"The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they did."

Hana casually sketched in her artbook in her car, flashes of the image she was sketching flashed in her mind as her pencil flew across the page of her book.

It was just like painting from before, except, this one was so strange, yet so familiar to her. 

The lead from the pencil had begun to smudge slightly on her sun tanned skin(after all her hours of outdoor painting) after a while. Concentration over her face.

Two swords… a silver Cybertronian and a red and blue Cybertronian…. Shattered silver and blue… keys…

Hana was jerked out the trace like state she was in by a knock on the window of her car.

Hana immediately closed her book over as she unlocked the car for the grinning Alik.

"So?" Hana asked, shoving her pencils and art book away in the backseat, "How'd it go?"

"Great!" Alik enthused, looking like the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders, something that made Hana smile, "Nilsa helped explain a few things, and she made sure to make sure I wouldn't have a "pity party"."

Hana smiled softly as she started up the car, "That's great. You still happy to see her next week?"

Alik gave Hana double thumbs up, "Slag, yeah!"

Hana laughed at his enthusiasm, "Alright, kiddo."

🌈

She hadn't meant to do it.

She hadn't meant to push everyone away… but how would she protect them from them if she didn't?

Her friends all had loving families, people to call family. A Mother, a Father, perhaps even a sibling or more.

What did she have? A woman, a man, and a boy. No one to call family. Barely a penny to her name.

She was oh so lonely. Trapped in the world of perfection the woman and man had created. Trapped in a world of false smiles and promises. Trapped in a world of hate, anger, danger, and hurt.

A world where appearances and money were everything to them.

"Get up!" 

High pitched voices were common to her. The woman's was the first of the many that she encountered throughout her life, but it would always be the one voice that made her want to run away.

Always.

Her voice was soft and quiet. Meek, and weak. Just how the woman liked it, "Coming."

The sound of the two males made her skin prickle immediately, finding it hard to conceal the flicker of horror that washed through her body..

"Clean up," was all the dark, deep, gruntish voice told her before the man disappeared further into the house.

The boy barely shot her a glance as he looked at the woman, "Can I go to Howard's tonight, Ma?"

The woman's smile was genuine as she smiled to the boy, "Of course, John. Make sure to use your manners."

"I will, Ma," the boy chirped, looking all sweet an innocent.

She hesitated before stepping forward to grab the man's dishes. The woman and the boy's gazes instantly turned to her and wrinkled into disgust.

"Hurry up," the woman snapped at her.

The boy frowned, "Does she really have to live here?" He asked his mother, the woman, yet again.

She winced as the woman scowled at her, "Unfortunately," her high pitched voice said.

She ducked her head to avoid their looks as she moved the dishes to the sink. A knock on the front door made the woman yell for her to see who it was.

Her eyes downcast as she quickly scurried out of the kitchen, made her way to the front door.

Her hand only just reached the door handle, her head peeking around the corner of the door as she looked up at the adult, "How may I help you, sir?"

The man smiled kindly, but it did nothing to settle the nerves that flew around her body.

"Is Pocahontas Smith here?" He asked, "She'd be a bit older than you, probably at primary school by now."

Her eyes widened and she took a step back, "I'm-" 

"Girl! Who is it!?!"

Her head spun back to face her aunt who glared at her, then noticed the man at the door. Her fury disappearing instantly, "Hello, good sir," the woman smiled as she shoved her aside, "How can I be of service?"

She averted her eyes as the woman licked her lips as she looked the man up and down. The man obviously more than a little disgusted by her action, took a step back.

"I'm looking for a Pocahontas Smith," He repeated, "She'd be about eight by now, and I was told that she had been brought to this address when her parents were -ahem- killed."

The woman's eyes rolled, "No one here by that name," she spat, "Go away!"

The door was slammed before the man could react, screaming coming from behind the door before a slap of skin on skin could be heard.

The man opened the door, only to freeze in shock as he saw the young girl who had answered the door on the floor with a red handprint on her cheek.

"What is going on here?!" The man demanded.

The woman sneered at him, "It's none of your-"

"I'm Pocahontas Smith."

The woman instantly glared at the girl who lay on her floor, her hand over her cheek, "I told you to-!"

The man stepped in between the woman and the girl, taking the impact of the slap that would have hit the girl, "That's enough," he said gravely, "Now, if you'll excuse us, I have a meeting that is well overdue with Miss Smith here."

The woman gaped at him as he easily helped the girl up and lead her out of the house before firmly slamming the door behind them.

Pocahontas peered up at him, "Thank you," she said softly.

The man smiled down to her, his massive hand holding onto her much smaller one gently, "It's not a problem, Miss Smith."

She nodded, her eyes alight with curiosity as she looked around the street, "It's so…" she hesitated, "Pretty."

The man paused, making her look up at him, "How long have you been in that house, Miss Smith?"

Pocahontas blinked before looking at her fingers and counting them. She held up one hand, "Five of John's birthdays."

"What about your birthday?" The man asked, crouching down so they could look each other in the eyes without straining themselves.

"I don't have one," Pocahontas shook her head, "Aunty said that bad girls don't deserve birthdays."

The man's face flickered with anger, making Pocahontas wonder what she had said wrong.

"What's your name, sir?" Pocahontas asked, trying to diffuse the situation, knowing that when someone got mad, they got mad.

He looked back at her, the anger fading away to a kind soft smile, "My name is Charles Bishop."

Here's Chapter Sixteen(finally)!

Oooooh, I wonder who Charles is?😏
(Low-key got inspiration from HP for Hana's past)

Is it bad that I've already started planning for season three of TFP?

Hope you enjoyed!
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