It started freshman year— no, it started way before that. If he really thinks about it, everything started to become what it is that day in the playground. It was the little push that set the ball rolling. Although that’s not a good analogy, not really, because it was barely his first glimpse into the rest of his life. The ball was already rolling before he became aware of its existence at all.

“Do you eat grass?” The snotty five year old asks him, his hands and knees are covered in sand, and the question takes little Daniel’s attention away from assisting him in building a sand castle to put his action figurine in.

Daniel’s small hands pat the pile of sand, it’s not looking like a castle, but it can be the small hill next to it, so its okay. He frowns, “No, mama said grass is the horsies’ food”

“And the cows’”

“Yeah,” Daniel nods.

The boy looks at Daniel, snot on his face, and tilts his head, “Aren’t you like a cow? You have spots like them,” he points at Daniel’s exposed arm, “wouldn’t you like their food too?”

What followed that interaction is a bit of a blur on Daniels memory— he remembers the boy’s logic making sense to him, and he remembers being led to a patch of grass, kneeling down and trying to eat it with his teeth. He remembers his mother’s face crumbling when she found him kneeling down on the floor, grass all over his face, the boy’s hand on his shoulder leading him on. He can’t recall what happened after, or in between those things.

The years that followed it were pretty much the same, Daniel being engaged by others in a manner that suggested he wasn’t part of the majority. Which is exactly the case, but such treatment made him feel more like an alien than a human outcast. Be it the looks of pity or wonder, fascination or disgust, he wasn’t normal. He isn’t normal. However, in spite of this, that was all it was; kids looking at him funny, people questioning his race, girls patting his back and acting as if they’re color blind. Not ideal, but not the worst.

Then came high school, and with it came Ricky.

Ricky was the first person to ever meet Daniel in the eye, and directly tell him what he thinks.

“It’s honestly disgusting,” were the ginger’s first words to Daniel. A group of junior girls were cooing at the latter, telling him how unique and adorable the different colors on his skin made him look, when Ricky overheard and let Daniel know of his thoughts.

Of course his his eyes fell to the floor immediately. Of course he felt ashamed and humiliated, and dirty and small. Of course he hated hearing the words that’d been dancing in his head, ever since he could understand what his condition meant, being said out loud. Of course he abhorred the guy since that single instant.

But it was refreshing.

It is immensely refreshing.

Every time Richard shoves him in the hallway, calls him names in the locker room, spills his food in the cafeteria, in all those moments, and perhaps only then, is Daniel an equal to somebody else. Of course he hates it, he hates the bruises and the dirty clothes and the humiliation, he hates all of it, but somehow… somehow he needs it. Not the bullying, but the feeling of being an equal to someone— not more, not less, but equal. And that’s the closest feeling he can find to equality.

Everyone else either tip toes around him, not wanting to offend him. Or pities him, as if he was dying. Or ogles him, like you would do a rare bird breed. In none of those situations is Daniel in the same level as the other person, the other person is always on a high pedestal peering down at him. At least with Richard, Daniel is respected enough to be deemed worth getting in the way of. 

Daniel is such a delusional masochist.

Having covered all of Daniel’s contradicting feelings, getting bullied sucks balls. It does a pretty number on his already damaged self-esteem. Okay, perhaps it’s more than that. Perhaps it feels as if Daniel is living in his own personal hell, which brings us back to this:

Daniel Wilson, Richard Davis

Daniel’s wishbaby being his bully’s baby as well.

What in the actual fuck?

Miss Rose, being a woman that knows no boundaries, or at least she does but feels morally justified to cross them, notices Daniel’s palpable distress and ignores it. Having already read the name plate, she clears her throat and speaks before Daniel can predict her intentions,

“Mr. Davis”

The room, that had erupted in a wave of murmurs when the baby’s first parent was revealed, increases its volume level one more notch. There are gasps of surprise and what’s of disbelief. The teacher tries to appease everyone to no avail, and the person in questions stand up on shaky legs and wide eyes. But Daniel can’t see that, because he’s still reading and re-reading that fucking name plate.

Oh fuck

“It- it can’t be mine,” says a trembling voice above Daniel, who’s still kneeling down next to the basket, a sleeping breathing baby still currently in it. And that’s most certainly fucking Richard, how did he get there?

Daniel knows Richard is right there standing behind him, but Daniel doesn’t look back.

It’s unbelievable how humans are able to love something the minute they lay eyes on it, love it more than they love themselves. How they could die at any given minute for that thing without having even held it. How they wouldn’t regret anything if they did.

Daniel stares at the baby in front of him. A blend of red and white and brown, its small chest going up and down, up and down, as it breaths— as it lives. It’s tiny eyes closed to the horrors of the world, and he knows he would do anything for it to never see them. He would cover it’s eyes for eternity if it meant it would never have to face them.

But Daniel isn’t an idiot, and he knows that even if the baby is still sleeping, it is about to be exposed to some of that ugliness from the outside. And there’s nothing Daniel can do to stop it.

Because that curse was transferred to it from him. Because no matter how beautiful his baby is, the part of him residing in it is enough to attract horrors it doesn’t deserve to face.

Rejection being the first one.

Disturbing

Richard kneels down next to Daniel, and Daniel can’t help but turn to look at him now. Thoughts on how to prevent the inevitable running through his head a mile a minute. He can’t stop his mouth when it rambles,

“It’s-it’s not yours. It’s mine. You don’t have to do anything, I’ll take care of it so you can just go. You don’t have to see it, you don’t have to-”

But Richard is already looking at it, his gaze intense. Searching. Absorbing. He tentatively moves a hand to brush the part of the baby’s blanket that’s close to its chest.

“Please don’t hurt it,” Daniel begs, his voice bleak and vulnerable to his own ears. He doesn't mean physically, he means don't hurt it's sanctity. Don't taint its innocence with rejection.

And then Richard’s knuckles are accidentally brushing the baby’s soft skin, and as predicted, the baby wakes up to its parent’s first touch.

Daniel’s breath catches.

The baby gives out a small yawn before opening it’s eyes, and god how dominant are Daniel’s genes?

On that olive face freckled with white, under those white and red eyelashes, are two beautiful big eyes staring back.

One blue and one brown.

How perfect can imperfection be?

“God,” Richard struggles to breath, as if the air has been sucked out of his lungs, “god ”

Yeah, Daniel wants to agree but can’t seem to be able to get the words out.

“You can pick her up, gentlemen. She’s your daughter after all.”

Neither of the two boys register who the speaker is, merely hearing the words daughter and pick her up. Richard does as told, carefully picking her up and cradling her. The whole thing seems awkward and robotic, but the moment Richard has her enveloped in his arms, close to his chest, her small hand holds onto his index finger. And the cutest of smiles appears on her small lips.

Richard, charmed, enchanted, enamored, can’t help but smile back at her. So sweetly, and soothingly and raw that Daniel can’t believe that’s Richard at all.

“Who would dare to hurt an angel?” Richard whispers. And that’s all the answer Daniel needs.