Rising From Ashes

1

*Trigger Warning: Mention of su!cide, su!cidal thoughts, mention of running away, implication of murder, implications of abuse, mentions of parental neglect, implication of an ED(Eating Disorder), mention of human trafficking*

Nico sat in the back of a police car.

The cops in the front were silent. He was silent, clutching onto his bag tightly.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

No, no, no, no, no.

His mother would be disappointed in him for cursing. His sister would just give him that look; they all knew she did it too. His father would ground him and his uncle would beat his ass.

He knew his uncle had done this.

The man hated his family. He hated everything about them. That was why he'd killed his mother, then gotten away with it. He was fucking free because there 'wasn't enough evidence.'

It was Nico's fault. If he'd just kept his mouth shut about those nightmares. If they'd believed him, his uncle would be in prison right now, rotting away. And his father would be alive, and he wouldn't be in the fucking foster system in Gotham City.

Gotham, really? That was the worst place to be in the foster system. He was probably going to be sold to a trafficking ring or something.

Fuck.

It wasn't his first time in the foster system. He was in it for a while after his mother was killed, and his sister ended it. His father had gotten neglectful and started drinking, and Nico'd been taken away from him. It'd taken him two years to get Nico back, then he'd immediately been dumped in a boarding school and been forgotten about.

Then he'd been kicked out of that school for acting out, and he'd been sent home. But when he'd gotten back, he hadn't gotten the warm welcome he wasn't expecting.

Instead, he got a rotting corpse and the suicide note of a man who obviously didn't care what happened to Nico.

So here he was, sitting in a police station with one of the cops' jackets over his shoulders. He wasn't even cold. He just didn't bother declining it. There was no point. It wasn't like any of them would listen to him.

They never listened to him.

*** *** ***

Nico had been put in a foster home while the police tried to track down any surviving family of his. He doubted they'd find any. Not that it mattered. He'd run away from them just like he'd run away from these people if he had to stay too long.

They seemed nice. They'd given him his own room at least. He hadn't left it since they said he could lock it. They had a daughter. Nico ignored her.

That morning, they'd tried to bring him out to eat. He'd put a chair in front of the door just in case they had a key and put his junkie headphones on, listening to music for the rest of the day.

He wasn't hungry.

He was never hungry.

His counselor at the boarding school had said that that was a problem, then tried to counsel him or whatever. He'd done his best to ignore him.

What was the point in eating when he was going to die eventually anyway?

He'd probably kill himself. It looked like depression ran in the family. If his father had actually killed himself. He doubted it. It was probably his uncle.

The only reason he wasn't with any of his uncles or aunts right now was because the moment one of the police suggested it at the station, he'd almost had a panic attack, then thrashed out at anyone who tried to touch him or calm him down.