A.N.- Hey everyone! I got bored so I wrote this. It's just more random childhood moments for Trace Saunders (My...Stepbrother?), Jude Tibbits (Friend Zoned/Changing Will), Kory Arnold-Saunders (My...Stepbrother?), Misha and Emma Redner (He's My Dork), and Phillip Brooks (The Fag Swag). If there's other characters you want me to do a childhood memory for in the future, just put them in the comments! :)

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#1- Trace Saunders

                7 year old Trace Saunders pushed open the front door and let himself into his house. He pulled off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen.

                “Well that’s not good enough Laura!” Brandon Saunders snapped.

                “Someone in this family has to work!” Laura Saunders snapped back.

                Brandon opened his mouth to yell more, but snapped it shut as he noticed Trace. His face paled, and he just prayed that the boy hadn’t heard much of that argument.

                “Hey Trace!” he said brightly, regaining his composure.

                “Hi,” Trace said, pulling the refrigerator open and pulling out a juice box.

                “How was Sammy’s house?” Brandon asked.

                “It was okay,” Trace said with a shrug. “His little brother kept getting in the way.”

                “His brother Tommy? Well, he’s only 3 years old. He doesn’t mean to get in your way,” Brandon said.

                “Whatever,” Trace said, turning to head upstairs.

                “Trace, wait!” Brandon called.

                Trace stopped and turned to face his dad. He kept his expression neutral as he sipped on his juice box.

                “Don’t go upstairs yet, buddy. I want to hear more about this sleepover you guys had. It was you, Sammy, Zeke, and Davey, right? Tell me about what you guys did,” Brandon said.

                “Sammy got this new video game,” Trace said, excitement finally breaking through his blank expression. “It was so cool, dad! You got to shoot these zombies and-”

                “Trace, I am trying to work. I’ve had a long day, and you’re being way too loud. Be quiet!” Laura snapped at him.

                Trace’s face fell. He swallowed hard and forced his expressions back off his face until it was neutral again.

                “Okay,” he said, his voice hard. Excitement was annoying. He knew that by now.

                He turned and went upstairs, ignoring his father as he yelled after him. Trace sank down at the top of the stairs, gripping his juice box.

                “Laura, don’t you see what you’re doing to him? He’s shutting down because of you!” Brandon cried angrily. “He’s your fucking son! Act like a parent!”

                “Brandon, I don’t have time to listen to him talk about some stupid video games!” Laura said furiously.

                Trace set his juice box down and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wanted to cover his ears. He hated it when they yelled at each other, and they had been doing it a lot lately. His dad rarely used bad words, but he heard his mom use them a lot.

                “You need to act like you care about him! Don’t you see what you’re doing to that poor kid? He’s going cold!” Brandon said, desperate now.

                “I don’t give a shit Brandon! I’m too busy for this right now!” Laura said.

                Trace listened as their basement door slammed, meaning his mom was going to hole up down there for a while. Trace got up and made his way to his bedroom, his eyes watering. He wiped at them furiously.

                The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Hello?” he answered.

                “Hi Trace!” Zeke said.

                “Hi Zeke,” Trace said, sitting on his bed.

                His parents’ bedroom door slammed, shaking the house. That was his dad, going in there to get control of his temper. In a little while, he would come take Trace outside to play soccer. Trace knew the drill by now.

                “What was that?” Zeke asked curiously.

                “My dad slammed the door,” Trace said. “Him and my mom got in a fight.”

                “Again?” Zeke asked.

                “Yea. But I don’t care,” Trace said, a tear leaking down to his cheek. He wiped it away. “It doesn’t bother me.”

                “My mommy needs the phone, Trace. But I’ll call you in a little. I had to ask you about tomorrow!” Zeke said and hung up the phone.

                Trace set the phone down and curled up on his bed, shaking. He closed his eyes, blocking out everything.

                There was a knock on his door and he stood up, pulling it open. Like he had guessed, his dad stood there with a smile on his face.

                “Hey buddy! Want to go outside and play soccer?” he offered.

                “Sure,” Trace said, following him out of his room.

                Brandon paused and glanced at Trace nervously. “Hey Trace, are you okay?”

                “Yea dad,” Trace said. He forced himself to glare at his dad. “Stop asking. I don’t care about mom.”

                Brandon put his arm around Trace’s shoulders. “Okay,” he said quietly and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Let’s go play soccer.”

                They went outside and Brandon began to take shots on Trace. As Trace dove around the ground, trying to stop the ball from hitting the net, his parents and their fighting wiped from his mind. Everything did.

                He found himself relaxing, even when the ball would occasionally hit him too hard and make him wince. He picked up the ball and had to fight back a smile. Nothing made him happier than playing soccer.

                #2- Jude Tibbits

                8 year old Jude Tibbits walked through his living room, looking at all the people gathered there. His parents were having some sort of party, and he only recognized half of the people there.

                “Judeikas!” his mother called, noticing him. She motioned him over, and he wandered over to her.

                “This is my son, Judeikas,” Tatiana Tibbits said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

                A woman looked down at him and he forced himself to smile politely. “Hello ma’am,” he said.

                “Oh, excuse me for a moment Jill,” Tatiana said and went over to greet a couple that had just arrived.

                The woman, Jill, looked down at Jude again and made a face. She turned to her husband and shook her head.

                “This is why I don’t want children, Tristan. This boy probably destroys everything he touches,” she said in disgust.

                Jude forced the smile to stay on his face despite the annoyance he felt. He was 8 years old. He knew what she was saying.

                He turned and hurried away from her, trying to mask his annoyance. He hated some of the people that came to his parents parities. They just drank champagne and talked down about everyone.

                “Jude!”

                He turned as his best friend, Nate, ran over to him. “Hi Jude! Your parents invited my parents and said I could come too!” Nate said eagerly.

                “Why would you want to come?” Jude asked. He looked at Nate, who was also dressed up neatly. Nate was wearing a button up shirt over brown pants.

                Jude looked at his own clothing. He was wearing brown khakis with a light blue button up shirt, a red tie neatly resting on his chest. He had a dark blue sweater pulled over that. He was getting a little too warm in his clothes.

                “I came to see you,” Nate said.

                “Want to help me with something? That lady over there is a brat,” Jude said, nodding towards Jill. “I don’t like her. I have a plan.”

                Nate grinned and nodded. Jude always had a plan, and being around him tended to bring out Nate’s mischievous side.

                “Come on,” Jude said, grabbing Nate’s hand and pulling him through the crowd of people.

                “Jude!” His father, Sydney Tibbits, grabbing Jude. He smiled at him. “Hold on, kid. Before you and Nate run off to play, I want you to meet my friend Al. Al, this is my son Jude.”

                The man, Al, smiled. “Hi Jude!” he said.

                “Hello sir,” Jude said with a polite smile.

                “Jude is 8,” Sydney said, ruffling Jude’s hair affectionately.

                “Sydney! Don’t mess up Judeikas’s hair. You’ll make him look sloppy,” Tatiana said, coming over and fixing the boy’s hair.

                “Aw, lighten up a little. Jude, you and Nate run off and have fun,” Sydney said with a wink.

                Jude led Nate through the party. They went into the kitchen, where Jill was standing by herself, pouring herself another drink. She noticed the two small boys and glared.

                “What do you brats want?” she demanded.

                “Wow, she is a brat,” Nate mumbled.

                Jude went up to her and cocked his head to the side. “Do you know the best part about being a kid?” he asked her.

                “What? That you’re a disgusting little boy?” she asked in annoyance.

                “That when you’re cute and well behaved, you can get away with anything,” he said before reaching up and shoving three bottles of alcohol off the table. They hit the floor and shattered, sending glass and liquid flying. Jill let out a yelp, jumping backwards.

                By the time she went to yell at the boys, they had already disappeared into the dining room. They raced through the dining room and out the other side, calmly going into the living room. Jude hurried over to his dad.

                “Dad, what was that crashing sound?” he asked.

                Sydney lifted Jude into his arms. “Let’s go find out,” he said nervously, carrying Jude into the kitchen with Nate trailing after them.

                “Jill, what happened? What did you do?” Tatiana asked angrily, gesturing to the mess on the floor.

                “I didn’t do it! Your little bastard of a son came in here, taunted me, and knocked the bottles off. Then him and his friend ran off!” Jill said furiously.

                “Don’t blame my son just because you hate children,” Tatiana said flatly.

                “I am telling you the truth!” Jill said.

                “First of all, Jude would never do something like that. And second, he was in the living room. He ran over to me when he heard the crash,” Sydney said, glaring at Jill. He shifted Jude in his arms, looking at the boy. “You wouldn’t do something like that, would you Jude?”

                “No. I was in the living room,” Jude said in confusion, giving his parents and innocent expression.

                Sydney set him down on the ground. “Jill, I think you should leave now.”

                Jude moved forward curiously, examining the mess on the floor. Tatiana gasped as she noticed him walking forwards.

                “Judeikas!” she cried in alarm.

                Sydney noticed him and gasped, grabbing Jude and lifting him back into his arms. “There’s a lot of glass on the floor, Jude! You and Nate stay away!” he said sternly.

                “Sorry dad,” Jude said, frowning. He fought off a smirk. Of course he wasn’t stupid enough to actually walk on the glass.

                “Great, now my son could slice his feet open. Jill, leave my house!” Tatiana said impatiently. “It’s bad enough that you broke our bottles and tried to blame it on my son. But now I have to worry about him and Nathan walking on the glass before we get it all cleaned up. Get out!”

                Jill stared in shock. “You have a fucking bastard of a son!” she snapped before turning and storming out of the house.

                “Hey, those were bad words, Jude. Don’t repeat what she just said,” Sydney said, glaring after Jill. He kissed Jude’s cheek and set him down. “You and Nate stay away from the kitchen, okay? I know you guys didn’t do this. I love you, Jude. Go play somewhere safe.” Sydney smiled and gave Jude a light shove in the direction of the living room.

                “Okay dad,” Jude said with a sweet smile, hugging his father.

                He turned and led Nate back into the living room. He smirked at him and the boys shared a high five.

                “That was awesome Jude!” Nate said in admiration.

                “She made me mad,” Jude said smugly, his eyes glinting. He knew he was too smart to get caught when people messed with him.

#3- Kory Arnold-Saunders

                “Kory, don’t you dare jump on your bed!” Janine Arnold said sternly.

                “I won’t,” 6 year old Kory said with an innocent smile.

                She shot him a suspicious look before leaving his bedroom. Kory waited until his door was shut before standing up on his bed and bouncing happily.

                He stuck his tongue out at the closed door. “I do what I want!” he said cheerfully.

                Until he clumsily slipped on his blanket and fell sideways. He let out a yell as he hit the floor, groaning and rolling over.

                His mom threw his bedroom door open and came in. “What happened? Are you okay?” she asked in concern, hurrying over to her idiot of a son.

                “My bed hates me!” he wailed as she lifted him into her arms.

                “The bed doesn’t hate you, Kory. The bed isn’t capable of hate,” Janine said. “I told you not to jump on the bed. You never listen to me.”

                “No, my bed hates me!” Kory said, pointing at it. “It tripped me so that I fell!”

                “I can promise you that your bed doesn’t hate you,” she said, sitting him down on it.

                “You’re gonna feel really bad when it eats me in my sleep,” Kory grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting.

                Janine sighed and picked him up. “Let’s go make you some lunch before you hurt yourself anymore,” she said, carrying him downstairs.

                She sat him at the table and made him a sandwich, sliding it in front of him. She went over to the sink, washing the dishes as Kory began to eat happily.

                The front door opened and slammed and Kory froze mid-bite. He slowly chewed and swallowed his sandwich, keeping his eyes down as his dad came into the room.

                “How was work Aaron?” Janine asked, trying to keep a calm composure. She could smell the alcohol on him.

                “Shitty,” he grumbled, kicking his shoes off. He looked up and noticed Kory, and his expression darkened.

                He stormed over and Kory timidly looked up. “How was work daddy?” he asked

                “Your mother just asked me that, Kory. Are you fucking deaf?” Aaron demanded, slapping the sandwich out of Kory’s hands. “Look at you. You make such a mess when you eat!” He smacked the plate off of the table, and Kory jumped in fear as it shattered on the floor.

                “Aaron, he’s only 6. He doesn’t mean to be messy,” Janine said anxiously.

                Kory watched his father in terror. His father was always angry. Then again, Kory supposed he would always be angry too if his name was Aaron Arthur Arnold. Too much of a tongue twist-

                He whimpered, snapped out of his thoughts as his father slapped him. Aaron glared at his small son.

                “You’re worthless!” he growled, turning and storming away. “Janine, clean up the plate! The damn kid made such a mess!”

                Janine held her breath as the front door slammed again, meaning Aaron was going back to the bar for the night. She hurried over to Kory, picking him up and hugging him tightly.

                “Are you okay?” she asked, kissing his cheek gently. There was a red mark in the shape of Aaron’s hand on his cheek, and it glared in her face.

                Kory nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Daddy’s mean, my bed is mean…my sandwich was nice, but daddy knocked it on the floor,” he said with a pout.

                Janine laughed softly and kissed Kory again. She carried him upstairs to his bedroom and hesitated before setting him down.

                “I’ll be right back, Kory. I’m just going to clean up the plate before daddy gets home,” she said,

                “Okay mommy,” he said and watched her leave the room.

                He rubbed his stinging cheek and glared down at his bed. “I know you and daddy are working together,” he said to it. “You both just want to hurt me! Jerks!”

                Janine came back into the room a few minutes later. She went over and forced a smile for Kory’s sake. He was still rubbing his cheek, making it an even brighter red color.

                “Hey Kory…how about we jump on the bed together?” she said with a wink.

                “Really?” he asked, brightening up immediately.

                “Really,” she said, holding out her hand to him as he stood up.

                He took her hand in his and the two began to jump on his bed together. Janine made sure that Kory didn’t slip and fall this time.

                His squeals of laughter had her smiling. She would do anything to let him feel like a normal, happy kid.

                He smiled up at his mother, giggling wildly as they bounced together. He held her hand tightly, and together they bounced, defeating his evil bed and fighting away thoughts of his terrifying father.

#4- Misha and Emma Redner

                “Mista, where’s mommy?” 4 year old Emma Redner asked, peeking into her big brother’s room.

                “It’s Misha, Emma,” 7 year old Misha corrected patiently. Emma had trouble saying his name correctly. “And mommy’s outside.”

                “Play with me Mista!” Emma said.

                “Misha,” Misha said. “It’s Misha!”

                Ignoring her brother, she walked into his room and over to his fish tank, peering at the fish inside. She tapped on the glass, trying to get its attention.

                “Don’t do that, Em! You’ll scare him,” Misha said, getting up and pulling her away from the fish tank.

                She whined and fought him off. She hit him in the arm and stuck her tongue out at him.

                “Don’t hit, Emma. It’s not nice,” Misha said with a frown, rubbing his arm.

                Emma giggled and hit his arm again. He stepped away from her, but she advanced at him, hitting him in the arm several more times.

                “Stop it! You wouldn’t like it if I hit you!” he said.

                “Stop it!” she mocked and hit him in the arm again.

                He pouted at her and grabbed a pigtail, tugging on it with some force. She yelped and smacked his hand off, glaring at him.

                “I’m telling daddy!” she cried, spinning around and running out of his room.

                “What? No! I’ll get in trouble!” Misha cried in alarm, taking off after her.

                The two ran down to the living room together, both yelling out an urgent chorus of “Daddy! Daddy!”

                “What?” their father asked as they reached him on the couch.

                “Daddy, Mista pulled my hair!” Emma cried.

                “Emma hit me! And she keeps saying my name wrong!” Misha said.

                Their father, Alex Redner, sighed and lifted Emma onto his lap. “Emma, were you hitting your brother?” he asked.

                “It was fun daddy,” she said and giggled.

                “It’s not nice. Don’t hit your brother,” he said sternly. “And Misha, don’t pull her hair.”

                “Mista pulled my hair hard daddy!” Emma said, pointing to the pigtail he had yanked on.

                “Misha,” Alex said slowly. “It’s not Mista, Emma. It’s Misha.”

                “Misha,” she said slowly, a look of concentration on her face.

                “Yes, very good!” he said, setting her down. “Now you and Misha go play nice together, okay?”

                “Come on Misha!” Emma said, grabbing his hand and pulling him upstairs, the traumatizing pigtail yank forgotten.

                Emma pulled Misha into her bedroom, sitting him on the floor. She grabbed her Barbie dolls and dumped them on the floor in front of him, sitting down across from him.

                “Come on! We can make them go to a party,” Emma said, picking her dolls up and digging through their various outfits.

                Misha’s face heated up. “I’m not playing with dolls! Only girls do that!”

                Emma pouted at him. “Play with me, Misha!” She shot him puppy dog eyes. “Please!”

                He sighed helplessly. He hated telling his little sister no, especially when she used her puppy dog eyes.

                “Fine. But don’t tell anyone. I’m not a girl,” he mumbled, picking up a doll and also beginning to dig through the clothes.

                “Yay!” Emma cheered, wrapping her arms around her brother and kissing his cheek.

                He smiled back and kissed her cheek. “I won’t play with you anymore if you tell people,” he warned her. He couldn’t have his friends find out that he played with Barbie dolls. They would think he was a girl! And girls were gross!

                “Okay,” she said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Secret, I promise!”

                Misha relaxed and began to dress the Barbie doll. He watched his sister as she dressed her doll in mismatching clothes.

                “You have no style, Em,” he said and paused. “And you’re turning me into a girl.”

                As she began to giggle again, he sighed hopelessly.

#5- Phil Brooks

                Phil rang the doorbell. His best friend’s mom, Ana, opened the door and smiled at him, letting him into the house.

                “Hi Phil!” she said.

                “Hi Ana,” he said.

                Ana frowned as she noticed that Phil had a black eye. He was a beautiful little boy, but the constant injuries on his body threw off his looks.

                “Did your mommy punish you again?” Ana asked.

                The 7 year old nodded, touching his eyes and wincing. “Yea. I spilled her drink all over the floor on accident,” he said, no concern in his voice.

                Ana took his hand in her and led her into the house, yelling out for her son Angel. Angel came bounding into the room.

                “Hi Phil!” he said cheerfully.

                “Boys, how about we go out for ice cream?” Ana offered, wanting to do something nice for Phil.

                “Yea!” the boys cried eagerly.

                She smiled and took Angel’s hand with her free one. She led the two out of the house and released their hands as they started walking towards the ice cream place.

                “I got this new game, Phil. It’s Mario Kart. We can play when we get back to my house,” Angel said.

                “I’ll beat you at it,” Phil said with a grin.

                “Nu-uh! I’ve been practicing with my brothers and my sister!” Angel said.

                “I don’t know how to play,” Phil said with a confused frown. He glared at Angel. “No fair! You know how to play and I don’t!”

                “I’ll teach you how to play. Duh,” Angel said.

                “Oh,” Phil said with another confused frown. “Okay.”

                Ana chuckled and led them up to the window of the ice cream place. The boys ordered their ice cream and she led them over to a table so they could eat it.

                “Lick that side before it melts, Phil!” Angel said, pointing to a rapidly melting side of the ice cream.

                Phil turned his ice cream and hurried to lick it before it could get on his hand. The boys ate their ice cream in content silence.

                When they were done, they stood up together, heading over to the trashcan to throw out their napkins. They turned to walk back to the table and Phil ran into someone, stumbling backwards.

                “Watch where you’re going dumbass!” he snapped, glaring up at the man he had run into.

                The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very nice language,” he said.

                Phil glared harder, clenching his fist. “I don’t care.”

                “Phillip!” Ana hurried over, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Phillip, stop being rude to this man.” She looked at the man nervously. He was wearing a police officer’s uniform.

                “Is this your son?” the officer asked.

                “No, officer,” she checked his nametag, “Bradley. He’s not my son. He’s my son’s friend and I took them to get ice cream.” She glanced at Phil and dropped her voice. “Please don’t get mad at him. His mother uses bad language around him. He’s just a little boy. He doesn’t know any better.”

                Officer Bradley sighed. “Alright.” He knelt down so that he was eye level with Phil. “That’s not very nice language, buddy. You shouldn’t use bad language,” he said gently.

                “You’re not the boss of me,” Phil said. He shrugged Ana’s hand off and went over to Angel, sitting down next to him.

                He watched as Ana began to apologize to the man. He snorted and turned back to Angel.

                “I hate people who think they’re better than me,” he said.

                “Me too!” Angel said, nodding.

                Phil poked at a bruise on his knee. “I hate when people tell me what to do,” he said.

                “So do I,” Angel agreed.

                Phil looked up and grinned. “We don’t listen to anybody!” he said.

                “Yea!” Angel said, returning the grin.

                Ana came over and sighed. “Let’s go before you boys get arrested,” she said.

                They stood up and began to playfully tackle each other. Ana watched them and couldn’t help but smile. He was going to be a troubled kid when he grew up, but she did have a soft spot in her heart for Phillip Brooks.