions, Squall finally pushed a chair over to the counter and tried to climb up. He couldn't get his small body onto the padded cushion. After pushing the chair aside, Squall pulled drawers out instead to make a stepping ladder up to the counter. With cautious steps, he made his way to the top, continuing his trek for food.

The first cabinet had a jar of peanut butter that Squall dropped to the ground. Another drawer had a box of saltine crackers, opened and staling. Not picky, Squall dropped those to the ground before making his way down.

Though his small hands weren't good for putting small screws into tight spots, they easily fit between the seals of the refrigerator, pulling the door open with ease. Looking up, Squall saw a jar of jelly on the top shelf. Grumbling, the child started his climb up and froze halfway up when the glass under his hands started to slide out of its ridged spot. Eyes wide, Squall jumped back with trained reflex, watching the glass shelf fall and shatter. With a long look at the jelly, Squall resigned to his fate of peanut butter crackers. Shutting the refrigerator door (careful of the new mess – that someone else could clean up), Squall made his way back to his room with his trophies.

An hour later, with a dry mouth, Squall was feeling his thin patience ready to snap. With no sound from the outer room signaling a person capable of reaching the glasses on the highest of shelves, Squall was finding his source of irritation in the crackers, now smashed into the rug of his room. Taking another stale treat from the bag, Squall smashed it down with the rest. After making a creature that resembled a glob on the carpet, Squall uncapped the peanut butter to set his creature in stone. Why? No reason really, he realized looking at the large mess he'd made.

Faintly, he could hear the door to the apartment open and somewhere swear. His first instinct was to hide. Considering first instincts kept people alive long enough, Squall did just that, darting under his bed where the soft blue blankets hid the boxes brought back from Balamb. Watching cautiously, Squall eyed his supposed 'father' with something akin to hate. The man looked scared at first, but the mess of peanut butter and crackers seemed to relieve whatever worries the man had when he first entered the room.

"No worries, Kiros! Squall's here. He'll come out when the thirst kills him, judging by this mess of peanut butter and crackers. Think the staff will be mad about cleaning this mess up tonight?"

"Why is Squall here unsupervised, Laguna?"

"He's not a kid!"

"This mess isn't a kid? He obviously can't take care of himself. Get a nanny like your advisors said when you filed for adoption. Eighteen or not, he can't be here alone in his condition."

Glaring at the sealed door, Squall rolled out from under the bed to put away his gun blade collection. With a glance at his dirty fingers before hand, Squall used the front of his shirt to get as much of the mess cleaned off before sliding his things under the bed. He was about the crawl back under when his door opened again and a large hand grabbed his foot, dragging him out. Lifted in the air, Squall could only stare at Ward hard to know that he was in trouble. "I didn't mean to." Squall whispered.

The man's dark eyes softened as he put the child on the ground. One big hand brushed through Squall's messy hair in a soothing motion. "I know you didn't."

"…Was just hungry," Squall continued, "next thing I know, there's a mess."

Another brush through his hair was enough for Squall to grab a thick mass of leg and cling on as he was lead out into the kitchen to overlook the mess that Laguna was attempting to help clean with the staff on hand. The president glanced over, and his confused look hardened then softened as he took a deep breath before shaking his head. "Maybe this was my fault. We both are forgetting how old your body is."

Yeah, but if it was Elle in this situation you'd be bending over backwards to do things. Squall stifled his sharp comment. He didn't want to be helped, but he saw what Laguna was talking about. Really – what sane man gave a two-year-old a gunblade remodeling kit and left them alone for days on end? Squall was used to doing everything for himself, including getting food. He'd long since forgotten a time when Matron stood behind him to help him and the other children do things they just weren't able to yet.

"I'll get you a hands-off nanny – so you can do what you need to do, and she can do what you can't. You tell her whatever you need, and I won't hear any of it so you can still have that privacy you want." Laguna eyed the mess thoughtfully. "In exchange, I don't want you doing anything that as an eighteen-year-old you would question doing – like climbing on things that aren't made to be climbed on."

Squall looked up at Ward, knowing his bottom lip was sticking out. "Water." He whispered. The tall man nodded, reaching through the cabinets. He gave Laguna a look before removing a glass cup that he filled with water. Leading Squall to the table, the man sat the glass down on the table before putting Squall on a chair. Without preamble, Squall grabbed the cup, draining the liquid. He made a relieved noise as he set the glass down, sliding out of his chair. With an off glance towards both men, Squall fled back to the safety of his room with another problem he didn't want either man knowing about.

Ellone had been sweet when Squall had addressed the problem a few days before. He'd been ashamed to discover a lack of control in urination. Though he was able to make it to the bathroom on his own, sometimes he didn't register the urge until it was too late. At that moment, he realized a need he'd ignored in his quest for water. A second too late. He didn't want any of the men to know that he'd gone from underwear to disposable nappies over night. It was worse to explain why he smelt like pee when it did happen, so the boy had learned to hide his problem in the safety of his room, in his personal bathroom. When the maid came, she took his nappies away and Laguna remained none the wiser of Squall's rare problem.

Slamming the bathroom's door shut, Squall went about his business before scrutinizing his recent mess. Though it wasn't much, since he'd stopped himself just in time, he changed his 'underwear', hid the evidence, and left his bathroom, only to jump in surprise at Laguna sitting on his bed reading the weapons magazine.

"Y'know, I had an article published once in this. Long time ago, before I ended up in Winhill. During the war. I was so proud." The man turned the page. "The weapons get worse and worse with each edition. They don't try hard enough. I saw a machine gun in here once that was supposed to fire faster than normal. Yeah, but the shaft would jam and the gun would explode in your hand. No thanks."

"I didn't invite you in here."

"We have to clean this mess too." Laguna pointed towards the 'glob monster' on the floor. Squall eyed it. He supposed that was true. "You don't have to hide it. Ellone already told me; that's why the maid checks over your bathroom so closely. If you need things, just ask. I'm not going to laugh."

The blood rushed to his face as his shoulders stiffened. That was worse than anything that had happened. It had been his embarrassing secret and his older 'sister' had told his biggest enemy. Shaking, Squall turned and fled. He ran past Kiros and out the door, trying to get as far away from Esthar as he could possibly get. Not even the guards stationed along the walls were able to stop the boy as he made his way out of the palace, his short legs burning from use. He only stopped when he hit thick crowds in the shopping district, becoming lost in the flocks of people trying to find the latest of trends.

Falling to his knees along the outer walls, Squall watched the crowds with scrutiny. His small lungs burned as he breathed deeply. From the corner of his eye he saw paper fly through the air. It fell feet in front of him, and Squall ignored it until he saw his name in fine print. Making his way again through the crowd, he realized just how short he was. People ignored the boy, nearly stepping on him on many occasions until he was able to crawl back over against the wall, paper in front of him to see an article about the recent sorceress war and the garden that fought for the people's freedoms. The last words of the article caused him to curl tightly into himself, the reality of his life finally setting in.

The commander of Balamb Garden, Squall Leonhart, was killed in action.

He knew it would come to that. It was hard to explain the time compression's affect on his adult body – it would be hard for anyone to accept a two-year-old saved their sorry asses. Letting his head lay on his knees, he stared blankly out at the crowds, watching as they went about their days, never knowing the feeling of one day waking up as someone else, forced into a life never had.

Someone sat next to him. Squall didn't need to look up to know it was Laguna. The man had an air around him, a fragrance of the flowers still in Raine's old bar. It was a nice scent in compression to the flexi glass and machinery associated with Esthar. However, it was also the freezing of people in the presence of their great president that cued Squall in who'd sat next to him. The sound of sneakers dropping to the ground next to him jarred the boy from his thoughts and the flood gates broke.

He turned into Laguna's side and cried. His death plagued him. No one wanted to see their achievements listed on the front page of any newspaper as a testament to their short life. Squall was no different. It was a mockery that he couldn't finish what he started. He wouldn't be the 'best gunbladist' or the finest commander of the Balamb Garden. He couldn't remain friends with the people he'd grown attached to during his adventures. Even in a few years he'd become a lost relic.

Squall Leonhart, the man, was dead. It left behind a shell of a child with no niche of his own. He couldn't even hold his beloved gunblade anymore. He hadn't fallen in love with the blade until he was fourteen, forcing him to work hard to become strong enough to wield the tool. Now he couldn't even pick up the handle without both hands, and even that wasn't enough to hold the weapon steady.

His fingers hurt from trying to make his own blade, the small screws cut into small hands that were incapable to clasping just right. He'd suffered cuts from the blade, having slipped when loosening the handle.

The adult side of him mocked his inabilities. His lack of control was a curse that he couldn't handle.

He cried for what felt forever, releasing the hold of the newspaper long enough to grab the graphic shirt Laguna dared to call proper work attire. His body tensed only when an unfamiliar hand brushed through his hair awkwardly, trying to soothe the boy as the crowds dispersed. After what seemed like forever, Laguna finally opened his mouth. "It's okay."

"No it's not!" Squall screamed. "I'm not a kid! I'd rather be dead than a kid!"

"But you are!" Laguna reached for his own bangs, gripping them tightly. "You're a fucking kid, Squall! You can't do what you used to. You can't control your bladder, you can't be playing with your gunblade – shit, what was I thinking giving it back to you!" His hand moved to the top of his head to grab more hair in shame. Squall analyzed the behavior, having seen himself do something of the same before. Their hair always took the wrath of their embarrassment. They grabbed and pulled, trying to relieve strain felt. It almost made the boy smile at the familiarity of the situation. Almost. "Ugh. Look. We're going to have to find our own way through this. Um, I'll take you out shopping tomorrow for more hobbies that can keep you busy – I'm guessing you like drawing?"

An image of his cracker and peanut butter glob crossed his mind, an ugly relic of a monster he once fought with ease. It made Squall snort back a laugh. "I hate drawing."

"And books. You can read right?"

To his surprise, Squall couldn't find the energy to hit the man. He just didn't want to. A heavy feeling wisped around him, making him lay deeply into Laguna's arm. The man was warm and (dare he say it?) comfortable. The people, less than there was before, disappeared from his vision.

When Laguna noticed the weight on his arm was heavy, he glanced down to find Squall had fallen asleep. A look of peace that had been missing since the beginning was finally set in stone. Now, without the mask of a worrisome teenager, the boy actually resembled his two-year-old form. Brushing his fingers through the boy's hair, Laguna laid his own head back against the cool wall. In the corner of his eye, he could see his guards, lead by Kiros, standing along various walls to protect their leader from the stray monsters still in the city.

"You just needed a nap, didn't you?" He whispered.

"He is two." Kiros added, walking over. The man seemed uncertain if he was overstepping his boundary anymore. Their relationship had been strained if anything since Laguna had learned he had a biological son – almost twenty years before.

"I keep forgetting. Elle wasn't in this stage when we first meet."

The man exhaled deeply. "Yes, but she had her own needs that only Raine would meet. And remember, you had to play imaginative games to make all the worries of the world disappear. She didn't know what was out there and was in bliss because of that. Squall has seen things even we haven't. His mind is…perhaps older than us. His body was eighteen. His body now is a child that needs special care. Laguna, please. You need to get off your own high horse about not knowing what to do – you always knew what to do with children. Just give Squall the care you used to, and still do, give Ellone. Only Squall needs leeway to know what's going on and to put in his own two cents about the situation."

"I'm going to decide what to do," Laguna whispered, "as time goes by. Pick up his shoes, will you? I'll carry him back. And, uh, go over to that book vault and find a toddler rearing book for me. I need something to blame my problems on."

Kiros smiled and did as he was instructed.

TBC