**Bart Finds Out He’s Adopted**
Prompt: Simpsons fanfiction bart finds out he’s adopted
It was a typical Saturday morning in Springfield, the sun shone lazily through the kitchen window, illuminating the chaotic scene that was the Simpson household. Marge was flipping pancakes, Homer was at the table, slumped over his bowl of cereal, and Lisa sat across from him, absorbed in a book about the societal structures of ancient civilizations. Bart, however, was nowhere to be found.
He was holed up in his room, surrounded by his most prized possessions: comic books, skateboards, and various action figures. But today, something felt off. As he flipped through the pages of a particularly dog-eared issue of “Radioactive Man,” an unfamiliar thought crept into his mind - who am I really? Bart had always felt like the rebel of the family, the troublemaker, but what if there was more to it? What if he didn’t belong?
The day before, while rummaging through the attic with Lisa, Bart had stumbled upon a dusty old box. Not the usual stash of photo albums and mothballs, but rather a bigger box marked "Important." Curious, he had pried it open to find stacks of papers, a few yellowed photographs, and, oddly, a small teddy bear wearing a red bowtie. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a piece of paper fluttering out; it was a birth certificate. Bart’s heart raced as he picked it up, his excitement fading into confusion the moment he saw the surname listed—"Smith" instead of "Simpson."
“What the heck?” he whispered under his breath, staring at the document like it was a live grenade. The name ‘Smith’ felt alien and distant, as if he had stumbled upon a secret he wasn’t meant to find. The more he thought about it, the more questions began to swirl around in his head. Did his parents know? Was he adopted? The notion settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.
Feeling anxious, Bart decided to confront Marge. He tiptoed down the stairs, heart pounding, rehearsing what he would say. But as he reached the kitchen, he hesitated. Would they really tell him the truth? What if they didn’t even know? Just then, Homer looked up from his cereal.
“Hey, boy! Wanna join me in some donuts?” Homer called, mouth half-full.
Bart shook his head. “Uh, no. I… I need to talk to Mom. It’s important.”
Marge turned, flipping the pancake with a watchful gaze. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Can we have a family meeting?” Bart asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Sure! Family meetings are good for the soul!” Marge beamed, wiping her hands on her apron, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in Bart’s head.
Minutes later, Lisa joined them, perking up at the word ‘meeting’ and ready to debate the merits of ancient rulers. Bart, however, was focused solely on what needed to surface. He took a deep breath, steeling himself.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” he muttered before bursting out, “Am I adopted?”
Marge dropped the spatula, her face going pale, while Lisa glanced sharply at Bart. Homer, on the other hand, simply blinked and returned to his cereal, completely unaware of the weight of the moment.
“Bart, where did you hear that?” Marge asked, her voice shaky.
“I found this,” he said, brandishing the birth certificate like a high-stakes poker chip. The room fell silent as Marge stared, her eyes wide.
“Well, yes, but…” She stammered, trying to form the right words. “We were going to tell you, honey, but…”
“But what? You were going to wait until I was old enough to handle it?” Bart’s voice rose, a mix of anger and betrayal. He felt his self-definition crumble between them.
“Honey, we love you just the same,” Marge pleaded, stepping closer. “Your father and I wanted to make sure you understood…”
“Understood what? That I’m some sort of charity case?” Bart interrupted, his voice trembling with emotion. “I thought I was just Bart Simpson, the bad boy. I didn’t sign up to be a Smith!”
“Hey, come on, buddy,” Homer finally chimed in, his usual obliviousness replaced by genuine concern. “You’re still our Bart. Being adopted doesn’t change that. We chose you. You were our first choice!”
“All the trouble you’ve gotten into, all the pranks…” Lisa added, trying to lighten the mood. “As if you have a real choice in being a Simpson!”
The tension in the room was thick as Bart processed their words. A whirlwind of emotions swept through him: betrayal, confusion, and a small flicker of something tender. Ultimately, it was love that tied him to them, despite the truth of his origin.
“I just… I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asked, his voice softer now.
“It was complicated,” Marge admitted, tears in her eyes. “We wanted the world to be normal for you, to give you a happy childhood. Adoption isn’t a bad thing, Bart. It means you’re special. We wanted it to be your decision to know, in your own time.”
Bart slumped down into a chair, feeling the room shift around him. It still hurt, but he had to admit there was a strange kind of courage in knowing the truth. It forged a bond, an unusual yet undeniable connection with the people he had always called Mom and Dad.
“Okay,” he sighed, looking up at them. “So what does that make me? Does this mean I have a family in a different place?”
“Maybe,” Marge replied gently. “But this is your family now, and we love you, Bart. That doesn’t change.”
Bart swallowed hard, a knot of feelings burrowing deep in his chest. “And I’m still the biggest troublemaker in Springfield, right?”
His family all shared a laugh, a moment of relief washing over them. As Bart joined in, he realized that while the truth was complicated, the love he felt for the Simpsons—their chaotic, dysfunctional family—was what truly mattered. There was still a unique story to tell, filled with mischief, laughter, and undeniable chaos. And he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even being a Smith.
