Promise [Number 5 X Reader]

- Really Was -

18 Years Ago

You sat in the back of the car, domino mask donned, twiddling your thumbs as you looked out the window, reading the signs that affectionate fans waved enthusiastically as the car rolled by. You smiled as you saw the few signs that had your hero name emblazoned on them.

As the car slowly came to a halt, you climbed out of the back with the others - excluding Vanya, of course - walking behind Ben.

"Excuse me!" called out a voice from behind you. You saw a boy dressed in cosplay - a pretty good cosplay, actually - had latched onto Allison's arm. A big green suitcase sat behind him on the pavement. "I'm your biggest fan!"

"Get away, you can't be here," Luther scolded, roughly grabbing him by his hand-made blazer.

"Behind the barricade with you!" the old man hollered when he saw the spectacle. Luther and Allison joined you and the boys on the stairs, watching quietly as the scene unfolded.

"But I . . ." The kid swallowed. "I was born on the same day as the Academy Kids. I think I might be like them, I have to be!" You picked upon the desperation in his voice as he pleaded with the stubborn ass that acted as your guardian. "I don't really know what my power is . . . yet! I thought with your help, I could maybe find them!"

Hargreeves bent down. "You don't have any powers," he deadpanned. "And you never will. Now leave."

You felt your heart clench as a crestfallen look formed on the boy's face. "Wait, please . . . You have to let me stay. Please don't make me go back!" That was when it clicked in your brain. The pleading, the healing bruise you could see on the side of his head, the way he carried himself: a broken little boy with no hope . . . except for the old man in front of him - the same one that was turning him away.

You watched the scene with wide, observant eyes. That poor kid . . . "A small bit of advice my boy," the old man said, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Not everyone can have power. Chasing something unattainable, is a recipe for a lifetime of disappointment and resentment." His hand gripped the collar of the kid's blazer. "So get off my property." He pushed the kid, who collided with the side of the car and collapsed onto his knees as the crowd began to laugh.

You stalked forward, ignoring the hand Luther had placed on your shoulder as a warning. The small boy in front of you, his quivering lip, the hurt brown eyes and messy hair of the same color . . . if he had been a girl you would've nearly mistaken him for Vanya.

"Number Eight, back with the others," your guardian hissed over the laughter.

Barely registering the order, you walked up to the boy, smiling gently at him as you held out your hand. The crowd went quiet. Slowly, the kid reached out for your hand, tenderly grabbing it. Hoisting him to his feet, you shook his hand. "What's your name?" you asked.

"I'm Harold, Harold Jenkins," he managed to spit out after a few seconds of gawking at you.

Your face twitched as you fought to keep the polite smile, "I'm - "

"You're Number Eight, The Geode." the kid said quietly. He looked down at your hand, still holding his. "Why are you - "

He stopped talking when you pulled his hand forward, leaning so your mouth was beside his ear. "Because no kid should have to go through what you do," you said softly.