Chapter Text
You must always stand up to those who are cruel.
Those were the last words Cole’s mom ever said to him. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t understand it. He was only eleven years old, and his mother was dead . He didn’t know how to process it. All he knew is that he was doing it better than his dad.
His dad, who was supposed to be his protector, his support system.
His dad, who hasn't spoken a word to him since she died.
He was always out with his buddies, rarely even home, leaving Cole to fend for himself.
He hated it. He started acting out, just to get his dad to pay attention to him. He started breaking things (which was so much easier than it should have been) and getting into fights with the other kids. His dad didn’t care.
His dad didn’t care .
One day, though, Cole almost broke his dad’s beloved trophy: the Blade Cup.
That got his attention.
“It was just an accident, Dad!” Cole was fed up with this. His dad ignoring him and only paying attention when Cole almost breaks some stupid trophy?
“And all of the other things? I know what you’ve been up to, Cole.” His dad was glaring at him.
“Then why haven’t you said anything?” Cole demanded.
“Because everyone processes grief differently!”
“And your way is to ignore your only son? To get drunk with your dancing buddies? To not see your son at all in the past three weeks?” Cole got louder and louder with each question until his voice seemed to rattle the earth itself.
His dad was just staring at him silently.
“What? Nothing to say?”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The rattling got stronger.
“FINE!” Cole ran to his room and slammed the door. He heard the main door of the house open and close a few minutes later, knowing his dad had gone out to drink again.
He just laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking. Why? Why was he alone? Why did his dad ignore him? Why did his mom have to die?
Why was he still here if no one cared about him?
He sat up, a decision made.
He started packing. Clothes. Food. Water bottles. Some money he had saved up. Pens, pencils, and a notebook.
His mother’s necklace.
Dear Dad-
The door slammed open, startling Cole into dropping the pen in his hand.
As soon as his dad spotted him, he spoke. “You’re going to Marty Oppenheimer’s.”
Cole froze. What? What ? The first thing his dad says to him is that ? That he’s sending Cole away ? Cole never even wanted to go to the school in the first place! Why now? Because his dad was finally done with dealing with him? Well fine. He could still go with his original plan.
Marty Oppenheimer School of Performing Arts. Cole only stayed for a few weeks before he decided it had been enough time to run.
He knew the money he had packed wouldn’t be enough to live off of, so he started finding jobs that people would hire an eleven-year-old for. He was mostly just helping lift heavy things and moving stuff around. It wasn’t enough to afford somewhere to live (not that anyone in their right mind would let an eleven-year-old rent an apartment, especially not alone), but he managed. He got great at finding the comfiest alleys to sleep in, and occasionally the people he helped out were nice enough to let him crash on their couch for a night or two.
One day he was helping a couple load a whole bunch of junk into their trailer when they invited him to their place to help entertain their son. Cole thought it was a little weird, but they would be giving him money and free food and a place to sleep, so he accepted.
The Walkers were a nice couple he found out on the ride through the desert. They were loud, and kind, and paid attention to their son, Jared, who would not stop talking. He would ramble to Cole about whatever was on his mind while Cole tried to keep up with the kid’s lightning-fast mouth. He didn’t really understand half of what was being said, but it was a nice change from the silence of being left alone in his house.
When they arrived at the scrapyard, Cole immediately asked what he should do, but Mrs. Walker (“Call me Edna, sweetie!”) told him to just relax for the day, as it was getting late anyways.
He stayed with the Walkers for only a few weeks, helping move stuff around and doing household chores, before he decided it was time to leave.
Jay- Cole had called Jared “Jay” once, and the kid really liked it- hugged Cole at least fifty times before his parents dropped Cole off near the outskirt villages.
He walked a lot, going from village to village, finding ways to help people for money, or food, sometimes clothes when his got too torn up.
Eventually he made it to a village called Ignacia. He spent a few days helping out in the rice paddies, but he got the feeling that the people of Ignacia didn’t like nor trust him. He left after a few days because he felt too unwelcome.
As he was walking, he found a group of adventurers. They were going to climb the Wailing Alps, the tallest mountain in Jago. Cole asked if he could join and they agreed, so long as he would help out around camp.
It took them a few days to get to the bottom of the mountain. Two of the original group backed out as soon as they saw how tall the mountain actually was. But Cole was determined.
He and four others started climbing, leaving the other two behind.
One fell and hurt his leg badly, so he and one of the others had to turn back.
One was tired and decided he had enough half way up.
The last got sick and had to go back.
Then it was just Cole. Alone. Just him, his thoughts, and the mountain. He reveled in the feeling of the Earth under his fingers as he climbed. He got excited when he found a path that he fit in perfectly, as if it was made just for him. He would occasionally slip, but he always found a hold immediately.
Eventually, on his birthday, he made it to the top.
He felt immense satisfaction as he stood up and put his feet on the top of the peak.
He didn’t expect to see the old man, though.