A Lost Creation

Lost and Found

You weren't even aware that he was hanging behind you as you struggled to climb up into the trash bin outside of the bar. This alleyway always stank of cigarettes, metal and spilled alcohol anyway, so you didn't really pay much attention to the smell of smoke as it wafted towards you.

"What are you doing?" A raspy voice asks, with a hint of amusement.

The voice takes you by surprise, your foot slipping on the metal container as you jolt, threatening to send you flying backwards onto the floor. Luckily your grip is strong enough to keep yourself hanging onto the edge of the dustbin.
You turn your head to look at the person who'd suddenly spoken up. You can't catch it before it leaves you but a small gasp of surprise passes your lips as you take in the strangers appearance.

He was tall, but relatively slender from the looks of it. That was okay, that was less intimidating than your moms boyfriends, who were always tall and big, whether that be muscular or a little on the larger side.
What was intimidating however was the large scarred patches that seemed to cover his face. From his bottom lip downwards was a purple, gnarled mess of scarring. He had patches of the scarring under his eyes, too. His hood was up, but you could see patches of white hair covering areas of his face. His eyes were piercing blue, almost glowing despite the dim lighting in the alleyway.
He was scary, but not in the big burling man way that every other man you'd experienced was.
The end of his cigarette burns blue as he takes a breath from it, looking over you expectantly for an answer.
You gulp a little, your knuckles whitening as you tighten your grip on the metal.

"I'm hungry." You reply simply.

You both stare at each other in silence for a couple of moments. You try to hold your ground. You'd already been chased off a couple other 'territories' by other people living on the streets, and it had been a few days since you'd managed to find something substantial to eat. Cafés around town were getting sick of taking pity on you and giving you scraps to eat, now simply calling for a hero whenever you came near, so you avoided them now.
His eyes eventually move away from your own, seeming to assess you fully with his eyes as he takes another drag from his cigarette.

"How old are you, kid?" He asks, flicking ash onto the floor as he looks at you lazily.

Your mouth clamps shut. Was that safe information to give him? He was a stranger, and you were only young. You didn't want to have to flee from heroes or risk getting tricked into being taken into care.
You appraise him with your eyes now.
He definitely wasn't wearing any kind of hero costume, which was a relief. But that wouldn't stop him from calling for one and you knew it. The more you paid attention to his clothing, the more you took in the fact his clothes were pretty beaten up too. His sleeves were in tatters, and his trousers looked as though they were too small for him, his scarred ankles exposed to the cool night air.
Maybe he was homeless too?

"I'm ten." You reply honestly, your voice carrying some of your caution towards him through.

He hums a little in response, looking over you once more.
You remain still, clinging onto the outside of the metal bin still, refusing to jump onto the floor in case he was a potential danger.

"Where are your parents?"

That question never got any easier whenever you heard it. The response always seemed to catch in your throat whenever you needed to answer it, your instant reaction to remembering why you were alone always resulted in tears, as much as you hated it.
You didn't want to let the stranger see you cry, so you turn your face away with what you hope is a quiet sniffle as you try to hold the tears back, and continue trying to haul yourself up into the trash to find something decent to eat.
You hear footsteps approaching you in the puddles on the floor, and this elicits a bit more of a panicked scramble, your fingers desperately trying to claw at the wet metal for some kind of way to progress higher.