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Jules Bashir hated this. He hated all of this.
Richard Bashir was never a good father, far from it. God, the constant victim blaming, the constant pressure, the constant yelling – And Jules always hated the yelling. It made his hand tremble, his head hurt and his ears ring. He had tried to tell his mom how much the yelling overstimulated him, but she only turned a blind eye, like always.
Jules really loved his mother, he knew she was a good person deep down, but he always felt so frustrated about how much she enabled his dad’s anger. He wanted to scream, to ask her why she wasn’t seeing how much her own son was hurting, but screaming always made things worse. It always ended up with her heartbroken face and Jules feeling like he was the worst person in the entire galaxy.
And maybe he was. At least that’s how he felt everyday he lived in that house. Such a gifted kid, but now gifted enough for his parents. Every day was like this pool of pressure and resentment kept being filled until he drowned. A frustrating sensation that it didn’t matter how good his grades were, how athletic he was, how well behaved he was, nothing would never cease dad’s angry screaming.
“I give you everything! Everything you are is because of me! So don’t act like you’re all mighty just because you’re different from us, Jules!”
“Well, I never asked to be different! I never asked to be cut open and changed into your perfect son! I never even asked to be born!”
At that, mother cried out, putting her hands on her mouth and letting some tears spill out. Dad went to hug her instinctively. Funny how dad never was this comforting when he’s seen his own son crying.
“Look what you’re doing to your mother! Look what you’re doing to this family! We didn’t risk everything for you to do this to us!” Richard’s words cut like glass, but at this point Julian was already full of scars he made himself with blades far sharper for it to make a real dent.
He didn’t say anything else, only stormed towards his room. Julian knew this was a lost battle the moment his mother started crying. It was a routine he grew used to, Amsha would start crying and everything Julian said on that point forward would be met with Richard yelling that he was hurting his mother. It was pointless to even try to argue, and he was tired of even trying.
He slammed his door upon entering his room, his last statement on that fight, and sat by the bedside, curled into a ball and crying. Why in the world was he so unlucky to be born in such a dysfunctional family? He’d hear his friends talking about their amazing friends, go to said friend’s houses and see real comfort, not only this performance of a house he grew up in.
Once he went to Andrew’s house for a sleepover – One his parents only allowed because it was for a school project. – and he remembers Andrew’s mom bringing them cookies and being genuinely impressed by Julian’s smarts. He remembers him telling her he preferred being called “Julian” instead of “Jules” and she not miscalling him once. He remembers the cozy feeling he felt when she told him to come back because he was such a great boy. He remembers the meltdown he had after he got home and dad yelled at him because of something he doesn’t remember. He remembers the feeling of jealousy he felt for Andrew as he was hurting himself in his room afterwards.
Julian was counting the days until he left that house, but that damn voice on the back of his head kept saying that this day would never come. It was useless to make plans because in the present he was hopeless, tired and suicidal, and starfleet would reject his application after the first psychological exam, and dad would yell, and he would just end it all, if he didn’t give up that night just to finish it once for all.
He laid on the floor, wanting to feel the cold so he could justify to himself why he was shivering so much. Julian just wanted to stop crying, to stop those damn thoughts from invading his head. He took kukalaka in his hands, holding as tightly as he could as he muffled his sobs on the teddybear’s fur.
He knew that the next day he’d wake up with a massive headache, his arms stinging and his stomach sick. He’d go down for breakfast and his mom would be quiet as a mouse as his father would start the “What we can make to make you not hate us anymore?” speech. Then he’d mumble something as he picked at his food and say he was late for school and flee the table with his dad saying he didn’t understand where he went wrong.
Where he went wrong was sometimes, in Julian’s mind, when Richard decided that his son wasn’t good enough and went to the extreme actions of genetic resequencing. Most of the time, though, his mind told him was sure that the “where” was a “when”, and said when was on his own birth. To be never born is to never suffer, right?
As his nerves finally started to calm down and he was able to lay on the bed, still holding Kukalaka, Julian closed his eyes and wished to sleep over and over again. He wished to wake up in a different house, a different family. He wished that, for once, he was loved for who he was, if that was even possible.
“Julian? Hey, Julian.” Miles’s voice left him out of the trance. Julian blinked away the last of the thoughts as he looked around. Oh yes, the weekly drinking meeting they had in captain Sisko’s quarters.
“Mm, I’m sorry, what were we talking about?” The doctor murmured as he let his glass of Kanar to his mouth, looking around nonchalantly.
“Teenager years. Dax was just telling about her fourth one.” Major Kira said with an unmistakable grin, almost mocking Jadzia. Julian only chuckled sadly into his glass.
“Are you alright, Jules?” Miles said in a low voice, leaning toward Julian with concern. He knew more than anyone in that room how the doctor’s adolescence was a sore topic.
“Yeah, I'm alright.” Julian said as he looked around, unable to avoid the small smile from escaping his eyes. Deep Space Nine was the most comfortable home he ever knew. The place where he could be himself, where he was absolutely sure he was loved. He took another sip of the Kanar, mumbling to Miles. “That’s all I wished for.”