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by Edmondia Dantes
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. From a fic prompt by Ankhutenshi.
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He was born in a trailer park on a hot summer's night, and when he was six he nearly died when that day came around again.
They moved across town then, away from the drug lords and the gangs, and he was happy for a while. But then school and its fights came, and it was either learn to hit back or learn to control his temper, and he found it was easier to talk with his fists than with his words, so he did.
Somewhere between grade school and junior high, he beat the boy who'd called his mother a whore into unconsciousness and then the emergency room, but she bailed him out with a smile and a scolding, and forced him to do all of his community service with a smile.
To his own surprise, he liked it. She didn't make much money, and the shitty, useful jobs that always needed doing but never seemed to get done were always there. There wasn't much cash in helping little old ladies across the street, or picking up litter, but he did it anyway - she'd always taught him to do what needed doing, and fuck what anybody else thought, so he did.
High school was hell on earth, and he was a horrible slacker, but he learned to sniff out the drug dealers and the alcoholics in the hallways. He never squealed, but if he happened to accidentally interrupt something, well, it was hardly his fault that they got caught.
The guy in his junior class that raped his girlfriend he beat halfway to death, then coaxed her into reporting it and throwing the fucker into a locked cell to cool his libido with an oversized cellmate named 'Big Joe' who had a thing for younger boys.
He applied to the police academy straight out of high school, and the day he got his acceptance letter was the day she took his hand and told him she was pregnant.
He broke about fifteen laws getting back home, but all the doctors did was hand him a shrieking pink blob and tell him that his mother was dead.
In the hazy blur of the funeral, the only thing he saw clearly was the slamming of the coffin lid. When his aunt and uncle carefully approached them, he hefted Chris once in his arms, handed him over, and walked away.
He didn't regret it until six years later.
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