Nobody Wants A Teenager- A Phan Adoption Story

Chapter 1- Retraced Steps.

Disclaimer: This is simply a fanfiction, nothing more nothing less, I don't own anyone, etc. I apologise for any typos or grammatical errors, it's late and my English skills might not currently be at their best. Dan and Phil aren't introduced until next chapter, but prepare to meet the third main character in this prologue/first chapter :) enjoy!!
Robin's POV:
It was like the whole world slowed down, dragging out the horrific scene playing out in front of me while I watched helplessly as my world was tipped from its axis, sending me plummeting down, down into a spiral of darkness.

The cool wind blowing on my damp cheeks, as tears continued to fall from my eyes relentlessly, my throat hoarse from shouting, but continuing to beg them to stop as they fought and fought, the argument starting in the kitchen but going throughout the house to where they stood now, out on the front lawn. I could still feel the bite of the chilly grass under my bare feet, my toes slowly turning a mottled shade of blue in the freezing weather but not daring to go back inside for even a moment to retrieve a pair of shoes. Not when there was a good chance someone was about to get killed from the looks of this screaming match I was witnessing.

I didn't bother trying to get them to come back inside, neither would listen to me when they were like this, having only eyes filled with hatred for each other as they battled with words, screeching obscenities and threats at the top of their lungs, loud enough for the entire street to hear.

Yes, it was true that my parents didn't get along too well at the best of times, and they were likely to murder each other when left alone at the worst of them. It had started around about two year ago, when my father found the growing number of dark green bottles making a pile in the trash can. When confronted of course, my mother tried to shrug it off as stress and 'getting in a little bit of fun before she got really old and had to give up drinking for good.' I didn't mind, I mean, who was I to judge how she coped with my younger brother and I, when she struggled with a full time job just to help pay the bills and take care of us? So it was alright for the first few months, until it quickly became her favourite thing to do, when she began discreetly slipping splashes of vodka into her morning coffee, and taking 'sick days' off work to drive the family car downtown to a shabby liquor store where she knew we would never find her, so she could buy cheap booze and stay there, drinking herself into incoherency. There she would remain until the wee hours of the morning days later, when she would stumble home reeking of whiskey and pass out on the couch. Welcome home, mama.

Things got worse when my father began taking more and more frequent time away from us for important business trips, which only I knew was actually taking a plane ride down to the nearest major city, where he'd stay with a beautiful nameless woman for a few days, retreating from the dull greyness of life being a married father of two children. I remember once reading an email from this mystery lady on my father's laptop, which contained many words a child my age didn't need to exposed to and the revealing pictures attached were certainly not something a kid such as myself needed to see, and I had no idea what it meant, being only 9 years old at the time. I didn't know what having an affair was, or how it so greatly affected the future of my parents, of my brother and of me.

Because of this, of course, I quickly learnt to grow up and become the mum to my baby brother, Elliot. While my mother swallowed mouthful after mouthful of fiery liquid, and my father jetted off for a luxurious weekend with his dream woman, I cleaned and prepared food as best as I could for little El, at the tender age of 2 he had just begun preschool, I walked him there in a stroller each day before racing to school to get there on time, then rushing out the gates at 3 o'clock and taking him home. It was challenging, but I was the only one who would do it and I couldn't trust either of my parents, granted that they were even home, to look after El while I was at school. Despite his recurring 'business trips' away, my father did bring in a decent income with his office job, so I could still pay for food and other necessities for the family, but we were still struggling to get by, my mother having been fired from her job after turning up wasted for the third time.

Yes, my family wasn't exactly the most functional folk around, but they were mine and I loved them all the same. Which made it all the more heartbreaking to be watching as they shouted cruel insults and terrifying threats to each other outside, exposed to the world under the dark night sky. At that moment, my brother had toddled out of the front door, clutching to my leg as he peered at our parents from behind me, trying to keep his tiny, chubby little four year old face emotionless and failing to do so. I saw the frightened look in his eyes, the pain in his face. What I wouldn't have done to rid him of that pain. Scooping him up, I held him up on my hip and hugged him tight, whispering reassurances into his ear as I tried to drown out the curses flowing from our parents' mouths as a few neighbours crept out of their houses to make sure nobody was getting mugged, but one look at the scene and they all bolted back inside. After all, this wasn't the first time.

"Scared, Robin. Make them stop." Elliot whimpered at me, but I simply held him tighter, knowing there was nothing I could do to stop this as I watched on with him, praying for mercy and that they would end this soon.

My mother screamed something extra loud to my father, tears forming in her eyes and making her sway and stumble a little on the road, where of course they had decided was the perfect spot for a screaming match. My father looked at her with a face so full of disgust, then did something he had ever done before, something that made my blood run cold and boil at the same time. He struck her, clobbering her in the face and sending her sprawling across the ground.

Squirming free from my arms, Elliot dropped to the ground and ran as fast as his chubby toddler legs would carry him until he reached my mother, who laid very still on the ground as my father turned away from her, heaving angrily.

I should've heard it. I should've heard it, it was all my fault for what happened next. I wasn't even paying enough attention to my surroundings that I didn't even hear the truck as it skidded around the corner, the driver too drunk or too reckless to care about his speed. I didn't cry out until after. It was a blur, Elliot looking up at a pair of bright headlights, then looking at me, his face illuminated with sheer terror for a split second, until I heard a screech of tires but it was too late. Every god damn one of them, my mother... My father.... And Elliot, sweet and tiny Elliot... All gone. Because I was too slow to yell out to them to get off the road...

I was put into an orphanage, assured that I would be adopted very, very soon... That was two years ago, I'm now 14 and nobody wants a teenager. Never have I spent more than a week or two with parents, looking to welcome me into their homes and hearts, I'm the emo loser girl who's too difficult and different for these happy, functioning people... Never have I truly had anyone to call family since I arrived, or even a second glance.

Until today.