Chapter Text
may you never lose the wonder in your soul
may you always have a blanket for the cold
may the living light inside you be the compass as you go
may you always know you have my hand to hold.
―“Hand to Hold”, JJ Heller
There’s nothing remarkable about the route you take when you run errands.
It winds through the city so that you can get everywhere you need to be before heading home ― the supermarket, the bank, the drugstore. Your town isn’t a sprawling city by any means, but you also aren’t surprised when people occasionally get lost if they’re not from around here. You know everything like the back of your hand by now, and on a Friday afternoon, you’re ecstatic that your weekend has just begun.
A few quick stops, and you’ll be heading home to relax. Although your life isn’t what you would call mundane, you’ve certainly gotten yourself into a routine. You go the same ways as you walk, the places you visit are mostly the same, and… if someone were to describe your life in the kindest way possible, they would probably pick the word ‘predictable’.
If anything out of the ordinary ever happens in your town, it tends to happen far away from you.
So imagine your surprise when the sound of a child crying catches your attention as you pass an alleyway.
You aren’t any less surprised when you look over to investigate. The source of the crying is a little boy who’s huddled up by a trash can, covered in what looks to you like dried blood. It’s all over his skin and clothes, and you think his hair is some shade of white beneath it, though you can’t be sure.
The sight of this kid would be alarming enough. What horrifies you even more is that nobody is stopping to see what’s wrong. Isn’t the sound of a child weeping one of the things that a human adult is most hardwired to respond to? People must have heard him, must have seen him. There are people passing by this street even now, continuing to move around you now that you’ve come to a shocked stop.
This poor little boy is literally crying for help, and nobody has reached out a hand for him. How long has he been here?
You take a cautious step toward the alley, putting your grocery bag on the ground for a moment. “Hey,” you say softly. “Hey, kiddo, are you okay?”
This boy flinches. He flinches at your voice, at the fact that you’ve taken a step closer to him. He doesn’t seem to have been expecting anyone to approach him, and that makes you incredibly sad. Children shouldn’t have to second guess that they’re going to be taken care of.
He looks up at you in fear, in despair, in confusion. Big tears roll down his face, and you notice, with your heart sinking, that he’s not only covered in blood, he’s also covered in dirt… from being on the street, you’d assume. “N… no… I’m not okay…”
His voice is awful. It’s small and tired and strained, carrying the telltale crackle of someone who is weak and dehydrated. Not only the physical qualities of his voice, it’s awful because of his words. This child is not okay. You knew it, but you wanted to hear it from him. You wanted to see how he’d respond.
“I n-need help,” he continues, and he has to swallow so his voice will actually come out as something louder than a squeak. “Please… please, I need help… help me… please help me…”
How many other people has he said that to? How many other people have turned away from his broken-record begging for help, because it was none of their business or told him that a hero will help him? While you have nothing against heroes, it shouldn’t all be up to them to help. People shouldn’t walk by another human being in need, assuming that someone else will do something.
If nothing else, people shouldn’t walk by a child in need. For God’s sake, he’s a little kid who’s clearly been through something terrible. Doesn’t anyone have a heart?
You come a little closer, and kneel down so that you’re at eye level with him. He looks so small… surely he can’t be any older than five? “Okay, okay. Hey. I’m gonna try my best to help you.” Your mind is racing. What happened to this child? Why is he covered in blood, and how long has he been out here that it’s dried? How many people have walked past this poor kid?
“Come here,” you say softly. “Give me your hand and let’s―”
You lift a hand and reach out for him, only for him to violently jerk away from you. More tears roll down his face; the way he holds his little hands against his chest as if he’s trying to hide them away unnerves you. “N-no, no! No, you can’t!” His small body shakes with the force of his sobbing. “I can’t touch you… I’ll h-hurt you… my Quirk… my hands… I can’t…”
Oh.
It crashes into you all at once, the reason behind his reaction. As soon as he says that, it clicks into place that he must have a Quirk that’s focused on his hands, that can hurt others, and he’s too young to know how to control it. You wonder if that means he’s a late bloomer, because most people’s Quirks manifest when they’re toddlers. This kid is at least five, meaning that he should have had two or three years of living with his Quirk by now.
The visceral way he pulled away from you makes you think that perhaps it manifested recently… that something must have happened. Your mind quickly pieces together that the blood all over him probably isn’t his, and that there must have been a horrible, horrible accident.
“Okay, okay. I won’t touch your hands.” You inch closer regardless. You are not afraid of this poor boy. You’re not going to let any fear of his Quirk stop you from helping him or offering him some semblance of care and comfort. “My name is (Name). Can you tell me yours?”
He’s still clutching his hands close to him, like he doesn’t trust himself. His breathing is erratic, undoubtedly from crying so hard. It takes him a few seconds to get it under control just so he can respond. “Sh… Shimura Tenko…”
“Okay, good. It’s nice to meet you, Tenko.” You glance over your shoulder briefly, if only to make sure nobody has suddenly stolen your grocery bag. Your gaze is returned to him quickly and you already know the answer to the next question you’re about to ask. “Has anybody else stopped to help you? Another person like me, or a hero?”
Of course not, though. If someone else had stopped to help him, he wouldn’t still be here in such a state.
You want so badly to pull him into your arms immediately… but you think he’s going to need a moment before he’s comfortable with that, because he can’t control his Quirk and he doesn’t want to hurt you. If you can figure out a way to make him comfortable, you think he’ll melt into the affection.
He shakes his head, seemingly trying to find words to explain. “N… no… I keep asking people… and they tell me h-heroes will help me…” More tears cascade down his face. “B-but people just keep saying that … it never h-happens…”
Oh, God. So people have stopped, just barely… and all they have to tell him is ‘A hero is going to be here to help you soon’ , or take one look at him only to hurry along on their way?
How could anyone ignore this poor child? He needs help. You can’t blame the heroes entirely, because you know Pros have a lot to do to keep people safe; villains don’t fight themselves, and you’re sure that most heroes are overworked.
But not one other person? Not one single soul tried to get this kid some help, because they were so sure a hero would do it, because he isn’t their business or something?
Your heart is breaking. You don’t know how someone could walk right past him, look at him and ignore a little boy in distress.
You move a little closer to him. “I’m so sorry, Tenko. Somebody else should have helped you, but I’m going to help you now, okay?”
He lets out a small hiccup from the force of crying so much, and sniffles, rubbing his face against the sleeve of his dirty T-shirt. “O-okay…”
Now for the big question. You’re dreading the answer, probably because you know it’s not going to be a particularly pleasant answer.
“Where are your parents, honey?” you ask softly. “Are they close by, or are you all by yourself?”
He looks inconsolable by this point. He starts to cry again, squeezing his eyes shut as if he thinks that will stop the tears from coming. It sounds like it’s all he can do to get the words out. “Th… they’re dead… my Quirk…” His tiny body shakes as he wails, “I-it was an accident… I didn’t mean to…”
If the revelation of his Quirk being one that’s focused in his hands and that can hurt people was a surprise, the implications of what he’s saying now knock you flat.
An accident. His Quirk. “They’re dead.”
Your own hand flies to your mouth in horror as you connect the dots.
This kid’s Quirk manifested, he doesn’t know how to properly control it, and he’s apparently killed his family by accident.
No wonder he doesn’t want to touch you.
Your heart breaks again, into a million pieces, for this boy. It was an accident, but you’re sure he feels the crushing guilt of their deaths weighing on his mind. It would be hard enough for an adult… a child having to deal with that is mortifying to you.
You stay there for what feels like a long time; in reality it’s probably only about a minute, knelt down, staring at Tenko sobbing as he presumably relives whatever happened. Your mind races, and you can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You want to cry along with him, because it sounds like his soul is trying to leave his body through his cries. No child should have to bear the pain of something like this. It’s not his fault.
You have to help him.
Finally, you move even closer, and reach out to him again. He tries to move back, so you’re quick to reassure him. “Shh, shh, no, come here, Tenko. Come here. Keep your hands balled up like that. If you can be really careful and keep them like that, I’m going to pick you up, okay?” For good measure, you add, “It’s okay. I’m not scared.”
His hands still tremble, even as he holds them tight in little fists. It looks like physical comfort is something he wants more than anything right now, so he’s fighting against himself to do everything he can so he can get that comfort. “Y-you’re not scared of me…?”
“Nope. You’re doing really good. Keep your hands just like that, okay?” With that, you slide your grocery bag onto your arm, then scoop Tenko up. He shakes in your arms, most likely terrified of himself, and he’s so light. It’s like picking up a bag of cat food at the supermarket. When was the last time this boy ate something?
The blood on him is dried, so the smell isn’t bad enough to overwhelm you. It’s… still pretty bad, though. You’ll have to decide in what order to do things ― bathe him first, then feed him? Or give him a quick snack and then a bath? … You think a bath has to come first, logically. He’s covered in blood and grime.
You’re still in a stupor of disbelief that nobody has helped him. As evidenced by the fact that you’re trying to help him, you can’t imagine walking right by him without doing something, even if you weren’t sure what to do. You think there’s a place in hell for people who look at a traumatized child begging for help in the street, and going on about their way. That’s heartless.
You hold him against you, stunned by the way he’s nestled against you in no time at all. His breathing is jumpy, his whole body quivering, and he’s still crying. You can’t blame him one bit. It feels like he was made to be cradled against your chest, carved from stone to fit into this moment.
“Good job, Tenko,” you murmur, shifting him around in your arms. Your hand rubs gently against his back. For a split second you worry that he might move his hands the wrong way and…
… No, you trust him. He’s keeping his hands right where you told him to, as if that’s his only purpose. You just… hold him for a moment, because you think he desperately needs to be held. Not only has he lost his family, you’re certain it’s torture to want to be held and not trust himself.
You hold this poor little boy in an alley, with a plastic supermarket bag hanging off your arm, while he cries into your shoulder.
The rest of the world has abandoned him. You’re not a hero, but you’ll be his.
At last you take a deep breath and step back onto the sidewalk. It looks like it’s fixing to rain, so hopefully most people are going to scatter pretty fast. “Okay,” you say, “I’m going to take you home with me, Tenko. We’ll get you a bath, and something to eat, and… and we’ll figure everything else out after that. You promise you can keep your hands just like that till we get back to my house? It’s about a ten-minute walk.”
“Y… yeah… yeah, I can.” He sniffles, pressing himself as close against you as he can possibly get. Poor thing. How many times and into how many pieces is your heart going to break for this kid? “You’re… you’re really gonna t-take me home? What if… what if I wreck stuff in your house…?”
Huh. So, his Quirk doesn’t just work on people, it works on objects too. That means it isn’t just something that causes pain… it’s something more complex than that. “You’re being really careful right now, so as long as you keep being careful, it’ll be okay. And accidents happen, so if you do accidentally wreck something, it’s not your fault. I won’t be mad, I promise. Let’s head back, okay?”
He nods, and keeps his head resting on your shoulder. Even though he doesn’t weigh much at all, that little bit is basically dead weight. Just holding him, you can feel how tired he is.
Bath. Food. Nap.
Though… you might have to figure out how to make sure his Quirk won’t destroy anything while he sleeps. After all, he won’t be able to control where his hands go while he’s asleep. You don’t even know yet exactly what his Quirk does. You’ll have to get some answers before he falls asleep.
You start to walk, trying to keep a brisk pace without going so fast that you startle Tenko. He is so fragile right now, physically and emotionally, you don’t want to do anything that will stress him out. Your mind goes even faster than your feet, unfortunately.
After a moment of walking, you feel Tenko bury his face in your shoulder even more, and he whimpers uncomfortably. “(N-Name)… why are people looking at me…?”
You’ve gotten so distracted by your own thoughts that you haven’t paid attention to what the passersby around you are doing. Tenko has, though. When you glance up as you continue to walk, it becomes clear why.
The looks that people are aiming at you… they’re hurtful, especially to a child who’s been trying to get help for the past God knows how long. Some of the people passing you just look surprised and bewildered, probably because you’re walking along as if it’s completely normal to be carrying a little boy who’s caked in dried blood and filth. Some of them look downright disgusted, and that’s the part which makes you angry.
Some of these people look at the child in your arms as if he’s some kind of monster. You think it’s perhaps because of a combination of the blood as well as his odd appearance, because in addition to the blood and dirt, he has these strange wrinkles around his eyes, a couple of fresh-looking scars, and his lips are so chapped and cracked that the skin is peeling.
That makes you angrier than anything. Here’s this precious child, already in unimaginable emotional anguish, starving in the streets, in physical pain, pleading for help, with nowhere to turn ― and people have the total, unmitigated gall to look at him like you’re carrying a demon instead of a kid?
“I don’t know, but don’t pay any attention to them.” Do you have an idea of what’s going through people’s heads as they stare at Tenko? Maybe. Does it make sense to you? Absolutely not. So, you’re telling the truth when you say you don’t know. You hold him a little bit tighter, carefully pressing his face against your shoulder. All you can do is shield him from the worst of it. “Let’s play a game, sweetheart. Close your eyes, and if you can keep them closed till we get home, you win.”
You think you can feel his tiny eyelashes flutter closed against your shoulder. “W-what do I win?”
You hum, continuing to weave your way through the endless sea of people’s judgmental looks. “You win… hm… ah, okay. You’ll win a lollipop.” You’ll have to make sure he eats some actual food first, of course. However, if there was ever a kid who deserved a damn piece of candy, it’s this one.
“… Okay.” His voice is so small. This little boy is so weak and drained, you’re surprised he doesn’t fall into a dead sleep while you walk. “My eyes are closed, (Name).”
“Good. I’ll tell you when we’re home so we know if you win.”
At this point, you’ll give him the lollipop either way. You just want him to keep his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to see people looking at him. If he can’t keep his eyes closed that long, you’ll find some other game to play so he wins the lollipop.
The very next person who looks at you funny, you glare right back at them. Who are any of these people to cast any kind of judgment on either you or Tenko, when nobody but you helped him?
There’s something wrong with the world, you think, when not a single person until you stopped to help a child in need. You don’t know how to fix it other than to care for him.
Your head is still spinning as you walk, holding Tenko close to you. He seems to be very content to cling to you and want to be held; you’re pretty sure he’s just scared of his power, and you don’t blame him.
You don’t really know what you’re going to do now, but you do know that you have a little kid who’s depending on you. This is something you never thought you would be doing… who thinks they’re ever going to pluck a dangerously superpowered kid off the street and bring him home? You should probably tell the police or something. Who knows how long he’s been out here?
For the moment, you have to get this little boy a bath and a warm meal and maybe another couple of hugs.
As you continue to walk, you try to keep your thoughts from overwhelming you. Tenko needs some stability and reassurance, so you don’t want to fall apart.
After a moment, he speaks up in the tiniest voice you think you’ve ever heard. “(Name)?”
You take a turn to head down the long street that leads to yours. “Yeah?”
“Um…” He sniffles a bit, and you can feel his little face nuzzling against your shoulder in a search for security. “Th… thank you… for helping me. I-I was really scared no one would.”
… Damn. Or maybe you will fall apart. This poor child.
You give him a squeeze; it’s a miracle you don’t start crying too. “You’re welcome, Tenko. You don’t have to be scared anymore, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.”
He sobs again, pressing into you as close as he can possibly get, and this time you do start to tear up.
Whatever else happens, come hell or high water, you are going to protect this little boy.