(no subject)
There really was something to be said for the way the island liked to screw with people. More often than not, in the few short months since he'd arrived, Sam had had no difficulty dealing with it - hell, on occasion, he even found it amusing, when it was other people. That was before he'd woken up as a seven year old, though. Maybe it was just the effects of being younger messing with his head (no, he was sure it was), but he felt so, so much less equipped to handle this. He knew, now, what everyone meant when they said this place could be cruel, that it knew exactly how hard to hit.
Because the thing was, it wasn't strictly the physical change that so unnerved him. Any other age - teenage, early twenties, even older - he would have been fine with. He would even have been more okay if he'd woken up a girl. This, though, this was so blatantly deliberate, someone playing a nasty joke. With as hard as he usually tried to keep his mess of feelings regarding his father at bay, with as well as he usually managed to do so, now, that simply wasn't an option. It felt like just yesterday that Kevin Flynn had driven away on his motorcycle only to never return; regardless of the years of memories he had after that, the closure he'd gotten, it was like his entire being had been altered, brought back to that time and not just because every time he looked in a mirror, he saw the boy his father had left behind. To say that it was confusing would have been an understatement. To say that it was upsetting would have been even more of one.
He had spent nearly all of the first day laying low, trying to steel himself, mostly failing. Waking up on the second, though, and not knowing how long this was going to last, he'd had no real choice but to pay the clothes box another visit, for something more than just the t-shirt and jeans that had gotten him through the day before. He wasn't sure why keeping a low profile mattered so much when it was doubtful that anyone would recognize him as the abandoned son of Kevin Flynn, but if nothing else, he didn't want anyone's pity. The most he could ask for was just to get through this quietly.
Of course, he should have known that wouldn't be an option. The clothes box was usually among the least of his worries, not causing him half so much trouble as the jukebox or bookshelf, but today, it seemed, things were going to be different, like it wasn't bad enough to be seven again, and reliving all the emotions he'd tried so hard to bury. No, instead he got shirt after nearly identical shirt, all of them variations on a theme, printed with the same two words: Flynn Lives. While the movement hadn't yet started when he was this young, he still remembered it well, and his own contributions to it later in life. Here, though, it didn't make a difference whether he lived or not. He was still gone, and probably would never be here, something that seemed to hurt a whole lot more with the renewed ache of having lost his father brought about by being this young again. Huffing out a little sigh, Sam dropped to a cross-legged seat on the floor, frowning, one of the shirts held close to his chest, the others in a pile a foot or so away. Unable to bring them all with him, unwilling to bring them back, he didn't know yet what he could do, and not even the knowledge that this would have been far too ridiculous for his twenty years older self could make him move just yet.
[Tiny Sam and his daddy issues! Have at, ST/LT fine, etc. etc.]
Because the thing was, it wasn't strictly the physical change that so unnerved him. Any other age - teenage, early twenties, even older - he would have been fine with. He would even have been more okay if he'd woken up a girl. This, though, this was so blatantly deliberate, someone playing a nasty joke. With as hard as he usually tried to keep his mess of feelings regarding his father at bay, with as well as he usually managed to do so, now, that simply wasn't an option. It felt like just yesterday that Kevin Flynn had driven away on his motorcycle only to never return; regardless of the years of memories he had after that, the closure he'd gotten, it was like his entire being had been altered, brought back to that time and not just because every time he looked in a mirror, he saw the boy his father had left behind. To say that it was confusing would have been an understatement. To say that it was upsetting would have been even more of one.
He had spent nearly all of the first day laying low, trying to steel himself, mostly failing. Waking up on the second, though, and not knowing how long this was going to last, he'd had no real choice but to pay the clothes box another visit, for something more than just the t-shirt and jeans that had gotten him through the day before. He wasn't sure why keeping a low profile mattered so much when it was doubtful that anyone would recognize him as the abandoned son of Kevin Flynn, but if nothing else, he didn't want anyone's pity. The most he could ask for was just to get through this quietly.
Of course, he should have known that wouldn't be an option. The clothes box was usually among the least of his worries, not causing him half so much trouble as the jukebox or bookshelf, but today, it seemed, things were going to be different, like it wasn't bad enough to be seven again, and reliving all the emotions he'd tried so hard to bury. No, instead he got shirt after nearly identical shirt, all of them variations on a theme, printed with the same two words: Flynn Lives. While the movement hadn't yet started when he was this young, he still remembered it well, and his own contributions to it later in life. Here, though, it didn't make a difference whether he lived or not. He was still gone, and probably would never be here, something that seemed to hurt a whole lot more with the renewed ache of having lost his father brought about by being this young again. Huffing out a little sigh, Sam dropped to a cross-legged seat on the floor, frowning, one of the shirts held close to his chest, the others in a pile a foot or so away. Unable to bring them all with him, unwilling to bring them back, he didn't know yet what he could do, and not even the knowledge that this would have been far too ridiculous for his twenty years older self could make him move just yet.
[Tiny Sam and his daddy issues! Have at, ST/LT fine, etc. etc.]