A/n: This chapter gives a small back story into James' childhood which contains death, read with caution x
Tw: death
Grief
~~
James had a normal childhood. A hard working, supportive father who was part of the military. His mother a free spirited, loving mother. They were the picture perfect family with Steve almost being like a second son to James' parents.
On a cool October's day, when James was just 8 years old, his father was sent to Afghanistan to help civilians. James and his mother worried about this father whenever he was deployed to another country. It was November 5 when there was a knock at the door, James' mother was making them breakfast it was unusually bright for November. She twirled and hummed around the kitchen as she worked. She turned down the stereo as she went to answer the door handing James a glass of juice before she went to the door. As she opened the door she saw two men.
They stood in there full uniform, suits, hats and medals hung from their jackets. James was oblivious to what was going on behind him. He heard the men muttering to his mother thinking nothing of it.
His thoughts were interpreted by his mother's scream. As he turned around he saw her on her knees, tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried out in heart ache. His eyes widened not knowing what had happened. The two men crouched on their knees to console her.
James paused to look at his mother. Her faces was wet, her eyes almost bloodshot while her makeup streamed down her cheeks and neck.
"Mom?"
His mother grabbed him by the wrists and hugged him tightly crying into his shoulder although he didn't know why she was so upset. His head was pressed against her chest as she moves her chin under his head. He listened to her heart beat, her lungs barley filling with air.
He saw a piece of paper behind his mother laying on the floor. As he read it his heart sank in bold righting:
"KILLED IN COMBAT"
He was to young to understand exactly what his mother was feeling but with he head on her chest he still swears to this day he heart a deep crack come from her aching heart. Hearing the pieces fall from her chest.
𝓖𝓮𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮 𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼
𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓞𝓯 𝓑𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓽
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