Chapter Text
Jovial birdsongs pierced a crisp autumn air, remarking excitedly at the movement of a falling leaf or the sound of its crunch. Winter was bordering around the corner, leaving a harsh iciness on even the most concealed of individuals. It was beginning to look a lot like that putrid curse, where no matter what you did to keep warm there was always a freezing chill biting at your bones. You could never get comfortable, always squirmed in your seat, shuffling your legs constantly in the hope that the rush of blood would warm your body.
Some people found their own ways to deal with it, whilst others put on a tough face and acted as if it didn’t affect them. For a certain Isaac ‘Newt’ Newton (yes, blame his parents for his given name), his own solution was to just keep on moving; to keep the blood flowing, to give him something to do and to think about. It was also one of the only things that helped keep the old injury in his leg at ease; that of which was particularly bothering him on this day. The pre-winter chill was even worse than usual, and it was stinging at the usual dull ache in his leg. Keeping it moving, however, was making the pain tolerable, so he planned to take as long as possible on his walk back home from school.
He took a different route than usual, going through several different neighborhoods, trying to admire the hidden beauty amidst the unforgiving brittle air. The leaves lying at his feet made a satisfying crunch whenever he took a step, paving the way in front of him. If he hadn’t of walked this way before, he would almost certainly be lost amidst the hundreds of brown leaves scattered everywhere.
Newt kept his eyes trailed on the ground as he strode on; fastening his bag more tightly around his shoulders. Every so often he looked up to make sure he was going the right way, before looking back to the ground again. He enjoyed the serenity of blocking out everything around him; focusing on one particular thing that kept his mind away from the surrounding insanity of the world. Life, to Newt, was much simpler that way, and it was easier to control the thoughts inside his head without everything getting in the way.
That still didn’t stop him from walking into the poor woman that had appeared in front of him, however. She stumbled against his rhythmic pace, causing Newt to have to reach out and grab her to ensure she didn’t fall over. The two of them sputtered apologies at each other, before Newt realized she’d been carrying a bunch of what looked like flyers which were now strewn all across the pavement. He knelt on his good leg to help gather them back up, but his brow furrowed as he caught a glimpse of one of the papers.
It was a missing person poster, complete with almost every little detail Newt could think of. He stared at it idly, flipping it over as if to expect something written on the back. “Who is this?” he said automatically, looking up at the woman. Almost as if Newt had said something insulting, she threw him a disgusted look and snatched the paper out of his hand.
“That’s my son!” she barked, her eyes visibly watering before she sped off. Newt mentally slapped himself and grimaced at how stupid he could possibly be. He watched as the woman disappeared down the street, her wavy brunette hair flashing in the sunlight, before getting up and looking around him, hoping that no one else had witnessed the encounter to save him from more embarrassment.
Newt noticed another one of the posters pinned to a telephone pole, near where he’d bumped into the woman. He closely examined it this time, making sure to know everything he could about this woman’s son so that he wouldn’t say another stupid thing. The teenager appeared to have run away from his home a week ago, and looked to be around the same age as Newt. He had short hair but was a brunette like his mother, with a well-rounded face that blended finely with his other features. In the photo he was wearing a cheesy white smile, seemingly laughing, and Newt wondered how someone who seemed so genuinely cheerful could have possibly run away.
Although he’d never seen the teen before, Newt could almost say he recognized him. There was an unspoken knowledge to this guy that Newt couldn’t put his finger on, and to be honest, it scared him. It scared him to know that somewhere out there was a kid his age wandering the streets on his own. The empathetic side crawled out of him like an infection, hoping to god that the boy was still alive and well. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for people, especially those he didn’t know, because he knew deep down that there was nothing he could do to truly help them. He was, after all, merely a high school student.
Newt scanned the poster for any additional information before continuing on home, his leg starting to annoy him again. His eyes rested on a name: Stephen Thomas.
He made a note all the same.