It’s two in the morning, Cellbit is sulking his way back home from yet another attempt at the Federation’s air vent system, and it’s snowing. Christmas is in a week and a half; Richarlyson’s present, a pack of those fancy art markers that cost twice what Cellbit makes in an hour, is in Cellbit’s backpack nestled between a packet of stolen documents and a handgun. He’s tired, he wants to go home, and-
“Stop.”
It’s quiet, a hoarse whisper from a nearby dark shady alley. But Cellbit stops because it’s a kid.
Dying, he hears. Cucurucho, dyingdyingdyingdying-
Cautiously, he looks around. Empty streets, snow piling up in inches. Fucking cold, ice flying in the air. It’s gonna be a nasty storm, so he should really be getting home. But-
But it smells like blood.
So Cellbit hikes his bag up on his shoulder and steps out of the storm and into the alley, and he almost steps on a tiny dying hero.
“Oh,” he softly says, his body losing all its tension as he takes the kid’s broken appearance in. “Hello.”
The kid glares up at him. He’s… small. Just a bit bigger than Richarlyson, maybe. Standard Junior Hero uniform, mask over his eyes and nose, and a lot of blood.
“Stop staring,” the kid huffs. His teeth are chattering, and his lips are blue from the cold. “Just call the Feds for me.”
“Oh, sure,” Cellbit lies. He shuffles to the kid’s side to try and block out the worst of the wind, and then he crouches just a little, just enough to try and see what the damage is. But the kid scowls and curls in on himself, wincing as he moves.
Ribs, then. Cellbit recognizes that flinch, he’s seen it on enough of his victims.
Wounds are fresh, fresh enough for the kid to still be alive, anyway. Torso wounds suck. Easy to give, harder to make lethal.
Cellbit sighs and pulls out his phone. “Which one are you?”
He doesn’t have the Federation’s app downloaded (because fuck that), so he texts Forever instead; he’s the mayor, he’s gotta have some kind of Federation of Heroes Hotline going on. He’s probably awake. If not, well. Maybe the police can actually do something useful for once.
The kid’s chest puffs out despite the pain, and he says, “I’m Thorn, duh.”
He’s a child, that’s what he is. And he’s a fucking terrified one- Cellbit doesn’t need to use his ability to feel the fear coming off of him in waves. Because he’s a little boy who probably hasn’t seen his parents in years and he’s all alone in a storm dying and the villain who did this to him is still out there waiting.
Forever texts back: ‘🤬🤬🤬’
So he’s told the Feds, who probably have an evac team on the way. Because this is the leader of the most recent Junior Hero graduating class, and it’d be bad PR to let him die alone in a ditch somewhere in the city.
But, well… he’s a kid.
So Cellbit slides his phone back into his pocket and presses the back of his hand against Thorn’s cheek. Thorn hisses- fucking hisses- and tries to scoot away, but he can’t get too far with whatever injuries he’s got.
“Calma,” Cellbit says, letting his ability do its work, “I’m just checking for a fever. My son gets them all the time, I know exactly what I’m looking for.”
And, yeah, Thorn’s feverish. More importantly, though, he’s calm. His heartbeat evens out, and so does his breathing.
Thorn stares up at Cellbit in shock. “You’re a dad? No way!”
What the fuck?
“Of course I’m a dad!” Cellbit protests. “Look at me!”
He drops his hand from Thorn’s face and gestures towards his t-shirt, hand-painted by Richarlyson and reading, “World’s Okayest Dad”.
Thorn is not impressed. “You look homeless.”
And technically Cellbit is, but he isn’t just going to say that! Not to someone who’s technically his enemy.
So he huffs and crosses his arms and plays at being dramatic. (He’s got plenty of experience after dealing with Forever for so long.)
“Whatever,” he sulks. “You’re the one in a stinky alley. At least I have a shower.”
The kid’s lips twitch into a very hesitant little smile. Mission accomplished.
“Yeah, but you don’t use it,” he counters.
It’s a shame Richarlyson hates the Federation almost as much as he hates showers, because he and Thorn would probably get along pretty well. (Maybe Forever can set up a play date…)
Cellbit makes a show of smelling his jacket- clean, freshly washed. He makes a face, anyway, and Thorn giggles, and it’s kinda hard to hate the enemy when they’re made up of literal children.
“I never said I do my laundry,” Cellbit sniffs. “Do I look like I have that kind of money?”
“No!”
“Hey!”
The kid laughs, head thrown back. And then he grimaces and doubles over, eyes briefly squeezing shut.
Cellbit takes another look around the alley. Nobody’s there but the two of them, which makes sense. What kind of villain would stick around after supposedly killing the Federation’s Junior Hero poster child?
With a sigh, he settles down into the snow next to Thorn with his back against the chilly wall.
“You called them, right?” Thorn asks.
“I did better than that. I texted the mayor.”
Thorn snorts. “The mayor doesn’t have any friends, pendejo. He’s too busy being the mayor.”
Ouch.
“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”
“Tell him that I’m gonna beat him up, too.”
“What?” Cellbit gasps exaggeratedly. “Why would you want to do that? He’s the mayor.”
“He’s stupid. He wants to put the Junior Hero Program into schools so all the babies can join it.”
Thorn frowns. He’s not scared, Cellbit made sure of that, but he’s worried. A bit different, and unfortunately out of Cellbit’s wheelhouse.
“My son wants to join,” he says.
Thorn shakes his head. “Well, get him out of it. It’s not worth it, man. Too much homework.”
“I thought you were gonna tell me it’s too dangerous.”
“Nah, it’s pretty chill.” (Now that’s a lie.) “I spend most of my time doing paperwork.”
Cellbit frowns sympathetically. “Yuck.”
Thorn sticks his tongue out. “Yuck.”
And it keeps snowing. The colder it gets, the closer Thorn gets until he’s pressed up against Cellbit’s arm shivering. Hesitantly, slowly, Cellbit puts that arm around Thorn’s shoulders and lets him try and huddle for warmth as best he can.
“You’re a weirdo,” Thorn mutters.
“I’ve met weirder.”
“Nuh-uh.”
Cellbit rolls his eyes. Yeah, he and Richarlyson would be very good friends.
It’s quiet, and then:
“Can you make me scared again?”
Cellbit’s heart stops. “What?”
Thorn turns his head to give him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid. I won’t tell anybody, but it’d be weird if they show up and I’m super chill, you know?”
“But-”
“I’m a hero, man. Nothing scares me.”
He’s also a child.
Cellbit gives him back his fear, anyway, this time with a simple worried head-pat. Thorn grumbles and leans away from the touch, but he got what he wanted.
Cucurucho, Cellbit hears, and, for once, he agrees.
Tires from down the road. That’ll be the Feds.
“You’re a brave kid,” he says. He squeezes Thorn’s shoulder with an assuring smile. “Stay safe, okay?”
He stands, and he helps Thorn up as well.
“Whatever,” Thorn grunts. He swallows the pain and stands up straight and tall as the Federation’s van pulls in front of the alley and slows to a halt.
Cellbit watches Thorn get helped into the van, and he watches the van drive away, and he stands there in that alleyway until he’s cold enough to become a Cellbicicle.
Then, and only then, he looks down at the single red rose poking out of the snow where the kid had been sitting.
(Rumor has it Thorn only grows roses in honor of his parents, reportedly both deceased. Cellbit doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but he leaves the rose be, anyway.)
