Work Text:
Abraham Lincoln walks into his foster parents' house. He knew that since he was a baby, he wasn't their biological child. He has faint memories of his life when he was a baby with his clone father. He used to remember his father's soothing voice, giant yet calm hands, the soft touch of his fingers on his skin. He knew his foster parents wouldn't do that. They were too busy with work or arguing either over money or something.
He remembers coming home from school to an empty house. There was no "hello" or "how was your day?" Just silence. Cold silence. Abe would do his homework, make dinner (which was probably leftovers he found in the fridge), do his chores, and relax. Only he couldn't relax. He hated relaxing. That just gave him time to ponder about his life at school.
School wasn't also a safe space for Abe either. Every day, he was completely isolated or alone. Distant and quiet like he was a background character. All the kids called him a freak or ugly because of his dreams of being like the real Abraham lincoln. But he couldn't cry. No, the real Abraham lincoln never cries.
One day, abe was walking home from school when he saw a group of boys from behind.
Hey, look, guys! It's the freakshow!
God dammit not again. Thought abe.
Hey loser were talking to you! *they grab abes arm and throw him to the concrete ground.
They then take turns beating and hurting abe until he was a bruised up bloody mess. No matter how hard he pleaded for them to stop, they didn't.
But luckily abe was able to get away and run home. He slams the door and runs to his room and let's everything out. He cries and cries and cries.
Dad....where are you...