Disclaimer: Star Wars is property of George Lucas.
Disclaimer 2: Runaway is sung by Pink, it belongs to her. Boy, in the second stanza, is supposed to be girl, but I changed it to make it fit.
Timeframe: Post Thrawn Trilogy, Pre YJK AU
Character: My usual fare – with a twist ;)
Keywords: Angst, new beginnings.
Summary: Some people will go to extraordinary lengths to hide their past.
Notes: Spur of the moment song fic. The best kind. Song words in italics.
I've got my things packed
My favorite pillow
Got my sleeping bag
Climb out the window
He checked his bag for the last time, mentally cataloguing his belongings. His pillow. His sleeping bag. A bag of cookies, a water bottle, a blanket, a change of clothing and his small blaster. He zipped his bag shut carefully, his ears straining to hear the telltale noise of his father's drunken rages.
Nothing. The house was quiet. He took a deep breath, turning to take one last look at his room. His bed was made, his toys carefully put away, nothing littering the tiny room. He turned to the window and carefully lifted the sash, the cool night air wafting in.
He pushed his toy trunk to just below the window and climbed on top, pausing to look back only once to make sure he'd left no sign of his intent before dropping his bag out the window and following it.
He even paused to close it behind him.
All the pictures and pain
I left behind
All the freedom and fame
I've gotta find
He hit the ground and rolled, feeling rocks bite into his legs and suppressed the urge to cry as tears stung his eyes. He was out, he was free.
He rubbed one small, grubby hand against his eyes and pushed away the tears. His father hit him harder and on a regular basis. A little scrape or bruise was nothing.
He collected his bag, checking to make sure his boots were tied, before running off into the night towards the space port. He had to escape, not only the house, but the planet. If his father found him, there's be hell to pay.
The first two nights he was on his own. He ran from his house, the only home he'd known in seven years. He ran from the father that beat him for not doing, not saying whatever he wanted to hear. He ran from the abuse, the pain, the sorrow of seeing his mother step in to take beatings meant for him.
He ran because of fear.
He stayed in the shadows, surviving on his cookies and water for the first few days. He avoided the people and places he'd once frequented. The school yard, his best friend's house and the café that was the one concession his father allowed them.
And I wonder
How long it'll take them to notice that I'm gone
And I wonder
How far it'll take me
He arrived at the spaceport in the early hours of the morning and found a freighter, stowing away in the cargo hold before anyone was around, luckily avoiding detection.
He found several crates in the cargo hold, peering into them curiously with the held of a nearby glow rod. He found several filled with ration bars, of which he took several off the top and stuff them into his bag before stuffing his face. The hold also had a cistern filled with cool water. He drank his fill before refilling his bottle.
Then, after he was full, his face and hands washed, he found a dark corner with some broken down crates and made himself comfortable, curling up under his blanket and putting his head down on his pillow.
As he stared at the darkness wondering if his mother missed him. Did she even notice that he was gone? Had they even noticed he hadn't come down for breakfast the next morning or had they simply assumed he was at Nikolin's house?
He closed his eyes, thankful he wouldn't be waking to the hard fist of his father.