BIG OLE WARNING, RIGHT HERE; Okay, read this, PLEASE.

This chapter is the "BIG BAD" of the story, aside from some anxiety/panic stuff and leftover trauma/PTSD related issues later, but this one's got detail. It has ACTUAL DETAIL OF ABUSE. It MAY BE UNCOMFORTABLE FOR PEOPLE TO READ. But it is a big part of the story, too. It explains WHY Chris is the way he is, why he thinks/acts how he does, why he feels the way he does.

It details his past, before going to Xavier's School, what happened when he was classified, when/how his mutant side came to be, and how he was treated during that time. It's not super-duper graphic, but definitely graphic enough that writing it even I was kinda "ooof, ugh, why do I do this to my babies". Chris is classified at eleven, and it's a whole shitshow.

If you don't want to read through all of the BIG BAD, I'll sum it up at the END of the chapter. It STARTS at where he mentions wetting the bed, and then you can use the search feature to skip straight to the phrase "So he fled." That is after the big bad ends, right when he leaves home. There's still some bad, but the worst is over and we move on to him getting brought to Xavier's.

OKAY, with the warning out of the way, this is a longer chapter because I wanted all the big bad wrapped into one, so we could move onto the better stuff. It's cute stuff, healing, making friends, etc from here. He still has issues, but he works on them, with help from others, and things get better and it gets fluffy and all pretty quick.

Chapter Two: First Steps

Memories of that day came to the surface…

The day his classification results came in the mail. All of his family had been classified as baseline, aside from one distant relative who was a caregiver—in fact, the community they lived in was made up entirely of baseline humans. It was… almost cult-like. They didn't even want to have him tested, claiming they knew he'd be the same, it was in their blood, but it was the law, a requirement, that at age eleven, all citizens have their blood taken to be properly tested. He'd been the one to retrieve the mail, and could distinctly remember the pounding in his heart, the impending anxiety attack as he saw the black "L" stamped on the back where the envelope was sealed.

His first instinct had been to hide the envelope, or toss it, but they'd be able to call and ask, and he was a terrible liar, so they'd know what he did and why… so he gave it to them. Their reaction wasn't as bad as he'd expected, but it was still bad. After all, they could have banished him from the community, they could have killed him…

Instead, they went into his room, his safe space, and just took everything. Anything that could be deemed even remotely 'childish' was taken away, including any fiction novels, graphic printed tee-shirts, and even his video games. All of it was tossed, thrown into the dump before he even had a chance to argue that the results might be wrong, that he could be tested again.

They even went so far as to repaint his room to a dull brown, instead of it's previous vibrant blue, and left him with nothing more than a mattress, a brown sheet, and his dresser, with his very few clothes remaining inside.

It wasn't long after that, that he started… showing. Typically, classified individuals began showing much earlier in life, but being raised and learning among baselines, he'd learned to mimic them, but once he was 'of age', the signs became more and more obvious, especially with him being cut off from his peers.

This wasn't something that he did intentionally. No, he knew far better than to show any sign of being little around his family, more so his father, but things just started to slip out. It started as simple things-him messing up a word or two or dropping a cup or fork at dinner. At first, their reactions weren't… terrible. His father's fists would clench, he'd slam his hands down, or at worst, he'd yell. His mother was frustrated, but typically said nothing, knowing that she couldn't change how things were… though he knew she didn't like it, didn't accept it.

But it progressed. Chris couldn't properly tie his shoes anymore, resorting to tucking the laces into the sides, he began sucking his thumb without realizing it… and then he started to wet the bed.

The yelling turned to cursing, insults… threats. On the first day his father raised a hand to him, he made the mistake of saying 'Daddy, please', and that was the final straw in that man's eyes. He really did hit Chris that day, his fist leaving a dark, black and blue bruise on the thirteen year old's cheek.

As soon as his fist made contact, a switch seemed to flip in his father's head… clicking together pieces of a dark puzzle that made the next three years of his life a living hell. From that day on, for every "little" incident that occurred, it was received with a hit—sometimes a slap, sometimes a punch… for more "severe" cases, such as the bed wetting, his father would bring out a thick leather belt or a paddle.

In fits of sudden or drunken rage, he would even take to throwing whatever he happened to have handy, more often than not these things being heavy bottles or glass cups. Chris managed to dodge these most of the time, but only most.

And all the while, his mother simply kept quiet. She began to act like he no longer existed. No child of hers would ever be anything other than baseline, after all… so throughout the violence, the abuse, she would excuse herself to other tasks, and act like nothing was happening.

To make matters worse, Chris' family had money and plenty of it, which meant that in any case where his father might go 'too far' and he be forced to see a doctor, anyone that witnessed the obvious signs of abuse were too easily paid off, and no one ever spoke of anything other than what they were told to.

Chris was a problematic child, you know. He got into a lot of fights with the other kids, instigated the fights himself too.

Though anyone who would take even five minutes to speak to him would be able to tell that was a horrid lie. He was so shy, soft-spoken and polite. In most cases, he was barely able to make eye contact, and if not for the way he was treated at home, all his little instincts made him want to give anyone even remotely kind the biggest hug.

By the time his sixteenth birthday rolled around, everything around him seemed to reach an… eerie calm, and he didn't know why. Sure, over the five years since he began to 'show', he'd been learning, practicing, trying to get back to the point where he could pretend to be baseline again, like when he was a kid, but… was that it?

Had he gotten good enough at faking it that they weren't going to hurt him anymore? It had to be the reason, because they'd never get used to the idea, they'd never love him for who he was.

But it gave him a reprieve, it allowed him room to breathe… for a couple of months.

It was about a week before Christmas when it happened. The breaking point.

The day his powers came to be. Or, at least the start of them. His father was drunk, a far too frequent occurrence for even his mother to deal with at that point (which led to her leaving them alone in the house for many hours at a time—Chris never knew where she went), and he was mad… no, he was far beyond that. He was a human embodiment of fury.

Ranting, screaming, about how Chris was a failure of a child. He never should have been born—he was a freak, a disappointment. He accused Chris' mother of cheating on him, as that was the only way some omega bitch would ever come to be in their family. Chris said nothing back, afraid to even move, frozen in place on the couch, head down as he shook, trying to hold back his tears.

Then he approached Chris, boots stomping so loudly on the floor that the sound echoed in the young omega's ears. He demanded for the boy to meet his eyes… but the moment he did, he was met with a fist to his cheek.

Chris had hit the floor with a painful thump, yelping in pain as his hands went to cover his face. His father wasn't done though, not by a long shot—those same boots connected with his ribs, his legs, wherever they could reach, again and again and again.

Blood spurted from Chris' lips and something in his head, like a switch, flipped. Like the first time his father had hit him, when the man had changed…

He got angry.

Now, he hadn't meant to, not like that. But all of the abuse, everything he'd been through over the years, all the pain, the fear… every single memory hit him at once as his eyes saw the splotch of red on the floor… and he snarled, an inhuman noise that he'd never thought he could make.

It caused his father to momentarily freeze, unsure of where the sound came from, and it gave Chris an opening. With rapidly growing, sharpened canines and claws, he lunged, taking hold of that same leg that had been assaulting him and dug into it, making the older man cry out in pain. Then he jerked, his father falling fast and hard onto the floor near him. As if on pure instinct, he pounced, sinking those same new canines into the man's throat and ripped away the flesh, keeping his struggling form pinned to the floor with a strength he'd never before had.

It felt like years, though only minutes passed, before his mind began to calm, but it was too late. Blood poured from the wound, his father's now lifeless body before him… and he began to panic.

Clambering to his feet, he looked over the scene, then himself—so much blood—claws, bits of… of fur...His head snapped to the mirror hanging above the fireplace and his eyes filled with horror. A monster. He… he'd turned into a monster. His hair was wild, thicker, trailing down his face and his ears were pointed, higher on his head with bits of fur on them as well. His usual green eyes now glowed a bright gold, and as he slowly opened his mouth, he saw his teeth, pointed and covered in… in…

Chris' breathing hitched and he began to cry. It started off silent, but didn't take long before the quiet tears evolved into loud, terrified, pained sobs… and just in time for his mother to return. She froze in place as she took in the scene before her.

Her husband, gone from the world, throat ripped out and blood spread across the floor and her… child, a monster. Some sort of demonic looking wolf-man like thing, sobbing over it all. She tore her eyes away from Chris, ignoring him completely as she called 911, allowing him time to hide, dashing up to the bathroom to try and scrub away the evidence of what he'd done.

His father was rushed to the hospital, his mother tagging along with some hope that they might be able to save him, might be able to do something…

Though it wasn't long before she was back, in her hands, his father's gun, loaded. She aimed it at the young little, the young mutant's, head, and gave him one choice. One chance.

Leave and never return. Never come back, never contact her, never look for her. Never dare think of her.

Or die, like all monsters should.

This was his mother though, she… she may not love him, not like she should, like he wanted her to, but he didn't want to believe that she'd actually fire, that she'd go that far… then she did. A warning shot, though it still made contact, piercing his shoulder and causing him to cry out loudly, clenching the wound as blood poured down his arm. It wouldn't kill him, but it made her point.

If he didn't leave, he would die by her hands.

So he fled. Taking nothing with him, not that he had much of anything worth taking, he ran past her and out the door, grateful for the darkness that the late night provided, as he knew he was still… still that. Still in that monstrous form. If anyone else in the community saw him now, they'd do the same as her, shoot without question.

Thankfully, as he learned very quickly, with this change came power–strength, speed, stamina… and it carried him from his home in Kansas all the way to the Nebraska state line before he collapsed.

He'd made it to a town, a small, friendly looking place, and out of sheer desperation, stumbled to the first house he saw, hoping for some sort of help. Even if they couldn't treat his wound (which was healing much faster than it should have been), maybe they could give him water, let him use their phone. Anything. Anything at all.

When the door opened, he was greeted with looks of disgust… of hatred. Not far off from those same looks his parents gave him. They didn't bother asking his classification, they didn't care. All they saw was that he was a monster, and told him to 'get the fuck off their property' before they made him.

Not wanting to risk another gunshot, or worse, he left as quickly as possible, barely making it back to the forest he'd emerged from before dropping onto the soft grass, crying, curled into a ball and worse off than he ever had been before. His clothes were shredded and covered in dirt and blood, his pants were wet (he'd had more than one 'accident' on his run), and he was tired, just… so tired.

The couple he'd encountered had still called the police, despite his quick departure, reporting a 'dangerous mutant' on the loose in the town… and in turn, they called Professor Xavier, who joined Ororo and Logan on the X-Jet to check out the situation. It was quite a surprise to all three when they found Chris, who hadn't left the forest since his encounter in town.

Chris, of course, panicked immediately, thinking he was going to be hurt again–after all, though the Professor and Ororo are pleasant enough, Logan is quite intimidating, despite his classification. It took quite a bit of coaxing from Professor Xavier before Chris would come out from his hiding spot, and he had to use his powers to put the boy to sleep for their ride, but soon enough, he was safely in the school.

Immediately, he was brought to the hospital wing, his old clothing discarded, and Jean looked him over for signs of injury while gently skimming over his mind–not digging deep, but just trying to get an indication of what had happened where they'd found him. Anything else would be for the Professor to handle.

The bullet wound received from his mother had healed entirely, though there was a small scar, and Jean could see many other scars littering his small body. She wanted to go deeper, she wanted to know why they were there… but in due time, she knew. She settled on getting him cleaned up and into some fresh clothes.

Not knowing his little age made things a little difficult, so she went with standard procedure–a diaper and soft blue onesie, along with a pair of lounge pants and a hoodie. That way he'd be comfortable and warm when he woke up, and wouldn't have to worry about having an accident.

Though the Professor had only intended for him to sleep during their ride, with as much as he'd been through, Chris slept for the following two days, whining and writhing in his sleep, having nightmare after nightmare, which Jean did her best to soothe.

On the third day, he shot awake, his wolf-ish features still on full display, and he cried, hiding wherever he could manage to squeeze into. Knowing what he had been through had been nothing less than traumatic, they did the best they could in keeping him comfortable, which wasn't easy.

He refused to let anyone touch him, and ripped off the diaper he was wearing as soon as he realized what it was, though was more careful with removing the onesie, leaving it on a nearby table. Ororo managed to convince him to wear pull-ups, with the promise that he wouldn't have to worry about wet pants anymore, and they wouldn't force him into anything else unless he wanted it, and though he'd take the bottles of water and small snacks they'd bring him, everyone knew they had to get him out of the hospital wing eventually…

Into a room, with his own things. A bed, a closet, clothes. Access to the kitchen and real food, get him enrolled in classes, let him meet the others.

Professor Xavier visited him every day he was down there, and it took a couple of weeks of talking, of promises that would ring true, of a show of their powers… but he finally allowed himself to be led upstairs, where the new chapter of his life began.

With his mind open, walls down, as each of these memories passed through, Professor Xavier was able to watch everything as though it was being played before him on a TV. He supposed this was much easier than talking through what had happened, and after seeing it… he understood so much more. About Chris, about why he was the way he was… And he knew what needed to be done, and it wasn't something that could be done at the school.

After the memories started to fade, Professor Xavier helped to calm Chris' mind, and the young mutant stared over at him with wide, helpless, tearful eyes, not knowing what to do. His paw-like hands twitched in his lap, the urge to slip his thumb into his mouth stronger than usual, but not so much that he couldn't fight it back as he always did when near others.

Still, he sat there sniffling, feeling smaller than he had in a long time. "I am so sorry that you have gone through so much pain." Chris said nothing, choosing to play with the hem of his jacket to keep himself occupied. "You can take consolation in the fact that you are far away from all of that now, that you are safe. You have come such a long way since joining us, and while I know that you have much healing to do, I believe that in time, you will be able to accept yourself, to love yourself and allow yourself to be loved and cared for in return. There is someone out there for everyone, Chris–and I know that should you wish to find a caregiver, someone out there would happily welcome you into their life."

That comment brought out a noise–a small sound of indignation. "Even… Even i-if I wanted… N-No caregiver… No one w-would want a little as f-fucked up as me.." In any other circumstance, Professor Xavier would have berated him for using such language, but he knew what the young mutant was feeling, the pain of those memories still at the surface.

Though Chris was not the first, and would not be the last, student to come to his school having suffered some form of trauma. Some were far worse than others, and Chris was definitely one of the more difficult cases to come along in a while, but that didn't mean there was no hope.

Professor Xavier smiled at him gently, "Chris, I have been waiting to ask this until I felt you were ready, and while you still have healing to do, I believe this would be a good step in helping you. With your permission, I would like to officially include you into the school's adoption network."

The… adoption network? Chris knew what that was. Many of his classmates talked about it, most of them either already in the system or discussing why they weren't 'quite ready yet', and since he'd arrived just a year ago, he'd witnessed a fair number of students being picked up, actually adopted. Brought home by a variety of caregivers that came from around the world. It had always made his heart ache, seeing them go, knowing they'd have someone to love them, take care of them.

Not that he was close with anyone that left, it was simply the fact that they would have what he wanted, deep down… something he never would, something he didn't deserve.

The network itself was run by the Professor, monitored by a number of 'trusted associates', who he was sure included the caregivers at the school. All included littles had a profile including their basic information–gender, physical age, little age, daily needs, medical information. It included information about their past as well, though not a detailed report, just enough so that prospective caregivers knew that the little might have 'issues adjusting'.

He knew that the offer to be put into the network would eventually come, and honestly wasn't offended that it hadn't come sooner. If anything, it had been a relief. No strangers ogling his photo, his information, no one judging him for being one that would have those 'issues'.

"If you aren't comfortable with the idea just yet, it's perfectly alright, though I believe finding someone outside of the school that you can connect with would help you. You, of course, would be under no obligation to meet or even speak with any caregiver who shows interest. To ease your concern–" He could see it in Chris' eyes, not having to even touch his mind. "-Everyone who applies for any little under my care is put through a very extensive process involving a rather large stack of paperwork and background check before they are to even be interviewed, and every interview is done personally by myself, with Jean and Logan present, before any further action is taken place."

Chris hadn't realized that the process was quite so… intense. Even if someone managed to get through the first two parts–paperwork and background check–a personal interview with Professor Xavier himself could make or break anyone. No one, aside from Erik (Magneto, as he'd been told the man preferred) and Jean, on a good day, could keep the older mutant out of their head.

He could slip through any defences, any mental walls, and see exactly who they were, what they wanted out of this. Why they wanted whoever they chose in particular… and if they didn't meet his standards, if the Professor found even the tiniest indication that the applicant may be anything unlike what they appear, they'd likely be out the door with their memory wiped of everything regarding the school.

It couldn't hurt… could it? It's not like anyone would even bother to spare him a second glance once they actually bothered to look at his file. Aside from the obvious starting point of 'will have issues adjusting', as soon as they got to anything regarding his past or medical information, it'd be a done deal and they'd scoot right along to the next available little.

But, despite all the doubt in his mind… there was still that one little speck of hope. If someone, anyone…. Just one person at all would give him a chance…

"Okay." Chris spoke up, after what felt like ages. "I… Y-you can put me i-in the network." Though he didn't voice what he'd been thinking, he knew Professor Xavier likely had heard it all, and the older mutant smiled.

"I assure you that all will be well, little one. For now, I think it's time for you to head down for something to eat and get some rest. After today's session, I believe you would benefit greatly from a nice nap." Chris nodded, wiping at his face with his jacket sleeve as he stood. "I know you likely hear this from all the caregivers, but if there is ever anything you need or want, please do not hesitate to ask. We are all here for each other and there is nothing you could ask for that would be too much." Especially considering he never asked for anything at all.

"T-Thank you, Professor." Chris nodded softly then left, waiting until the door was shut before bolting down the hall, intending to make his way to the upper boy's bathroom before anyone saw him.

Thankfully, as there were still classes going on, the halls were mostly empty. Mostly. He did pass by Rogue, and they made brief eye contact, though she didn't try to stop him–if he was presenting all his mutant features, he was obviously upset. She'd seek him out in the evening when he came out of hiding, but for now, continued on her way, a worried smile on her face.

For those who skipped the "BIG BAD";

Chris' family consists of all BETAS. The entire community he lives in does. Has been that way for many generations. He was the first little for as long as anyone can remember and they take it BAD. He gets everything remotely childish taken away and is left in a barren room with the bare necessities. He had 'little symptoms' as a kid, but grew up around betas and learned to 'act normal'. Once at presenting age (eleven), he starts acting more little, things get bad.

His mom ignores everything, but his dad goes bat-shit crazy. Starts small, gets worse. His family is loaded, so when he gets hurt, they pay people off. Stays that way for years. At sixteen, he thinks he's learned to act "normal" again, and things calm down for a few months. Then his dad loses it, worst than ever. There's an incident, and it causes his mutant abilities to show (all the wolfy features) and he retaliates (resulting in minor character death). Mom comes back, sees it, threatens him, he doesn't believe her, but she proves her threat was real.

Bam, we get to where he leaves home. He's injured, afraid, but makes it pretty far. All of this has left him scared of being little/mutant. Why? His family made him believe being little is an abomination, it's a sin, it's something you deserve to be hated for because it's wrong. (Littlephobic?) He hates being a mutant because it caused him to hurt someone, doesn't matter that they hurt him first. He thinks he's a freak, a monster, a disgrace, etc.