Chapter Text
Where am I?
He registered the surroundings, eyes dilated, mouth dry. Fatigue was evident in every limb. Dragging him down, like a bird's foot caught in a trap, unable to fly away. His arms were burning with pain. Didn't feel great.
He was sprawled in a patch of dark green grass. Like a faded camo jacket, bleeding into watercolor washes painted in a sea of soft pine needles. His eyes were barley open, like a water bottle that just won't open. His head was throbbing. It felt that someone was standing above him, repeatedly hitting his head with a hammer. Godammit.
With an enormous effort, the small boy managed to heave himself upward. It was like lifing a tree. Not like he ever tried to lift a tree, but it must be similar. He rubbed his head with an aching limb, wanting to scrub the pounding away. Ouch.
“Wwhhu.” He tried.
That was not what he meant to say.
“Whuaat.” Closer. Good enough.
Speaking was too hard. Why did anyone do it? Wouldn't it be much easier to do nothing? Maybe he should just lay down and take a nap.
no. no. no. no.
That kind of thinking wasn't productive in any way, shape or form. He can't just lay in random patch of grass, surrounded by forest and the sweet smell of rain. He had to..
He had to..
He had to…
He had to….
He.. ?
What did he need to do? There was something. Like a word stuck on the tip of the tongue, he couldn't remember. What was it?
The something felt extremely urgent.
A wave of frustration went over him, making whoever he was want to scream and scream until he fell over with exhaustion.
Whoever he was.
Whoever he was.
Whoever he was.
Whoever. .
“Who am I?!” He yelped
He clutched his head, both hands pulling on his scalp in an iron grip, needing control over something instead of endlessly wandering around his dust filled, useless, empty, brain.
Trying harder than ever, searching for his name inside his head he found..
Absolutely nothing.
Yay.
Next question. (Since he couldn't figure out the latter.)
Where was he?
The answer: A random sunlight forest.
That wasn't helpful.
Where in the where was he?
It would help to know what country he was from. He glanced at his skin. His skin was a light shade of peach, as a slightly caramelized rice cake.
So he was either white or asian.
Waittaminute. What language am I thinking in?
Finally. An easy question.
“Japanese!!” He screamed with delight.
Giggling, he jumped up and down. Ultimately met with an answer to a question, he felt euphoric.
Not having stood up before, he wobbled on one leg. The boy felt faint.
“Uuuuggmh.” He said, as the rush of blood caught up to him.
His legs refused to obey him, wobbling every which way. Like a puppet that escaped its master, free but unable to think for itself.
So he must he asian. Japanese to be more specific. So he was inside Japan. It would make things rather easy, knowing the language and culture. Maybe even finding his family!
..Right?
You're in Ulster County, New York.
He stared at the screen, confused and feeling slightly betrayed. He stood blank-faced on the side of the road, bright yellow lines offending him. The glowing rectangle looked back at him rudely.
He had walked in one direction for maybe 30 to 50 minutes before finding a random road and sitting on the shoulder until someone saw him. Cars whizzed by him, but it was fairly quickly until a car stopped and a person stepped out.
He must've looked all sad and pathetic for someone to help him that quickly. Or maybe Americans are just nosy.
The guy who stepped out was wearing a baseball cap and skinny jeans. He probably thought a little boy speaking a foreign language was weird so he hustled the boy into his truck and pulled out a phone from his blazer.
Using Google Translate, the two people figured out how to communicate.
The man's name was “Christopher. But just call me Chris.”
Chris typed that he was tremendously confused on why there was a short Japanese boy on the side of the road. Mutual feeling Chris.
“How old are you?”
Shrug
“Where's your family?”
Shrug
“Who are you?”
Shrug
A sigh, followed by more typing as the man looked at his phone.
“What's your quirk?”
Quirk?…. What's a..
Quirk!
He knew what a quirk was! How could he ever forget?
He must have a quirk! Basically everyone did, except old people and those born unlucky.
Born unlucky. A strange deja vu sensation accompanied those two words.
Born unlucky…. Huh.
Outstretching his left hand, the lost boy willed something to happen. His quirk, possibly. Honestly he didn't expect much.
Surprisingly, something did happen.
His hand was coated in ice.
Like still clear water in a lake revealing what was underneath. Clear, mirroring rock candy, growing bigger, jagged edges, pretty, but dangerous. Like black ice, invisible to those driving, invisible to the person who was supposed to love him.
Chris said something in English. It sounded approving, like a teacher telling a kid their scribble of a drawing, looked really good.
Chris typed on his phone, showing the screen to the small boy.
“Why do you look burned?”