A/N: Ok, so this is being posted at the insistence of by very gorgeous, fantastic boyfriend (Who is currently looking over my shoulder, but is still gorgeous, for all that). It's from the same universe as Pro Patria Mori – I wrote a paragraph or so in there on Eagle's past, and I couldn't help but want to expand on it, so here it is!

Hope you enjoy it!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing that you recognise.

-o-O-o-

Eric sighed and slumped further down in his seat. It had seemed, well, if not a good idea at the time, then at least not a monstrously bad one. It had just been supposed to be a bit of fun, a prank! He hadn't known that it would get so carried away. Guiltily, his eyes slid to his school bag and the three empty Red Bull cans inside it. The floating, invincible feeling had faded rapidly upon being almost literally dragged to the principal's office, but the caffeine was still in his system and he couldn't help but fidget.

The door was opened and Eric reluctantly raised his eyes to see the secretary, looking decidedly irritated, and his mother, looking even more harried than she usually did when she called in. She glared at him and Eric winced. She was really mad at him.

"What did you do this time?" she snapped. Eric didn't respond, taking the teenager's tried and tested response of a half-hearted shrug.

But this just seemed to make things worse.

"Don't you shrug at me, Eric Wakefield! Just wait until your father hears about this!"

Eric winced again. He could already imagine his father's coldly furious glare.

"You're supposed to be able to control this!"

"Just because you're not normal doesn't give you an excuse to behave like an idiot!"

"You need to learn to think about the consequences of your actions!"

The old admonitions were already ringing in his ears and he could feel his expression shuttering as each one ripped into him. His mother didn't even notice. She was too busy ranting at him, demanding explanations, but never giving him time to answer.

"Mrs Wakefield? The headmaster will see you now."

-o-O-o-

"So let me get this straight," said the deep, stern voice of his father. "You took a remote-control car into school, where you proceeded to strap two deodorant cans to it and to puncture them to imitate rocket propulsion?"

Eric nodded, not looking up from his knees.

"And the consequences?"

"Amy and Jackie broke their legs," whispered Eric, quietly. He shuddered slightly as he recalled their screams. "Henry got second-degree burns on his arm from where the deodorant bottles…"

"From where the deodorant bottles…" prompted his father, coldly.

"From where they got set on fire," said Eric in a rush. He hadn't done that. Henry had. He'd nicked a lighter of his brother and had wanted to test it out. There was no point Eric telling them that, though. He wasn't a snitch. And anyway, they wouldn't believe him.

"Continue."

"O-one of the classrooms at school is unusable," quoted Eric, remembering what the headmaster had said to his mother.

"And? What happened to you because of this?"

"I… I got suspended, sir. Three weeks."

"And you understand that all this is your fault? It happened because of your actions."

Eric winced and nodded.

"So what exactly made you think that this could possibly be a good idea?"

It was just supposed to be a bit of fun: a superfast car that they could use to confuse the teachers in the lessons. He simply hadn't accounted for how explosive the result of puncturing the cans would be.

"I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't mean anything. You never do!"

Eric scowled and looked away.

"Eric," sighed his father, wearily sitting down next to him. "Do we need to take you back to Doctor Madsen again?"

Eric snarled and leapt up, distancing himself from his father and the arm that had been just about to rest around his shoulders.

"There's nothing wrong with me!" he cried.

"Oh, not this again! Eric, honestly!"

"I'm not sick!"

"No! No, of course not sweetheart!" exclaimed his mother rushing into the room. She latched into his arm and gently tugged him to an armchair. "You're not sick. Of course not." She sat on the arm of the chair and played with his hair. "You just need a little more help than most, that's all."

Eric turned away in disgust.

-o-O-o-

"Mr Wakefield," said Dr Madsen, carefully capping his pen and placing it on top of the pad of paper on his lap. "You are aware that misbehaviour is not necessarily a sign of mania or mental illness, aren't you?"

"Of course it's not!" scoffed his dad. Eric frowned and glared at his knees. Hypocrite. "But with Eric… he's… different."

In his peripheral vision, Eric saw Dr Madsen raise an eyebrow in surprise and glance at him guiltily.

"There is nothing wrong with your son," said the doctor in a firm voice. The support startled Eric enough that he forgot himself and glanced up. Dr Madsen was looking right at him, a slight frown on his face.

"Are you telling me it's normal for a child to almost burn down his school and put three pupils in hospital?"

"Well, no-"

"I just want what's best for him. I just want him to be normal, doctor. That's all."

Dr Madsen nodded slightly.

"Of course. If you don't mind, Mr Wakefield, could I speak with Eric in private?"

Eric stayed still as his father obviously nodded and left the room. The door clicked shut and it was just the two of them.

"Eric," said Dr Madsen, gently, only to be forced to repeat himself when Eric didn't respond. "Eric, please will you look at me?"

Reluctantly, Eric raised his head to meet the doctor's concerned gaze.

"I know, that in all our conversations you have never so much as hinted… but still, I feel obliged to ask. Is everything ok at home?"

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Eric, shocked.

"Your parents…"

"Everything's fine," said Eric abruptly, interrupting the doctor.

"Okay, that's fine," Dr Madsen reassured him soothingly. "That's good. Now, why don't you tell me about this incident at school?"

"It was an accident!" blurted the teen.

Dr Madsen raised an eyebrow. "So, you accidentally attached deodorant bottles to a toy car?"

Eric blushed. "Well, no. That bit was deliberate. But it wasn't supposed to turn out like that! I didn't want to get anyone hurt, I swear!"

Dr Madsen frowned slightly and jotted down on his pad.

"Your writing down that I'm thoughtless, aren't you?" asked Eric, miserably. "Careless."

He filled the word with so much venom that Dr Madsen was forced to do a double take. "No, I'm not," said the man, gently. "I'm simply jotting down a note to myself that you were worried that I would think you had wanted to hurt them. Do people often call you thoughtless?"

Eric gave a one-shouldered shrug and glanced down at his knees again.

"Eric, please look at me," the doctor repeated gently. "Why do you seem to find it difficult?"

Eric shrugged again and remained silent. Dr Madsen sighed.

Avoidance tactics, he scribbled quickly on the pad. Both visual and verbal. Why?

"Ok, Eric," he said, "I'm going to call your dad back in now."

And the head was back down. Dr Madsen sighed and went to call Mr Wakefield back in.

"So?" demanded the man brusquely, before he'd even reached the seat next to his son.

Dr Madsen sighed. Eric had a few issues with his parents, that much was obvious, but there wasn't much he could do for the kid. From the sound of his school life, the confidence-issues only manifested around his parents.

"There is absolutely nothing I can do for your son," said Dr Madsen.

"What do you mean?" said Mr Wakefield, his skin paling dramatic. "He… he needs… a specialist? Residential care?"

"No!" exclaimed Dr Madsen. "That's not what I meant at all!"

"No, no, don't sugar coat it," said Mr Wakefield. "Eric needs to hear the truth. He's still trying to deny that he's ill."

"That's because he's not," said Dr Madsen, coldly. "As far as I'm aware, the only issues your son has are caused by your insistence that there is something wrong with him!"

Eric's eyes snapped to him in shock. Dr Madsen would be willing to bet serious money that it was the first time that he'd had someone reassure him about that.

"Eric, grab your things," said Wakefield. "It's obvious that Dr Madsen doesn't have a clue what he's talking about."

-o-O-o-

The next doctor they had taken him to see had been more accommodating. He'd obviously been more interested in his own pay check than actually doing his job, thought Eric snidely. And that was how he'd ended up here, outside a squat brick building on the outskirts of London. Rusting metal letters declared it to be "St Mary's Psychiatric Hospital". He hated it already.

"Dad, I don't want to," he said, backing away from the building. "Please. Please, I don't want to. I'm fine, I don't need this."

"Now, Eric. None of that, please."

"Mum!" said Eric, desperately. "Mum, please. I'll be good I promise! Just don't send me in there."

"Oh honey," said his mother, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and planting a kiss on his forehead. "We just want you to get better."

"But I am, mum! I swear. Why can't you see that?"

His dad picked up his bag out of the boot.

"Come on, son."

-o-O-o-

How long had it been now? He couldn't remember. Three days? Three weeks? Maybe even longer than that. Time seemed to blur here. He could barely tell one day from the next. A nurse had come and woken him up about an hour ago, he thought. But no, no, he'd had something to eat in the dining room since then. And that meant it was afternoon, didn't it?

He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it, but the fog only got thicker.

"Eric. Eric… Eric!"

He jumped as someone shouted his name, but the isolation quickly reasserted itself.

"Eric, please?"

Deep down he felt a spark of curiosity. The nurses never said please. He never spoke to anyone else and they never spoke to him. So who was saying please?

No one said please. He must have imagined it.

"Please answer me Eric?"

Slowly, Eric blinked, once, twice, and turned his head. There was a young woman sitting next to him. She looked familiar… where had he…?

"Nicky?" he whispered.

"Oh, Eric," she responded, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. "What have they done to you?"

He thinks she stayed for an hour or so, but it could have been a few minutes. But she left, after a while, with promises on her lips.

"I'll talk to Mum and Dad, I promise. I'll get them to get you out of here."

Eric didn't pay her any mind. He was already drifting back into the fog.

-o-O-o-

He was released a few months later. Eric never found out whether it had had anything to do with his sister Nicky or not, but he was grateful all the same. He promised himself that he'd be the perfect son, that he wouldn't give them any reason to send him back.

It worked for about two months, until they discovered that he hadn't been taking his pills.

They didn't find out because of how he acted. His mother had stumbled across them while tidying his room.

He had tried to point out that the fact that they hadn't been able to tell should let them know that he didn't need them, but his father had simply put it down to a case of denial. He was readmitted on New Year's Eve.

He guessed once you had been diagnosed once, there were no second chances.

-o-O-o-

It became a pattern. He'd go in for a couple of months before returning home. Within a month, he'd have fucked up in some way and been sent back. At first, it took longer, but as he realised the return to his nightmare was inevitable, he cared less and less about attempting to modify his behaviour to avoid it.

The reports from his therapist changed dramatically. Where once they had mentioned 'troubled' and 'depressed' they now talked about 'disrespectful' and 'authority issues'. They were wrong. He didn't have a problem with authority, just doctors who claimed jurisdiction over his life for no damn reason.

He got used to the drugs they forced into his system everyday so, if he could not live, he could at least function.

The only person he would willingly talk to was Nicky. She came to visit him regularly, occasionally bringing his new-born niece, Elena, Ellie for short.

On his eighteenth birthday, when Ellie was just about to turn two years old, he discharged himself.

Nicky met him outside with a bag of his clothes and some money. She took him to the train station and hugged him goodbye with tears in her eyes. He hugged her back and, with the drugs finally clearing his system, even had the presence of mind to tell her to take care of Ellie.

He never looked back.

-o-O-o-

He sometimes thought of Ellie, in the army. Whether she had any little brothers or sisters, yet. Whether she would be all knees and elbows like her mum was at that age, or if she'd take after her dad and be cherubic in her plumpness. Whether she enjoyed nursery and, later on, school.

But he never called to check. He sent cards and presents to her at Christmas and her birthday, though. He wondered if she knew who they were from.

Once, when he passed SAS selection, he wondered if his father would be proud of him, but that was an old habit, easily quashed.

In Wolf and Snake and Fox, Eagle had found all the family he needed. He never felt the urge to call his parents, right up until he met Cub again.

-o-O-o-

"Let me go. I killed the man who raised me. I don't deserve your worry."

The man had been a monster. A murderer. Alex had saved multiple lives with that one bullet.

But that hadn't mattered. He'd still been family, for all that. And no matter what they did, they would always be your family.

Eagle sighed and slumped his head into his hands. He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

Biting his lip nervously, he picked up his phone and keyed in the number.

It rang three times before it was answered.

"Hello?" asked a familiar voice, and Eagle's breath caught in his throat.

"Hello? Is anybody there? If this is another prank call-"

"Mum," said Eagle, interrupting her as his lungs emptied themselves in a loud 'whoosh'.

"Mum," he repeated. "It's Eric…"

-o-O-o-

So what did you think? Review and tell me? Thanks for reading!

Edit: I've had a few queries as to whether this is finished or not. It is, and won't be updated. However, Eagle meeting his parents will be shown, with Alex and Wolf along for support, in Dulce et Decorum est.