this took me a full week to get through...gah, i had many ideas for foxy but they were minor stuff that wouldn't have fitted into the story. it might seem choppy and cheesy during some parts, but i live for the drama. enjoy. and happy mother's day!
The filthy wrapped bundle was found on a bench right on the train station platform where people gathering during the morning and evening rushes. He went unnoticed during the early hours, people too focused on getting themselves to work on time. It wasn't until the commute died down where the passengers with no rush took their time getting to the station just before the train arrived. He was spotted by an elderly woman who walked pretty well for her age, and was immediately taken up in her arms. The tiny infant wailed hopelessly, the messy red hair that he adorned stuck to his flushed cheeks as he grasped the air with one good hand. The other hand, the woman noticed right away, was a nub. The baby reached out for her face with his normal hand and waved the nub in the air, trying to get her attention.
"You poor dear. Don't worry, I'll get you to somewhere safe."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
That somewhere safe the old woman found gave off the vibe of a safe, caring environment when the owners greeted her at the door.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I found the child crying helplessly at the train station. There's no evidence of a mother or father, so I'm afraid he's been abandoned."
The baby had managed to stop crying as soon as the woman brought him to the orphanage. The owners of the orphanage, brother and sister, both aging terribly, smiled at the woman as they gratefully took the infant in. The sister held the baby in her arms while her brother assured the woman they had plenty of room for the child. Once at peace, the woman took her leave, and the sister's forced smile dropped. She grabbed her brother's tie and pointed accusingly at the baby's right arm: a nub. No hand, the arm abruptly stopped at his wrist. The only explanation was that he was born with it, and that's why the parents gave him up.
"He can't stay with the regular kids."
"You're right. Stick him with the disabled kids, he'll fit right in."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They didn't bother to name him properly. Once his body was in the orphanage, he was their property now. Unfortunately, they had other matters to take care of (in other words, the normal children) and they stuck the baby in a crib that was being used by two other babies, in a room shared by kids ranging in different ages but the same problem of being mentally unstable or crippled.
He was neglected. He would be forgotten by the caretakers for days and the only way to get their attention was to bawl as loud as he could until his lungs hurt and his throat burned. Sometimes, he just gave up, and tried to help himself. He shoved and bit the other children to protect himself. He hid his belongings in places so no one would steal them. He wouldn't learn how to say his first word or walk until he was two years old.
By the age of four, he was dubbed a name by the sister. After trying to steal food from the kitchen and from other kid's plates, she would hiss at him, smack his arms and scold him. "You rotten brat. Just because you're sly like a fox doesn't mean you can get away with everything."
She didn't officially name him, but the other kids teased him about it and along the line the name "Foxy" was the name he was referred to as.
As time went by, his appearance was starting to fit his name. His hair grew long, past his shoulders and down to his middle back. He was able to pull it back with a rubber band or string, but it always got in his face or got caught on something which led to more pain. Never getting proper care for his hygiene, his teeth grew in crooked and got stained, there were rashes covering his face and body and they never seemed to go away. He wore the same clothes everyday, and when he had to wash them on his own, he would snatch a blanket from somewhere and cover himself as best he could.
Night time was the worst. Children had nightmares. When children wake up crying from nightmares, their parents come in and comfort them. When children wake up crying from nightmares in an orphanage, no one answers their cry for help. Children screaming into the nighttime air was the worst part for Foxy. He hated the sound of pain and sadness in their wails, but he couldn't do anything to help. Sometimes they'd call out "mommy" but Foxy didn't understand what that meant. Terrorized by the screeching children he would sometimes shout back at them just to get them to stop. He'd spend the rest of his night with his head buried in his pillow while using it to cover up both his ears from the heartbreaking sobs of children who never slept.
But Foxy managed. When he was younger, Foxy never played with the broken toys that were left scattered in the bedroom; the toys where the arms were ripped off of dolls or the cars with marker scribbled over them. One day, he found a ratty old children's book underneath a bed. If he saw something he wanted, he took it. It was a picture book about pirates, and the cover image enticed him. It was an action shot of a pirate captain, with a wide, devious grin and strong arms that held a treasure box under one arm and a sharp cutlass in the other. The pose the pirate was in was almost majestic, and Foxy got goosebumps from looking at it. He yearned to look as strong as that pirate. He wanted to be fearless and take on all the children whom he was forced to play and share a room with. It gave him comfort.
In exchange for doing chores and obeying orders, the caretakers agreed to give Foxy a certain amount of paper and crayons to have once a week. He stayed up late by the light of the moon writing stories, drawing pictures and imagining himself as a pirate. Whenever he grew upset, he thought of his imaginary friends and what they would say to him in that situation. If he was really frustrated, he envisioned himself slicing people up with a sword and feeling nothing but power and relief. That was his way of coping. There was no other way.
His childhood was a blur. It blended together because nothing changed. He celebrated no birthdays, he lost sense of the days of the year. He just remembers growing out of all his clothing at certain points and the owners begrudgingly getting him new ones until he would grow out of those. He lost track of how old he was until he reached 18. The day he turned 18, he was ordered to pack up his things and get a job. Which he slowly but surely did.
Aside from the screams of children and the pirate fantasies, that day soon after he found a job in a factory working at a machine is embedded in Foxy's mind, yet it's so hard for him to talk about it. It was a hot day, and Foxy was standing at his machine, doing his job. His feet were by the gears, and he wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping. His pant leg got snagged and quickly pulled his foot in. In a flash, he fell on his bottom as his leg got stuck in the gears and gizmos of the machine, and Foxy let out a blood curling scream.
His body thrashed and spasm and jerked, he saw black dots flash in his vision as he tossed his head around, screaming in agony as the machinery was crushing his bones and ripping his flesh.
"HELP! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"
People fled to his side and hit the emergency button, causing the machine to wheeze to a stop. The sight was horrific. Foxy can't recall anything else after the machine was shut down because he passed out from pain and blood loss.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The months of waiting was excruciating. Foxy stared out the window for what seemed like years. His left leg was amputated. The damage was too great and to leave it the way it was, even with treatment, it would be too difficult to manage in it's deformed state. The best choice was to cut it off right above the knee. Foxy didn't have a say in this.
He remained in the hospital hooked up to tubes and a mask for a few days after the surgery took place. When he finally woke up, he was woozy from painkillers and forgot for a second that the accident even happened. He was reminded when he got the news that he wasn't allowed to go back to the factory.
Foxy spent most of his days just gazing at his stub. Now he had a nub of a hand and a stub of a leg. It all dawned on him how completely useless and alone he felt and he cried. He cried often when he was in the hospital until he was given drugs to knock him out. Before he was discharged he was fitted for a compression garment and was offered to be fitted for a prosthetic limb. Too tired or weak to really think it out, Foxy agreed.
It was several months before he was given his prosthetic leg. Even though the factory paid for half of his hospital bills, Foxy ended up with little when he paid for the other half. He used the rest of the money he had saved up from his job at the factory to pay for the prosthetic and physical therapy lessons which taught him little since he would only afford a certain amount of days. He would manage the rest on his own.
He stayed in a various flats during those years. When he wasn't staying in a flat, he was wondering on the streets, panhandling, eating his meals in soup kitchens and picking his necessities from dumpsters on those extra chilly nights on the street. After his accident, Foxy couldn't stand to live there anymore. He couldn't stand this town. He was just reminded of his wasteful childhood and worthless adult life whenever he passed by the orphanage or and factory. He had nothing to live for. Until he thought back to his pirate stories. The ideas of pirates and sailing the seas still got him excited. His hospital bed was near a port, so he often watched sailors come home and sail back out every morning and evening. He would daydream about his stories until he would snap back to reality and remember he was crippled and weak, no hope for him making a living by playing make believe.
As he looked for a new job to support himself, Foxy would wonder onto the docks and sit on a bench to watch the ships go by. He wondered what it took to get a job as a sailor? Though he doubted they would want a cripple.
It was one day he noticed a much smaller ship down by the end, not attracting much attention. He did see the people who were huddling around it and sneaking on before going below decks in groups of two or three. Most of them wore raggedy clothes and looked drained from holding huge bags of luggage. Something itched at Foxy and curiously, he got up to inspect. When he asked one of the people climbing on board, they whispered in a hush tone right into his ear.
"We're escaping."
Intrigued, Foxy insisted they tell him more.
"We can't live here anymore. We're leaving to start a new life."
Grabbing the person by the arm, Foxy looked them in the eyes eagerly.
"I'm comin' with ya."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Hiding under decks with a crows of strangers who all wished for the same thing was the happiest Foxy ever felt. He huddled close to them under wool blankets and drank their clean water and fresh food. He actually laughed at some jokes or judged by his missing limbs. He was excited at the thought that he might be accepted in this new world they were going to.
But unfortunately, they all had the same ambition but different ways of following their dreams. As soon as their boat docked, the families and couples split up in various directions, leaving Foxy as the last one to step off the boat and stand all by himself, wondering where to go. All he had was the clothes on his back and some spare change he quickly but foolishly wasted on overpriced bread and water to calm his famished body.
His first few weeks in this "new world" wasn't any improvement from his old hometown. People still flicked coins into his lap when he sat slumped against a building whenever he got tired from walking and he still found new public places he could sleep without being discovered by police. The best nights were the ones on private property when he was out of sight from any guards or cameras. Usually, his most picked spot would be the same old park bench he found once he got there, the one hidden behind shrubs in front of a pond when being looked on from a street view. During the day, he looked for job openings for cripples. At night, it was back to curling up in the same park bench with the same worn down quilt to keep himself warm.
One day, however, he didn't get up from him park bench. After finding a half eaten subway sandwich still in i'ts wrapper left on the top of the garbage can, Foxy inhaled the food but remained on the bench, looking forlornly into the pond where the ducks floated. He had little energy and felt too sluggish from lack of food, water and sleep. His nubs were burning from irritation since he ran out of lotion to care for them and the rest of his bones ached from pushing itself to do most of the work of the body. Foxy mulled for most of the morning, wondering if coming here was a stupid idea. He taught for a brief moment if he was going to die here.
Two voices were heard just behind the shrubbery that morning, startling the weary man. Not many people walked this far into the park where he hid out, and when they did, he tried to act natural as if he was stopping for a break, unknown to them that the bench was his temporary home. This particular day, however, his body refused to move more than a few mere inches from any jerks or shudders.
"Oooh, what a beautiful mornin', oooh what a beautiful d-"
"Will you shhhh?! People are looking..."
"...Bonnie, shut up, there is no one here."
"Look, out there. On the street. There are many people looking over here."
"Idiot, they're looking at the ducks. They'd rather look at them, not ratchet ol' me."
"Chica, nonsense. You're stunning."
"Oh I know that."
The banter was followed by the two voices giggling after one let out an 'oof!' from being shoved in the gut. They were indeed the only other people in the park at this hour, probably around noon time on...whatever day of the week it was. Foxy forgot.
He began rubbing the nub of his hand, breathing in heavily but trying to keep it steady and unnoticeable. Above the leaves of the plants that blocked Foxy's vision of the path, he saw a frizzy bundle of dirty blonde hair bouncing with each step and next that was the top of a man's head with slick purple hair. They came strolling around the corner, their arms linked as they continued on with their conversation. They were steadily approaching Foxy and, in a flash of last minute panic, turned his head away from the direction they were coming in, knees pulled to his chest and his balled up quilt stuffed in his lap.
The man directed his attention back to the path after gazing down at the woman and halted to a stop, surprising the woman. Following his line of sight, her eyes went wide when they both spotted the homeless cripple sitting on the bench, trembling.
"C'mon, Chica...I think there's another route back where we came."
While the male tried tugging at his friend's jacket sleeve, she didn't budge. "Chica?"
"Bonnie, don't be rude." She scolded in a hush voice which caused Bonnie to become overcome with shame. "Just because he looks weird doesn't mean he's bad..."
She trailed off as she looked back at the man on the bench. Her eyes lit up when she noticed right arm and his prosthetic leg once she got a closer look.
"Wow! Bonnie, look at how cool that is!"
Bonnie wasn't impressed; in fact, he was more worried at the sight. "Gee, I wonder how that all happened."
He never got a response because Chica was already walking towards the bench, leaving Bonnie flustered. "Chica!" He whispered loudly and began scratching at his wrists. "Chica, come back!"
The giggling woman ignored the whispers she definitely heard but chose to turn away. She was already a few feet near the bench before she slowed her pace and began to approach more cautiously. "Hey! Hello there!"
Foxy shyly glanced up through exhausted and nervous droopy eyes. He didn't say a word to the woman smiling and standing above him.
"...I like your leg!" She gestured towards his prosthetic leg and he instinctively tried covering it up with his blanket while mumbling, most likely a simple 'thanks'.
Chica chewed at her bottom lip even though her smile didn't falter. Bonnie had finally shuffled his way over and whined quietly in Chica's ear, begging for her to leave the bum alone. "Chica, you're bothering him...let's just go home-"
"Do you live around here?" Chica batted Bonnie's face away from her ear, earning her another weak whine from the taller man.
Foxy only stared up at them, eyes wide like a puppy; an untrained puppy who didn't understand a word that was being said to it. But, he undoubtedly understood what she was saying because he responded to her compliment before. It was more like he knew the answer but didn't want to say it. Chica remained silent for a few moments, eyes searching for the emotions in this man's lonely golden eyes before continuing with hesitation.
"You...don't have anywhere to live?"
At that, the man's eyes had gotten moist and quickly avoided her gaze. "I gotta go." He got up and gathered up his things (mainly his empty wallet and dirty blanket) and started to stumble away down the path.
Chica gasped and began to jog after the man, leaving Bonnie to be left behind, dumbfounded.
"Hey! Wait up!"
Foxy stopped walking but didn't turn around, clutching the balled up blanket to his chest. Chica slowed down as she was right behind him. "If you don't have anywhere to stay, why don't you stay with us?"
Foxy's head spun around and Bonnie's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
Shooting a glare at Bonnie, Chica looked Foxy straight in the eye with a sincere emotion glossing over her expression. "I'm serious. I mean, we don't live in a real house but it's certainly better than living on a park bench. Please, we can help with your leg and arm...maybe even get you a job!"
Bonnie was at Chica's side now, gripping her upper arm tightly though she pretended not to notice. "Whaddya say?"
Two set of eyes were looking down at the troubled man who was noticeably shrinking back under their stare. His eyes darted between them as contemplated the offer. He wasn't so sure about the really lanky guy, who was looking him up and down with a skeptical glance, but the woman radiated off this friendliness and comfort that Foxy was steadily caving into. His left eye started twitching violently from the sun blaring his way, a common habit that happened when he was around too much light or noise. He was sure they would point it out and take back their offer but they didn't, they just waited for him patiently. Opening his mouth, it took a view points for his throat to clear up enough for some type of sound to come out of it.
"Ah...okay."
Chica clasped her hands together as he face beamed. Bonnie wasn't as pleased and seemed more relived that they can finally go back home.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"His name is Foxy. He's 31 years old and he just moved here!" Chica present a very shy Foxy to Freddy who had to pull himself away from his work, physically and mentally, so Foxy already got the impression that he was a burden to these people. He kept his gaze downcast as Chica and Bonnie stood in front of their new guest. On the way home, Foxy was able to open up a bit about his life (not going in depth about his childhood or accident, just the basic information to prove he wasn't insane or had serious problems.) From this interaction, Bonnie was able to warm up to the fragile cripple, noticing how he loosened up when they spoke more smoothly. He didn't seem like such a bad guy.
But he immediately cowered at the sight of Freddy, taller than the stubby Chica but a few inches shorter than the towering Bonnie. Being convinced to throw his ratty old blanket out, Foxy now only had his empty wallet in his possession which he kept in his pocket, but he had nothing to hold onto as his anxiety to kick in; nothing to gripping, nothing to protect himself. He kept hidden behind his two new friend as he twisted the hem of his button down shirt, peeking up from his straw like bands to catch a glimpse of this man "Freddy".
He stood tall and strong with authority, but looking a little worn out from the looks of his rolled up sleeves past his elbows and the few undone buttons on his damp white shirt. He scratched at his stubble as Bonnie and Chica finally stepped out of the way to give Freddy a better look. He remained this was for several minutes, even taking a quick walk around with his hands folded casually behind his back and his feet taking slow, heavy steps. Finally, Freddy waved his hand in the air, turning around.
"Can't promise you a job, but you can certainly stay here for as long as you need."
Chica did a mini fist bump, Bonnie sighed in relief, and Foxy's face broke out in a awkward, crooked, but surely large grin.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"So Foxy, what do you like to do the most?"
Chica shoved a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth before she realized that Bonnie had a speck dripping down his chin and carefully wiped it off with her sleeve, the latter blushing at the gesture and continuing on his ice cream eating without Chica noticing his embarrassment. Foxy sat on the opposite side of them on Chica's bottom bunk, learning a few minutes ago that the top bunk belonged to Bonnie. Their "house" was basically the entire restaurant. They only used the kitchen as their source of food but other than that, they had no other reason to leave their backroom which should really be considered their home. When walking through the back door, that's stepping into Bonnie and Chica's shared room which was mostly taken up by the bunk bed pushed up against the right wall, and the left side of the room were mainly closets and cupboards holding any storage or personal items they didn't need cluttering the room except for a narrow doorway, which let to a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink, mirror, and a single shower stall. Very little decorations could be found because the room was still messy even though they claimed they just cleaned recently. Bonnie had his guitars hanging on the wall above his bed, Chica had her vanity resting at the foot of her bed and they both seemed to have their share of hand made children's drawings and crafts tacked up on the walls surround their bunk bed. The rest were either props or nick knacks that hung over head boards, stuck out from underneath mattresses or spilling out of drawers or closets. He understood why Chica said that this wasn't exactly a home, but in Foxy's eyes and granted his experience, this was a mansion.
At the back of the room was another door, but this one had a lock on it. Foxy kept glancing back at it, wondering what was hiding behind there. He was brought back to reality when Chica asked her question again.
"You got any hobbies?"
Foxy looked down at his calloused hand and sore nub. He began scratching at his cuticles as he tried to think of a proper response.
"I like, uhh...writin' stuff."
Chica's eyebrows quirked up with a spoon hanging past her lips. Pulling it, out she leaned forward. "You mean you write stories?"
The interest in her voice got Foxy excited, but only a bit. "A-aye, I wrote stories a lot when I was, eh...younger. Mostly pirates."
Bonnie and Chica seemed intrigued by this as they exchanged a glance and continued eating their ice cream with Foxy taking a couple of tiny scoops once in a while. They went on talking for the night, getting to know Foxy a little more before finally revealing his new bed, albeit not too happily. They didn't have room for another bed, not did they have time to think of rearranging, so at last minute when Foxy was distracted the two of them threw together a comfortable little nest of spare blankets and pillows, cleared out the biggest cupboard which was unfortunately at the top near the ceiling, took the cabinets off the hinges and stuffed everything in there. They used the biggest pillow as a mattress, threw a blanket or two over it and added a couple more small pillows and plushies and present it to the red head. Speechless, Foxy stared up at his new bed but looked at them questionably until Bonnie got the message and quickly fetched the latter they used for their bunk bed.
"I don't use it anyway. I'm tall enough to jump down and climb up on my own." He smiled sheepishly and adjusted the short latter so it was at a perfect, steady angle. Foxy slowly climbed the pegs and pressed his normal hand into the blankets in pillows, whimpering softly to himself. He never had a real, comfortable bed like this before. It's not much, but it was made with effort. He examined the stuffed animals and saw a bunny, baby chick and a cute fox nestled in the corners.
"A-and," Bonnie piped up and hastily pulled out a rod with a curtain holders holding a rich, deep purple sheet with silver stars printed on it. "In case you wanted it...just to give you a little privacy. We didn't have time to hang it up, but we can do it in the morning."
Foxy crawled into his little space, making a satisfied noise in his throat as he found a nice position to sit in. He did not hesitate to pop off his prosthetic and leaved it leaning against the wall. Chica and Bonnie stood side by side, looking up curiously for some type of reaction. They both sighed and smiled brightly when Foxy finally wiped his nose and eyes from the tears pouring down his shallow, dirty cheeks.
"It's ev'ry thign I eva wanted."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Time passed and Foxy was able to warm up to all three of his new friends despite the bumps in the road that troubled them all. After periods of private discussion and serious consideration, Freddy decided that it was possible to make room for Foxy in their restaurant act, officially earning him a job. He wasn't going to be dressed as a specific character, but because of his disability and appearance, it took one full night to brainstorm a solution and that was to dress him up as a pirate; an excuse to put a hook on to cover hide his nub, boots and loose trousers to cover his leg and and eye patch to disclose his constantly twitching eye which might frighten the costumers...not to mention, pirates were his favorite. He was so thankful, he felt obligated to prove to them his worth, that he wasn't some worthless cripple who needed to be tended to. Due to that, Foxy preferred to keep to himself and remained isolated when it came to the end of the day and the other would like to wind down and reflect on the day. Despite gaining their trust and friendship, Foxy still felt uneasy around Freddy. The man rarely looked at him and said few words to him when they were alone in the same room. Foxy assumed he was shy himself, but would be proven wrong when Freddy would tease and hold a pleasant conversation with Bonnie or Chica. Foxy eventually gave up and kept himself secluded.
There were nights where Foxy would become the children he feared at the orphanage. He got constant nightmares and become an insomniac. But it was rare that he would cry or scream during the night; that would be mortifying, especially since they were people he was trying to impress and not scare away because of his problems.
It was one of those night terrors where you wake up and immediately forget what it was about. Whatever it was, it made Foxy cry. He way laying in a fetal position up in his bed, facing the wall. It started off as gentle whimpers and groans that could barely be heard, but as minutes passed, his crying grew louder, evolving into drawn out whines and moans of agony. These cries stirred Chica in her sleep, groggily looking around as she forced her eyes to open more than a crack. She felt the dead weight of Bonnie who occasionally liked to sleep in the same bed with her pressed against her side, in a deep sleep and oblivious to the noise. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, trying to make out the shadows in the dark. After what felt like hours of looking around, she heard a soft click from the back of the room and felt Freddy's presence slowly lurk behind her. His heavy footsteps and the light taps of his cane approached her beside and she squinted up at him when she saw his silhouette glance down at her.
"I think it's Foxy." Was her hoarse reply, pointed weakly at the closed star printed curtains that blocked off their view of the cripple. Freddy didn't reply but instead limped his way over to the other side of the room and with each painful grunt, hoisted his large body onto the later and climb his way off, leaving his cane at the bottom.
Once he reached the top, he gently parted the curtains and moved to the side so the light coming from the windows would spill in and give a better look at Foxy. The smaller man was indeed crying weakly into his pillow, his bed sheets shewn and body twitching or stretching in erratic patterns. Getting a better look, Freddy saw the tear streaks down Foxy's cheeks and nose as well as painful twist in his facial features as he had his nightmare.
Freddy finally ended it all with a light shake of his shoulders, and when he didn't wake up right away, shook a little more violently, whispering Foxy's name.
He heard Foxy gasp himself awake from his nightmare and his body instinctively froze stiff. Catching his breath, Foxy's knuckles loosened their grips on the blanket and quickly flew up to wipe the beads of sweet from the back of his neck. He knew Freddy was perched on the edge of his bed right behind him. He remained rigid and scared, trying to roll in closer to the wall to avoid any questioning by Freddy.
"C'mere," Freddy grumbled, indicating he wasn't in the mood for Foxy to act normal and escape him. Fortunately for Freddy but unfortunately for Foxy, the latter was thin and frail was easily grabbed by the bigger man into a comforting embrace. Holding Foxy close and forcing his head to rest on his shoulder, Freddy began to stroke up and down Foxy's back in steady, soothing motions. The tightness of his grip from his arms felt oddly nice to Foxy, feeling like he wouldn't be slipping away or being let go for a while, or at least until he calmed down.
It did help. Foxy's small sobs went down to occasional hiccups and finally, soft snoring. All while Freddy hummed a short lullaby into Foxy's ear to rock him to sleep.
