Chapter Text
Boothill let out a sigh as he used a rag to wipe the thick, black grease from his hands. The rag was practically ready to be thrown away after an exceptionally busy and productive day at the garage, but he couldn't have cared less.
All he wanted right now was to close up the shop, go home to his little girl, take a well-deserved shower, then collapse into bed and not move until the following morning, when he'd have to wake up early to take Clementine to school.
If Boothill was being completely honest, he felt especially guilty about leaving the little girl alone for most of the day because of his job.
Well... not completely alone.
Every day, he thanked his lucky stars that their neighbor, Rappa, was kind enough to offer to babysit full-time, even though he couldn't afford to pay her nearly as much as she truly deserved.
That girl was an absolute godsend.
Without her, Boothill would have been forced to hire a professional babysitter, and he seriously doubted he could afford one right now.
On top of that, Clementine adored Rappa.
The two had bonded over their shared creativity. Rappa was the only person who could keep up with Clem whenever it came to inventing stories. They both possessed incredibly vivid imaginations. Sometimes Boothill was convinced they spoke an entirely different language, because he could never follow their conversations.
Still, seeing that huge smile on his little girl's face was enough for him to know everything was alright.
He was glad she had at least one friend, even if there was quite an age gap between them.
The move had been hard on Clementine.
A new city. A new neighborhood. A new school. New classmates...
Boothill could tell she was struggling to adjust.
Fortunately, it wasn't because of bullying or exclusion. Her classmates hadn't been cruel to her.
It was simply that Clementine was a special child.
She was incredibly sensitive. She saw and felt things that other people simply didn't understand.
That made her unique, but it also made it difficult for her to make new friends.
Perhaps that was why, he thought, her vivid imagination had created an imaginary friend to play with whenever Rappa wasn't around.
She called him Genti.
She said he was a knight who lived inside the walls of their apartment.
At first, that had genuinely unsettled Boothill, since he was fairly certain he'd seen more than one horror movie begin with that exact premise.
But the moment he saw how happy Clem looked while telling him about all the adventures she and Genti had shared, he immediately relaxed.
He felt foolish for ever thinking otherwise.
This wasn't a movie.
This was the real world.
Things like that didn't happen.
The garage door closed behind him as he stepped into the crisp spring night air.
It was the middle of March, but the weather had already begun to warm, winter slowly giving way to pleasant, mild temperatures.
Maybe this weekend they could take advantage of the nice weather and spend the day at the park.
Maybe even have a picnic.
Boothill was sure Clementine would love that.
Whistling an improvised tune, he climbed into his truck, started the engine, and drove toward the apartment complex that had become their home over the past few months.
The drive wasn't long, which was incredibly convenient.
If any emergency ever happened, he could be home in no time.
That had already proven useful once, when Clem had tried to grab something from a kitchen shelf, fallen, and hit her head.
Boothill still remembered the terror that had flooded his body when Rappa called him in a panic to tell him what had happened.
That day he was fairly certain he'd broken every traffic law in existence during his frantic drive home and then to the hospital.
The memory of bright red blood pouring from Clementine's tiny head and the sound of her frightened sobs would stay with him forever.
Thankfully, she'd escaped with only a few stitches.
Even so, the incident had permanently traumatized Boothill.
From that day on, he had strictly forbidden Clementine from entering the kitchen unless someone was supervising her.
He had asked her why she'd done it.
Why she hadn't simply asked Rappa for help when she had been in the next room.
What she'd been trying to reach.
She had never answered.
When he finally arrived, Boothill parked outside the apartment complex before getting out and heading toward the entrance.
The building wasn't very large.
It was a three-story complex with four apartments on each floor, making a total of twelve apartments.
Over the past few months, Boothill had gotten to know all of his neighbors to varying degrees.
Fortunately, they all seemed kind and understanding about his situation as a single father raising a young daughter.
Well...Almost all of them.
The memory of his first encounter with Mrs. Rosmary from the apartment downstairs was still painfully fresh.
As were all the inappropriate questions she'd asked about how little he and Clementine resembled one another, and her insistence that a little girl needed a mother if she was ever going to grow into a proper woman.
Boothill could still feel anger boiling inside him whenever he remembered the uncomfortable expression on Clem's little face.
He honestly had no idea what had stopped him from yelling at that old hag to mind her own damn business.
It was true that Clementine wasn't his biological daughter.
But that didn't mean a damn thing.
He was her father.
And if genetics had anything to say about it...Well, genetics could go to hell.
When Boothill reached the door to their apartment, he wasted no time pulling out his keys and unlocking it.
The moment he stepped inside, he let out a relieved sigh, happy to finally be home.
"Rappa! Clem! I'm home!"
he called out as he kicked off his boots and slipped into the slippers he usually wore around the apartment.
"Welcome back, Lord Silvergun Shura," Rappa announced as she walked over to greet him.
"I have faithfully guarded your dojo and watched over the little ninja apprentice, just as always," she declared proudly.
"Thanks, Rappa."
Boothill didn't even react to the girl's unusual choice of words anymore.
He'd grown used to the bizarre way she spoke long ago.
He had no idea where her obsession with ninjas had come from, but it didn't change the fact that she was a genuinely wonderful person and an amazing babysitter.
Besides, Boothill would be lying if he said he hadn't grown fond of her eccentric personality.
"Where's Clem?" he asked, glancing around the small living room visible from the entrance but seeing no sign of the little girl.
"The little apprentice returned to her room a few minutes ago to play with her invisible friend," Rappa explained.
The mechanic nodded.
"Has she already eaten? Did she finish tomorrow's homework?"
"Yes, Lord Silvergun Shura. I made sure she completed all of her training as a young ninja apprentice."
"Good... good."
He sighed again, rubbing a tired hand over his face.
Even without looking at her, he could feel Rappa's worried gaze resting on him.
"Lord Silvergun Shura... you look very tired. Are you sure you're getting enough rest? A dojo suffers when its master doesn't take proper care of himself."
A small smile tugged at Boothill's lips, genuinely touched by her concern.
Rappa truly was a sweet girl.
"Don't worry, Rappa. I'm fine. Work's just been especially busy lately, but that also means business is good. There'll be time to rest later."
The girl didn't look remotely convinced by his reassurance, but she wisely chose not to press the matter.
Boothill paid her what he owed her for the day, an amount that felt painfully small considering everything she did for their little family.
After wishing each other good night, Rappa headed out through the front door.
Once it clicked shut behind her, Boothill let out another long sigh before making his way into the living room and dropping heavily onto the couch.
He was exhausted.
His entire body felt heavy.
He should go say hello to Clem.
He should ask how she was, how school had gone...
But he couldn't bring himself to stand.
Maybe...Maybe he could just close his eyes for a few minutes.
Just a few.
Just long enough to rest them.
Eventually, he gave in.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they finally closed, and he surrendered to the gentle promise of sleep.
Boothill had no idea how long he'd been asleep.
Seconds?
Minutes?
Hours?
He didn't know.
What he did know was that he was awakened by a voice he knew all too well, trembling with panic.
"Daddy! Daddy, please wake up!"
Clementine pleaded as she shook his body with her tiny hands.
Boothill jolted awake and looked at his daughter through sleepy, confused eyes.
"W-What? What's wrong?"
"Daddy, help! Genti... Genti's hurt! He's hurt really badly! Please, you have to help him!"
Boothill blinked, thoroughly confused by her words, before glancing at the clock hanging on the living room wall. Eleven o'clock at night.
Seeing the time, he let out a tired groan.
"Sweetheart, it's late. I can't play with you right now. You should already be in bed. Why are you still—"
He never finished the sentence.
"No! Please! Genti's hurt! I'm scared, Daddy! I don't know what to do!" The little girl's eyes were glossy with tears that threatened to spill over at any second.
Seeing the genuine panic in those big green eyes, Boothill immediately grew concerned as well.
He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, sitting up straighter as he began taking the situation more seriously.
"Okay. Tell me what happened."
Clementine let out a small, tearful whimper before speaking.
"In my room... Genti got really hurt. He's bleeding a lot. I tried to help him, but I don't know what to do."
Boothill had never seen Clem this terrified before. He knew she was an extremely sensitive child, but this went far beyond her usual crying fits.
She looked genuinely frightened.
His gaze shifted toward the wide-open bedroom door before returning to her.
"Okay. Calm down. Daddy's going to take a look, alright? You stay here."
Clementine nodded, letting out a shaky hiccup.
Boothill kissed her gently on the forehead before standing and heading toward her bedroom.
Once inside, he saw nothing unusual aside from the familiar mess that permanently ruled Clem's room, no matter how many times he asked her to clean it.
He was just about to head back to the living room to comfort her and explain that nothing was wrong when he suddenly heard something coming from beneath the bed.
It was faint.
Almost inaudible.
At first it could have been mistaken for the squeak of a mouse.
Yet at the same time, it unmistakably sounded like a groan of pain.
An animal?
Was that Genti?
Had Clem somehow smuggled a pet into her room without him noticing?
No.
That was impossible.
Any animal would have left traces, and Clementine had never been good at lying.
He definitely would have noticed.
Well...There was only one way to find out.
Boothill knelt on the floor before lowering himself onto his hands and knees to peer beneath the bed.
At first he saw nothing.
It was simply too dark.
Then, as his eyes adjusted, he spotted it.
A small figure shifting among the shadows.
...But something about it was strange.
He couldn't tell what kind of animal it was.
The mechanic reached a hand beneath the bed, trying to grab whatever was hiding there, only to yank it back immediately with a hiss of pain when something sharp sliced across one of his fingers, leaving behind a small cut.
"You little piece of..."
he muttered under his breath, examining the scratch without finishing the sentence for fear that Clem might overhear him from the living room.
The mechanic slowly slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, taking care not to make any sudden movements that might frighten the creature. He switched on the flashlight and aimed the beam beneath the bed, hoping to finally get a good look at the little troublemaker responsible for all this chaos at this hour of the night, when all he wanted was to be asleep in his own bed.
The moment the light illuminated the cramped space beneath the bed, however, Boothill wasn't met by the black eyes of a mouse or any other animal.
Instead, he found himself staring into a pair of brilliant emerald-green eyes that looked perfectly human—if not for the fact that they were tiny.
Tiny, just like the rest of the figure hiding beneath his daughter's bed.
A man.
A man no taller than four inches, with long, thick crimson curls and eyes as green as polished emeralds, staring back at Boothill as though he were a horrifying monster about to kill him.
The mechanic froze, his mouth hanging open.
He didn't know what to say.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
This...This was Genti?
Oh, Clementine was going to have a lot of explaining to do.
Then the tiny man let out another weak groan of pain, and Boothill finally noticed it.
He was completely covered in blood.
Even from where he was, Boothill could make out a deep gash slashed across the miniature man's chest—the obvious source of all that blood.
He cursed quietly under his breath.
If he didn't do something immediately, the little guy was going to bleed to death.
Without thinking twice, Boothill's free hand shot forward.
Perhaps a little too quickly.
The tiny man flinched violently and raised what looked like a toothpick with the tip of a sewing needle fastened to it, forming a makeshift spear.
Probably the same weapon he'd used to cut Boothill's finger moments earlier.
"Hey, hey, easy there, Rosey. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to help."
Boothill spoke as gently as he could, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.
It clearly wasn't working.
The little man didn't lower his weapon by even an inch.
The mechanic sighed in frustration. "At this rate you're gonna bleed out if you don't let me help." The only response he received was another wary glare and an even tighter grip on the tiny spear.
At that point, Boothill had had enough.
He didn't have time for this.
He carefully set his phone on the floor and, with one swift movement, cupped both hands around the tiny man, trapping him between his palms the way someone might catch a firefly.
The sensation of a miniature body struggling frantically against his hands was one of the strangest things Boothill had ever experienced.
He sat back on his heels and looked down at his hands, held together like a protective cage.
The tiny man fought like a wild animal.
Tiny kicks and punches repeatedly struck Boothill's palms.
At one point, he even felt miniature fingers desperately trying to squeeze between the gaps of his own, searching for any possible escape.
He had to admit it.
The little guy had guts.
"Hey, knock it off. You're only going to make your injuries worse."
His warning only seemed to fuel the tiny man's determination.
The frantic kicks and punches became even more forceful.
Boothill let out an exasperated grunt. Trying to stop the struggle, he gently tightened his grip, pressing the little man more firmly against one palm with the other hand to keep him from moving. "I told you to stop. You're only making things worse."
This finally seemed to calm the tiny stranger.
The desperate struggling gradually weakened...Until it stopped completely.
Boothill waited another few seconds before cautiously lifting one hand away, revealing the tiny body lying motionless in his palm.
The little man lay curled on his side, his legs drawn toward his chest. One tiny arm was wrapped protectively around the deep wound across his blood-soaked chest.
He was unconscious.
Whether from exhaustion, blood loss, or a combination of both, Boothill couldn't tell.
What he did know was that he couldn't let this little guy die. Partly because it was the right thing to do. Partly because his curiosity simply wouldn't allow it.
The guy was a ten-centimeter-tall human being, for crying out loud.
Of course he was curious.
"Daddy..."
His thoughts were interrupted by a timid little voice, still trembling from tears.
Boothill turned toward the doorway and saw Clementine peeking into the room, her tiny body half hidden behind the wooden doorframe.
"How's Genti?"
Boothill let out a slow breath and carefully stood up, making sure not to jostle the fragile passenger resting in his hand.
He walked over to his daughter.
"He's not doing very well," he murmured, gently patting her on the head with his free hand. "But we can help him."
Clementine visibly relaxed at those words.
"But once we've helped him..."
Boothill looked down at her with an expression that was both serious and affectionate.
"...you're going to have a lot of explaining to do, young lady."