Run Away [TF2XREADER]

Chapter 1- Prologue

This is essentially just an intro chapter for what has happened within Y/N's life. So ye. Also, trigger warning for some stuff cause ya know edgy fanfiction stuff to bring the plot. I promise the writing gets better from here, I just wanna sum up what happened to Y/N before we get into the actual story, because backstory is actually gonna be a big deal in this thing. So buckle up and enjoy!

When you were little, everything was great. You were the only child of a family with wonderful parents, and great grades for a child so young. You had the nicest friends, boys and girls alike all loved you. Although you had to move from house to house often, you were able to make friends easily. That could likely be blamed on the fact you were in a way forced to learn how to be an extra social butterfly. Even with moving around all the time, you were happy, because you loved your mother and father, because they were the greatest parents a child could ask for. But it's as the saying goes- good things never last forever. It was when you were 7 your mother died of leukemia complications. Because of this, you father grew to become distraught, and the man didn't know what to do anymore. She was his one and only love. She built him up to be the man he was, and now she was gone.

So he drowned his sorrows in liquor, as many grief stricken do. This would be understandable, if it weren't for the fact he had a child in need of his comfort for these hard times as well. But he was too selfish to realize that. So, he kept on drinking, causing one more pathetic alcoholic to be brought into the world. He never tried to get better or stop drinking. Not for anyone. Not even his own child.

"Daddy, please, stop drinking. It's bad for you!"

Even if you were young, you were sensible and had a mind of your own, so you knew if your father attempted to drink his sorrows away enough, it could result in the man walking into an early grave.

"Get off me you little shit. Don't tell me what to do. I'm your father. I tell you what to do."

You had clung onto your father's drinking arm, begging and pleading with him to stop.

"Please, daddy, stop! I don't like it when you're like this!"

"I told you to fuck off you annoying shit!"

Before either of you could realize what had happened, he had lashed out with the arm you had clung to, sending you careening towards the floor. As you fell backward with the force that was thrust against you, you hit your head on a table. The child you were had whimpered, clutching the back of your head in your hands, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. The man looked shocked, but the expression had quickly vanished as the man scowled, stomping up the stairs and into his room.

The nights progressively got worse from there. It begun with simply being a bit rough with the child and some mental abuse, but then progressively got more and more aggressive as he moved towards more physical means of harm, the emotional aspects being something he'd toss in from time to time when he felt worse. The man partially hated himself for it, but he couldn't help but feel a bit better when he was able to take out his hurt on the kid. It was easiest to bring himself to hurt the child whilst he was drunk, and being the majority of the time he was either drunk, asleep, or working, it ended up happening often.

Only months later did he beat you so bad that bruises formed in places others could easily see. You had tried to cover it up, for you were scared that if they saw, you'd get in even more trouble, and would get beat more. But they saw. More importantly, your teacher had seen, and as it is required for the teacher to do, she questioned the child about how their bruises appeared. You were scared to say, but once you had been sent to the principal's office and questioned more about it, you broke down in tears, and spoke of your father and how he would hurt you.

They called social services, and you were taken from your father to be taken care of elsewhere.

You didn't like where you ended up being taken.

You had always been bullied by everyone else there. They tugged at your hair and pulled at your clothes. They were relentless little thieves. Thieves that stole what little hope and joy you had left. You were easy to tease and bully and beat, simply because of the fact you didn't ever say anything. You didn't tell. You never told. If you told, you would just get beat more. Sure, this place may have been bad, but it wasn't as bad as being back with your father. It's just that that place felt so foreign and different. So very unwelcoming. Oddly enough, you eventually began to feel as if being back with your father to be beaten might just be better than being hurt by these new little monsters. When you had turned 10, you decided to finally listen to what your little brain told you to do. You ran. You didn't know what you would do or how you would survive, but you did. By pure luck or skill, you weren't sure. Over time you became better and better at living on the streets. As the years passed, you began to try and pickpocket for money so that you could feed yourself more easily.

In surprisingly little time, you had become what was easily one of the best pickpockets in the suburbs. But those moments of prideful victory ended quickly, when one day a police car stopped had stopped you. You thought that you might get arrested for stealing, but it the reasoning for the cop stoping you was instead because of how your appearance matched that of a missing child. It was a nerve-wracking scene that you had top be put through, but you were able to find a way to distract the man and run. You escaped your home town, going from one place to another until you had some across the city you decided to stay in, and possibly make a bit of a home out of. It was cleanly enough, and quite a big city while being decently crowded as well. It made your pick-pocketing schemes much easier to pull. But one day, whilst you were thieving in a more shady area of the city, your plans didn't end up going so well. You were caught stealing from a store and had to fight off some... bad men. Your had struggled from their grip as their dirty hands moved along your body. You refused to let something like this happen to you. Not now, and not ever. You had reached out and around yourself, begging the universe to give your something, or help you find something that could help you defend yourself.

What you were given was a sharp piece of old, rusted metal.

You clamped your hand over the metal tightly, stabbing the man directly in front of you in the eye. He let out a blood curdling scream as blood gushed from the wound, dripping along the metal and to your hand, as you had still been clutching the metallic shard. You tightened your grip on the piece, and had to use two hands to roughly pull the metal from his eye. He fell back and onto the ground, curled up into a ball as he writhed in pain and holding what had once been his eye, and was now just an empty, bloody socket of mush. The other men backed away from you out of fear, while you held the metal in your hands, going into a unstable defense. Your mind was racing but at the same time, completely silent. You backed away from the men, shuffling around them and toward the escape.

As soon as you knew you were free of danger and could get out, you cast the rusted metal aside and sprinted as far and as fast as you could. You hadn't known where to, but you didn't want to have to confront what you had just done. You didn't want to think about what had just happened. You didn't want to think about how good it felt to do what you just did.

How powerful you had felt.

You didn't want that. So you had to run. You ran until your lungs hurt, and even then you hadn't stopped. Eventually, you had come across a large open truck with crates inside, so you went and hid within them. And eventually, you ended up falling asleep. When you awoke you, realized that you were in an unfamiliar place....