#also I'm not an expert on the situations or inner workings of foster homes and the last thing I want to be is inaccurate

[pigeonstab]

So, I actually managed 1005 words! which is like 250 more than i had before, yippee!!

I think some CWs are needed for this one, basically this is a bit of insight into Cross's childhood, he's probably around 13 here?

//CW vomiting & child abuse??// (lmk if there are any more needed)

Raindrops hit the car window, blurring the sight of the city lights behind the panes with a soft pattering sound. Cross was cold. The air was humid and he wanted to go home. Wherever that was.

The car ride had been spent in silence, as had all the other ones these past months. Cross kept himself entertained, watching flashes of light pass through the darkness of the car, observing as they shifted and bent with the shape of the seats or as they passed over his legs. He didn’t know if he could do this again, if he’d find the courage to. He wanted to say something though he knew he shouldn’t, protesting never got him anything but remarks and lectures.

He’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“I don’t wanna go.” His throat felt tight and there was a growing pressure behind his eyes. he had to tell someone.

A heavy sigh came from the driver’s seat and Cross winced “And I don’t wanna hear it Cross. This is your third placement in three months. You know how these things go.” her tone stayed stern and cold. He didn’t know why he ever tried. A beat passed “You know if you would just behave–”

“I know” he snapped at her, holding his brow, a low growl building in his throat.

“See? This is exactly what I mean!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words left him.

The car came to an abrupt stop at the red light and Cross flinched when she twisted around to face him, her face contorted with rage, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

“I’m doing this for you, you know that right?” She started “I’m driving you there but if you wanna be like that, you can get out of the car and walk your stuff to the new house. And then you could do the introductions and explain all that’s wrong with you. Since you like talking so much. Is that what you want? Huh?”

Cross stayed quiet, curling up on himself. He knew this was a shit idea anyway. She never listened. Tears ran down his cheeks as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. “’m sorry..”

She merely scoffed, turning back to the road as the light turned green. “And stop crying.”

–––––––––––––––––––

Now, Cross stood quietly, his backpack in hand, and in it all his meager belongings. He cringed as his social worker rung the doorbell of the new house.

The door opened, blinding Cross with the warm light coming from inside. He felt like he could cry again. Wanting nothing more than to go back to the car.

His social worker greeted the man at the door, a smile plastered on her face that she only used when talking to the foster parents. Cross was disgusted at her hypocrisy. This house would be just like the other ones, they’d act nice for a bit while he was quiet and docile and then at the first sign of resistance they’d realize he’s nothing but a wild animal, ‘a problem child’. Once he snaps at them, once he’s not just a way to give them good conscience. He hated them already, he hated this.

He wanted out. He liked it better with Epic. He should’ve stayed with him.

“Cross, are you coming?” He was pulled from of his thoughts as she called him inside. She’d already told his new foster parents about the protocol for his shifts, he knew because the man he’d seen earlier was holding a vial of wolfsbane in his hand. He shuddered, it was rare when foster parents let him spend full moons without sedation. He didn’t like the way they looked at him.

Like they were nice, like they weren’t going to hurt him. Cross hoped they’d let him keep his books. Maybe they wouldn’t be as bad as the last ones.

–––––––––––––––––––

Cross knew this placement had been a bad idea. He panted and whined as he struggled against the silver shackles attaching him to the basement radiator, his arms were pulled back uncomfortably and the silver was burning him, he could hear his own bones start to sizzle.

He’d been annoying, he knew he’d been bad, but he didn’t think they’d even keep him around long enough to deal with a full moon. They’d laced his water with wolfsbane at dinner. Of course that wouldn’t be a problem if only they hadn’t put this much. It wasn’t his usual dose and he could feel his body rejecting it, his stomach clenched and he tried his best to fight it as he gagged, his diaphragm working to expel the poison from his metabolism, his chest heaved and Cross retched, only slightly purple tinted bile left him as he sobbed.

Everything was aching, his limbs weren’t responding and he felt sluggish, his senses held in a panicked torpor. He didn’t know how long he’d been crying, his wrists feel raw and chaffed. He felt his body forcing itself into a different shape as the full moon rose and illuminated the basement through a small window, his mind stuck in an exhausting loop of unfinished thoughts and panic, and he howled in pain as the first cracks rang out and echoed in the basement.

The smell of blood permeated the air. he couldn’t think. The poison left him immobile, save for the slight shivering that wracked his small furry form. Cross wanted out.

Closing his eyes and letting his tired mind drift off, he thought of green grass and cool air, the sound of the leaves rustling with the wind, feeling his paws hit the earth with each bound, wind rushing past him, ruffling his fur, it was enough to satiate the instincts clawing at the back of his mind. And in the morning he’d wake up wishing he hadn’t. But for now, hurting and laying on cold damp concrete floor, hidden back into the retreat of his mind, he felt calmer.