Fic- Watch Him Grow
Title: Watch Him Grow
Fandom:Heroes
Summary: One day, someone put a child in her arms and she was a mother. A little Virginia Gray weirdness.
Warning: VERY DARK THEMES!
One day, someone put a child in her arms and she was a mother.
One day, he went skidding on the kitchen tile in his socks and collided with the counter top. The formica opened a gash on his forehead and he screamed and screamed, high-pitched and horrible, like he was being murdered. She picked him up, all limp limbs and smooth skin and cuddled him against her chest, crooning and stroking his back. The blood got everywhere, ruining her shirt and slicking in his hair as she swayed back and forth, murmuring the words to an old lullaby.
One day, she grabbed his arm and told him he was finished playing and he needed to come home. The dark summer night was coming and she needed him inside, in the light, so that she knew he was safe. For a minute, he didn’t move and she got a flare of fear in the bottom of her stomach. She sank her nails into the flesh of his arm, just a little too hard, and told him he was coming, now, because she said so. After a moment, he obeyed.
One day she spoke to a woman as they flattened sketchbook drawings and class assignments onto a child's desk. The woman was telling her something was wrong. The grades were excellent, but something was wrong. The woman explained, she knew this because the woman’s lips moved, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t hear a single word said.
One day she opened the bathroom door and he was on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. She tried to pick him up but she couldn’t because somehow in the last few months he'd gotten six feet tall. She called the ambulance and she waited for them there, pressing a bath towel to the gashes on the inside of his arms. She didn’t swear, she’d given up swearing when she became a mother, but she hissed at him, forbidding him to die, because he had to go on and do wonderful things.
One day he came home and told her he was not going to take that scholarship, he was going to trade school instead. Part of her thought this was a great idea. The house had been so quiet since his father left. This was not the part of her that tried to start a reasonable conversation and eventually dissolved into screams. This was not that part of her that threw things. It never occurred to her to ask why he wouldn't want to go away to school, not even once.
One day she dialed the phone, giving him the old line about keeping in touch with his mother. He sounded nervous, breathy and excited, but he apologized for not calling. He explained that he was going out of town again, important business, and she felt a little twinge of envy at the bottom of her stomach. She asked him what he was up to these days, hoping he’d mention a girl. He didn’t say anything, like he didn’t even hear her, and then he put down the phone so hard she jumped.
One day he came over. He’d been gone so long and he brought a gift, but there was something awful and ugly between them, something that seeped. He asked her a question, asked if he was good enough, and she loved him so much she said no.
One day, one moment of sharp, twisting pain and she was on the floor, bleeding through her ruined shirt. There, in the growing dark and heat, she held a small scrap of comfort close, telling herself, as the light went dim, this is not my son.
Fandom:Heroes
Summary: One day, someone put a child in her arms and she was a mother. A little Virginia Gray weirdness.
Warning: VERY DARK THEMES!
One day, someone put a child in her arms and she was a mother.
One day, he went skidding on the kitchen tile in his socks and collided with the counter top. The formica opened a gash on his forehead and he screamed and screamed, high-pitched and horrible, like he was being murdered. She picked him up, all limp limbs and smooth skin and cuddled him against her chest, crooning and stroking his back. The blood got everywhere, ruining her shirt and slicking in his hair as she swayed back and forth, murmuring the words to an old lullaby.
One day, she grabbed his arm and told him he was finished playing and he needed to come home. The dark summer night was coming and she needed him inside, in the light, so that she knew he was safe. For a minute, he didn’t move and she got a flare of fear in the bottom of her stomach. She sank her nails into the flesh of his arm, just a little too hard, and told him he was coming, now, because she said so. After a moment, he obeyed.
One day she spoke to a woman as they flattened sketchbook drawings and class assignments onto a child's desk. The woman was telling her something was wrong. The grades were excellent, but something was wrong. The woman explained, she knew this because the woman’s lips moved, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t hear a single word said.
One day she opened the bathroom door and he was on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. She tried to pick him up but she couldn’t because somehow in the last few months he'd gotten six feet tall. She called the ambulance and she waited for them there, pressing a bath towel to the gashes on the inside of his arms. She didn’t swear, she’d given up swearing when she became a mother, but she hissed at him, forbidding him to die, because he had to go on and do wonderful things.
One day he came home and told her he was not going to take that scholarship, he was going to trade school instead. Part of her thought this was a great idea. The house had been so quiet since his father left. This was not the part of her that tried to start a reasonable conversation and eventually dissolved into screams. This was not that part of her that threw things. It never occurred to her to ask why he wouldn't want to go away to school, not even once.
One day she dialed the phone, giving him the old line about keeping in touch with his mother. He sounded nervous, breathy and excited, but he apologized for not calling. He explained that he was going out of town again, important business, and she felt a little twinge of envy at the bottom of her stomach. She asked him what he was up to these days, hoping he’d mention a girl. He didn’t say anything, like he didn’t even hear her, and then he put down the phone so hard she jumped.
One day he came over. He’d been gone so long and he brought a gift, but there was something awful and ugly between them, something that seeped. He asked her a question, asked if he was good enough, and she loved him so much she said no.
One day, one moment of sharp, twisting pain and she was on the floor, bleeding through her ruined shirt. There, in the growing dark and heat, she held a small scrap of comfort close, telling herself, as the light went dim, this is not my son.