Downton Abbey 1. An Abusive Upbringing

**Hi guys! I haven't written a fanfic in a while and I wanted to explore the pasts of Anna and Mr. Bates, and possibly the future. This fanfic is kind of dark, and there will be a trigger warning later on. This story is rated T for a reason, read at your own discretion and enjoy!**

_Mr. Bates' Past_

_**An Abusive Upbringing**_

When John Bates reflected back on his childhood, his memories were never pleasant. He had a sweet, loving mother, but that was demeaned by the extensive shadow his violent, drunk father cast.

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><p>Age 5<p>

John kneeled on the floor of his parents' small living room, rolling his worn and shabby wooden train on the rough carpet. His small fingernails picked at the scarlet, chipping paint as he hummed absentmindedly. Little John did not notice his father had been gone all night, and was absent in these early hours of the morning. He heard his mother puttering around in the kitchen, making breakfast. Seemingly out of nowhere, their front door was nearly knocked off its hinges, slamming open against the hallway wall. John jumped with fright. "Mummy!" he called out as a tall, dark figure walked through the doorway. John's mother, Margaret, ran out of the kitchen to see what had scared John. She was met with a huge, stumbling man, holding the wall in order to keep his balance. "J-Jack." Margaret stuttered, smelling the pungent smell of beer in the air. She held out her hand to attempt to try to steady him, but he slapped her hand away.

"Get out of my way, woman!" he said loudly and gruffly. John stared at him, half appalled at the way his father just treated his mother, half afraid of his drunken father, who was coming towards him. Jack's steps were very heavy, and as Jack lumbered closer to John, he kicked John's beloved toy train against the wall with a powerful swing of his leg. John watched as his train hit the wall and fell to the ground, little wheels breaking free and rolling every which way. Jack lowered himself onto his large armchair very heavily, sighing and closing his eyes. John tiptoed gingerly up to his wrecked toy, too shocked to cry. He picked up his red train with his small hands, found all of the lost wheels, and walked solemnly into the kitchen. He hopped up onto a chair and placed his toy on the table. Margaret turned around from the cooking she was doing. "Oh, Johnny. I'm sorry about your train." She scooped him up onto her hip. She bounced him gently and he hugged her. Margaret bent down slightly to inspect the damage inflicted on the little red train. She put John back down into his chair, and went back to her cooking, taking flour, a bowl, and a spoon out of the cabinets of the kitchen. "Mummy, what are you doing?" John asked, curious.

"You'll see." Margaret replied, pouring some flour into the bowl, and adding water from the sink to the mixture. She swirled the mixture with the spoon and went back to John's table, lifting up the train and putting her gooey, sticky blend onto each end of the train axle.

"Mummy, what are you doing? That's silly!" He began to smile.

"You'll see what Mummy is trying to do!" She smiled back, grabbing the small wooden wheels and fitting them back onto the axles, joining the wheels together with the axle because of her sticky concoction.

"Margaret! Where's my breakfast?" Jack yelled from the living room, making both Margaret and John jump. Margaret sighed.

"Coming!" she yelled back, taking a plate and walking into the living room.

John leaned closer to the table, marveling at his train that had just been revived. He rolled it on the table and it worked perfectly. When he grasped the wheels and pulled them, they did not fly off or even shift. A grin stretched across John's face as he drew the conclusion that his toy was as good as new, if not better than new. He looked around to thank his mother but realized she was still absent from the kitchen. John looked up as he heard the sickening sound of a slap.

"And don't you _ever_ raise your voice at me again." Jack spat sharply, taking his breakfast and moving out of the living room, leaving his wife on the floor.

As soon as the coast was clear, John silently ran up to his mother, who sat up on the floor, clutching her newly red cheek. "Mummy?" John said, sitting next to her. "Are you okay, Mummy?"

Margaret turned and hugged her little boy, holding back her tears. John suddenly got up and left her, running into the kitchen. In no more than ten seconds, John returned with a kitchen rag soaked in cold water. He sat back down beside her and dabbed the rag onto her hot, red cheek. Margaret smiled at John and felt the cool moisture of the rag touch her cheek. She reached out and held his other hand. "Thank you, Johnny."

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><p>Age 12<p>

It was a gloomy late afternoon, and John was in his room and had his face buried in a book of the poems of John Keats, which his mother has gotten him for his eleventh birthday. He was jerked out of his focus when he heard the shrill shattering of glass from the downstairs kitchen. John instantly jumped up and ran down the stairs, hearing loud and angry prattle from his father, who undoubtedly was heavily drunk. John burst into the kitchen to find his father, holding his mother up by the wrist and hair. Glass and jam from various jars littered the floor, and Margaret had a thick cut on her cheek, not to mention bruises on her face and arms. John's blood boiled as he saw this terrible scene.

"Stop!" John yelled loudly. "Stop this right now!" John angrily approached his father. John had grown a lot in the past years, and he was now more mature, a lot taller, and a lot stronger. He used his strength to pry Jack's bearlike hands off of Margaret's wrists. Jack screamed at him and aggressively pushed John backward, nearly falling over in the process. John recovered quickly and punched his father square in the face, causing him to hit the ground. "Don't you _ever_ touch her again!" John snorted, turning his attention to his mother, who was still on the ground. He swiftly grabbed a kitchen rag and ran it under cold water, kneeling down and applying it to her scarlet cut on her cheek.

"D-don't tell me what to do, boy!" Jack said, now standing up and directly behind John. He lifted his huge first and punched John directly in the back of the head. John fell over his mother, and she screamed in distress. John's vision began to blur tremendously as he fell unconscious.

"Jack! What have you done?" Margaret screamed at him, holding John's now limp form. Jack looked away, scowling.

"I'm going for another drink." Jack huffed, roughly grabbing his coat and slamming the front door behind him.

Margaret cradled John, rubbing the back of his head and pressing the cool kitchen rag against it. She gently kissed his forehead and, with much difficulty, carried him up to his small bedroom. After laying him softly on his bed, she placed the kitchen rag on his forehead. She ran her hand through John's think brown hair, and then pulled up a chair, waiting for him to regain consciousness. Looking around his room, she caught sight of John's book of poems, and she picked it up and opened it. She flipped through the pages and found that one page's corner was folded over. "To Hope." Margaret began to read aloud.

"When by my solitary hearth I sit,

When no fair dreams before my - mind's eye - flit,

And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;

Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,

And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.

Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,

Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,

Should sad Despondency my musings fright,

And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,

Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof,

And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,

Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;

When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,

Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:

Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,

And fright him as the morning frightens night."

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><p>Age 17<p>

John sat in the kitchen with Margaret as she prepared dinner. While reading his book of poetry, John would continually glance up to look out the front window. He wondered when his father would come home from the pub, and dreaded it with all of his heart as he watched the night sky continue to darken, small white stars twinkling through.

As John looked back down at his book, they both heard a knock at the front door. John looked at his mother cautiously as he put his book down. Margaret placed down her spoon and took off her apron. She opened the door to find, not her husband, but a police officer. "Hello, officer." Margaret greeted him, hiding her confusion. "What can I do for you?"

"Hello, Mrs. Bates, is it?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Bates." Margaret confirmed.

"May I come in?" the officer asked.

"Of course." Margaret moved aside, letting him in. "John, could you please put the kettle on for us?" she directed John.

The officer took off his hat and lifted his hand. "Thank you, but there is no need." The officer said slightly solemnly. "I am Officer Oliver Harrison. Mrs. Bates, you might want to sit down."

"Beg your pardon?" she replied, more muddled than ever. The officer sighed.

"There is no easy way to tell you this, Mrs. Bates, John, but Mr. Jack Bates was killed today in a violent fight at the Frog and Toad Pub." The officer finished. Margaret gasped. "I'm so sorry for your loss." The officer said, clutching his hat.

John tried to look surprised. _So, the bastard's dead._ He thought, glancing at his mother.

"T-thank you officer." Margaret stuttered.

"Again, I am very sorry for your loss." The officer showed himself out of their small home.

Margaret turned to John, who was now much taller than her, and wrapped her arms around his large frame. John hugged her back, slightly swaying them rhythmically, back and forth.

No tears were shed over the death of Jack Bates. John and Margaret were finally free of him.

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed this chapter!<strong>


	2. An Impure Past

**This chapter contains spoilers of the season 5 Christmas Special, so read at your own risk! We learned from the Christmas Special that Anna's childhood was particularly dark, if not even darker than John's. I did not enjoy writing this chapter at all. My heart broke after I learned everything that Anna had been through! This chapter is unpleasant, so I'm going to give a trigger warning and warn you guys of the adult themes and swearing here. Nothing too graphic, but the situation Anna was in was terrible. Read at your own risk, and remember this is rated T for a reason!**

_Anna's Past_

_**An Impure Past**_

Whenever Anna would reflect on her childhood years, a shiver would go down her spine. Her mother wasn't exactly the woman a mother was supposed to be, and her stepfather cast a long shadow, darkening everything in his presence. All Anna could think of was that one, chilling night. The night Anna decided she would not fall victim to him again. The night Anna, with shaking hands, reached for a knife.

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><p>Age 6<p>

Anna and her older sister, Poppy, laughed as they played with their well-loved and tattered dolls together. Anna's doll had red yarn for hair, one button, hanging by a tread for an eye, and a red stitched smile. Anna and Poppy would bring their dolls everywhere. Together they played and waited for their father to come home from the mills, where he worked.

Ava Smith puttered around the kitchen making a savory stew for dinner. Anna skipped up to her, pulling her stark white apron. "Mummy, when is Daddy coming home?" Anna asked in a small, sweet voice, gazing up with big blue eyes. Ava leaned down and left a kiss on her blonde head.

"Should be anytime, poppet." Ava answered, stirring the stew. Then came a loud knock on the door. "That must be him." Ava smiled down at Anna, and Anna returned the smile. She wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door.

"Are you Ava Smith?" Anna heard a deep voice ask. She peered around the kitchen door to see a police officer standing in their doorway.

"Um, yes, I am." Ava answered, slightly confused. "What can I do for you, officer?"

"May I come in?" He asked, not unkindly, taking off his hat. Something about his tone seemed rather solemn.

"Of course." She moved out of the officer's way, and he stepped in.

"Mrs. Smith, I think you might want to sit down." The officer motioned to the small armchair in the living room.

"What's this about?" She asked. "Does this have to do with Drake?" Ava clasped her hands together nervously.

Anna watched the officer speak to her mother from the kitchen, and she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Poppy, doll in hand. "Anna, who's that talking to Mummy?"

"It's a big police man." Anna answered, glancing their way. "I think he's telling Mummy something."

Poppy and Anna jumped as they heard their mother let out a sob and cover her face in her hands, and falling into the armchair. The officer tried to comfort her, moving to her side. Ava shooed him away, hands shaking furiously, and he promptly left, looking very sad and sympathetic. Anna and Poppy walked up to their mother's side. "What did that meanie police man tell you?" Poppy asked her, hopping up onto the arm of the chair Ava was sitting in. She did not reply, covering her face in her hands, tears dripping from her chin. Anna frowned, tugging Poppy's dress. "I think Mummy might want to be alone right now…" Anna said, and they both reluctantly went up to their bedroom.

After an hour of wondering what the officer had told their mother to upset her so, the pair crept down the stairs. They found Ava in the kitchen, head hanging low, stray blonde hairs loose from her bun, and stirring the stew from earlier. "Mummy." Anna spoke up, Poppy behind her. "Do you know when Daddy is coming home?"

Ava's shoulders lowered and she turned around to face her children. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were puffy and red.

"Oh my dears. Daddy isn't coming home."

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><p>When Anna was 8 years old, Ava was forced remarry to support their family. She had married a very tall, broad-shouldered man called Nathan Harrington. In the first weeks Nathan had lived with them, he was very nice to Anna and Poppy. Almost too nice. But as time wore on, Anna was kept awake by the heated arguments that often took place downstairs, late at night. Occasionally she would hear the clatter of a book or a vase being thrown. How Anna wished that she could be as brave as Poppy. One night, when the arguments downstairs were particularly loud, Poppy had decided enough was enough and ventured downstairs. Anna was left alone in their room, struggling to listen to everything downstairs. She heard a bang and a crash of shattered glass. That was how Poppy received a deep scar just above her brunette hairline.<p>

But the arguments and that throwing of objects wasn't even close to the worst of Nathan Harrington.

It first happened when Anna was 10. She was bringing a basket of laundry to her room, when she saw his tall form in the darkened hallway. "Is that you, Anna?" He asked down the hallway.

"Yes, I'm here." Anna answered, walking towards him. As she tried to walk past him, he held out his arm, blocking her way out of the hallway. Anna tucked a blonde strand of hair behind her ear and she noticed his breathing was unusually heavy. "What can I do for you?" She asked.

"Oh Anna." He moved his face closer to hers, brown eyes darkening. He put one of his big hands on Anna's shoulder, fingers aching to feel her slim and bony form. Anna tensed up at the contact, and a horrible feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. Her small hands grew clammy and clutched onto the laundry basket. His eyes locked with hers and he gave her a wolfish grin. "You have no idea what you can do for me." He stared at her, and lifted his hand away, straightening up and towering over Anna. With that, he walked behind her down the dark hallway, not another word spoken.

Anna could never understand how her mother couldn't see how Nathan treated her and Poppy. Whether it be brushes as he passed them in the hallway, how he touches their bottoms as he walks up behind them, or the like, Nathan was not shy about touching his stepdaughters. And Ava just seemed to turn her cheek, ignoring it. The mere thought of his behavior made Anna want to throw up, queasiness settling in the pit of her stomach.

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><p>Age 12<p>

Anna sat on her bed, sewing up a hole in one of her mother's old dresses. She wistfully glanced over at Poppy's end of the bedroom, looking at her cold and empty bed and dresser vacant of any of her clothes. Months ago, Poppy had turned 16 and set out of the house, seeking employment. Anna's heart ached as she thought of how much she missed her sister, but Anna certainly could not blame her for leaving. Anna sighed and held up her neat needlework, admiring it.

When Anna wasn't reading or studying for school, she would sew up any of hers or her parents' garments. Her hands were quick and nimble, and she could patch up any piece of clothing in record time. Sewing also helped her to relax. Anna acknowledged that life in this household could be very stressful, so she embraced sewing to keep her mind off of certain unpleasant topics.

She folded up her mother's dress, excited to show her the work she had done. Anna stepped down from her bed and opened her bedroom door. She walked down the rickety stairs to the living room, only to find her father, not her mother. "Um, have you seen Mother anywhere?" Anna asked Nathan, holding up the dress to her chest. Nathan rose up from the armchair he was sitting in.

"Your mother has gone out food shopping." Nathan replied, slowly approaching her.

"Oh, alright…" Anna said, growing uncomfortable that only she and Nathan were in the house. "I'll just wait upstairs then." Anna said skittishly, turning to go back upstairs.

Anna flinched in dismay as Nathan grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back to him. Her bottom lip began to shake as he held her there and slid one of his hands down her body.

"Anna…" He pulled her closer still to his body, her back against him. Anna felt a terrible chill go down her spine. "I've waited too long to be alone with you…" He growled, taking the dress and yanking it out of her hands, throwing it across the room. Nathan rested his head on top of hers, smelling her golden hair before pulling it out of its tight bun. His other hand began to feel her chest, and Anna whimpered and grabbed his wrist, trying to keep him from pawing at her small bosom.

"Please, stop." Anna said, trying to sound firm. Nathan turned her around, starting to press kisses onto her neck. "Stop!" Anna yelled, putting her hands on his chest and pushing him away. Nathan only stumbled two steps back.

"Anna. You don't want to make me mad, now do you? Do what you are told!" He hissed.

"No! I won't! You're absolutely sick, and I wish Mother never married you!" Anna spat.

"You ungrateful whore! I'm the one who keeps this family out of debt!" Nathan wound up and slapped Anna's cheek with a powerful swing of his arm. Anna yelped and clutched her cheek, which was now red. "Don't you ever deny me again!" He snarled before returning to the armchair.

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><p>Age 16<p>

A dark, chilly night in February would be the night that would haunt Anna forever. Ava had retired to bed with a headache, and Nathan sat in his armchair, drinking large amounts of beer. Anna was left to carry out all of the housework that needed to be done before bed. She scrubbed the dirty dishes that lay in the sink and collected laundry that needed to be washed. She crept downstairs and began to dust the living room furniture. She could almost feel Nathan's eyes burn a hole in the back of her skull as he stared at her. He normally looked at her, yes, but something about him seemed a bit different. Anna finished dusting, aware that she was being watched even more intently as time went on. _"What's he doing? Should I be scared? Is he going to hurt me?" _millions of questions flooded Anna's mind. Her hands started to shake as she moved into the darkened kitchen. Out of his sight, she quietly slid open one of the drawers, taking out a large, sharp, silver knife. Anna knew she couldn't do this again. She couldn't let him touch her. Her mind, clouded with terrible thoughts, didn't care what would happen to her if she actually killed Nathan. All she knew was that she had to stay safe. Anna crept up to her bedroom, hiding the knife to that it wasn't in Nathan's line of sight. Anna came into her room and blew out her candle, the entire room becoming pitch black. She ducked into her closet, silently shutting the door behind her. Soon she heard heavy footsteps lumber up the stairs. Anna tightened her grip on the sharp knife, flinching when she heard him call for her. "Anna! Anna, where are you?" He called in a slurred voice. Anna's lower lip trembled as she heard her bedroom door squeak open. "Anna?"

Anna started to shake out of fear and she heard him venture around her room. His footsteps came closer, closer. She closed her eyes, tears squeezing out and rolling down her cheeks. The footsteps stopped. Anna heard his hand wrap around her closet's doorknob, and slowly open her closet door. Anna looked up at him, cheeks wet with tears. "Stay away from me! Don't touch me!" She shouted at him, voice shaking.

"Or what?" He growled down at her.

"I'll… I'll hurt you!" Anna held up her knife with shaking hands. Nathan started to laugh a deep, throaty, cruel laugh.

"You wouldn't" He snarled. "You don't have it in you." He leaned down to force Anna out of the closet. "You're going to like this just as much as I am!" Anna was hit by the pungent smell of alcohol on his breath.

As he reached down, Anna closed her eyes and swung the knife, sickened by the sound of it slicing through human flesh.

"Fuck!" Nathan yelled piercingly, gripping his forearm, where Anna had left a deep cut. She opened her eyes and looked at her knife, now dripping in scarlet blood. Nathan stumbled backwards, falling over, with blood pouring down his arm. Anna, too shocked and scared to react, looked at her bedroom doorway where her mother had appeared, horror covering her face.

"Anna…" Her voice cracked. Anna dropped her knife and covered her pale, blood-splattered face, neither proud nor ashamed at what she had done, just stunned. She slid down against her closet wall, sitting on the floor. Ava ran to Anna, wrapping her arms around her.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Nathan demanded, laying on the floor. "Don't go near her, she's dangerous!" He growled. He looked at the hand covering his cut, which was now dripping with blood. "Help me!"

"I'm so sorry, Anna." Ava leaned down and left a kiss on Anna's blonde head. She came back into the room with bandages and started to wrap Nathan's cut up when they all heard police sirens sound shrilly outside their home.

"Finally!" Nathan said in triumph. "Now this bitch gets to go to prison, where she belongs!"

"No she won't!" Ava told him.

"Like hell she won't!" Nathan spat. Ava dug her fingers into the bandages around his cut, causing Nathan to shout out in pain. After much convincing, Ava told Nathan to tell the police officers that everything was fine, and he accidently cut himself. Anna did not get a wink of sleep that night. She only hid underneath her bed, shaking, hoping he wouldn't come for her again.

Anna knew she needed to leave. She could not stand to be under the same roof as her stepfather any longer. One summer's day, Anna approached her mother in the kitchen. "Mother?" Anna asked.

"Yes Anna?" Ava replied, absent-mindedly cutting vegetables. Anna took a breath.

"I'm leaving in the morning."

"What?" Ava almost dropped her knife. "Where are you going to go?"

"I've been accepted for a job." Anna told her.

"What job?"

"I can sew and I can clean. I'm going to be a maid in a big house."

Ava's eyes started to fill up. She put down her knife and hugged Anna. "I'm going to miss you so much…"

"I-I'll miss you too." Anna replied.

Anna carried her large suitcase as she walked down a path of pebbles. She was free of her father. She could finally start over, reinvent herself. Anna adjusted her hat and coat, hoping she looked professional. She broke through a line of trees and looked in awe at the magnificent estate before her. Anna smiled to herself.

"Downton Abbey, my new home."

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><p><strong>Ugh, I did not enjoy writing that! <strong>


End file.

Downton Abbey, Drama, Hurt-Comfort