Chasing You

Chase Eight: Finding Kid

Death the Kid. He was a male with three stripes in his hair and a fashion sense unlike any other. Dabi looked down at his own coat. Stitches were a bit much, weren't they? He couldn't judge on that part. In any case, Shota had texted him their only lead. The police department had traced the phone number back to a location. Police were already there.

Dabi sauntered right on in. He ignored the standard procedure. Fuck the rules. He wanted to know this kid was safe. He wanted to find out what his real name was. He wanted to make sure he got the help he needed. There was already another Mr. Hand Stealer body out there somewhere. He couldn't dawdle with this shit.

The building was abandoned. Abandoned but each half looked exactly the same as the other half. There were cracks in all the same places. Perfect symmetry. Dabi was the only one brave enough to walk through it. The police waited outside. They still believed Death the Kid was some crazy terrorist. That wasn't the case. He was a sexually abused youngster with an unhealthy addiction to symmetry, possibly a case of OCD. Symmetry was his perfection. Perfection was likely something Death the Kid would never feel. Abuse victims, especially sexually abused victims, felt dirty. Dabi knew the feeling well.

"Who are you?" a tiny whisper asked. Dabi turned his head. In the center, the very center, if you measured exactly, of the room was the kid with three stripes.

"I'm here to help you," Dabi said. He took a step into the room. The kid grabbed both sides of his head and shook with terror. Bad choice of words? He'd probably heard them before under different circumstances. What should Dabi say then?

"Go away. I'm hiding. Everyone hates me. I didn't do anything. I didn't. I didn't do anything. You won't believe me. I didn't."

"I believe you." Dabi stopped walking. He'd have to wait for the kid to open up to him. It shouldn't take long.

"You...what?" The two made eye contact. Fear still evident in his movements and in his eyes. He'd been running from the police. He'd gotten so weak he couldn't move anymore. He was trying to slowly starve to death in the perfect position inside the most perfect building he could find. Dabi started walking again. Got close enough that he could kneel in front of Death the Kid but still touch him, should he have to.

"I believe you," he repeated. "I'm here to help you," he repeated that too. Death the Kid squinted. He inched a bit closer to Dabi. He stared at his face. Death the Kid moved his hands. One in sync with the other. Symmetry on both sides. He placed his hands on Dabi's face.

"You're symmetrical," there were tears forming in his eyes. "Can I really trust you? You're symmetrical. I want to. You're symmetrical. Scars on both sides. You've been hurt too, haven't you? You understand. I can trust you, right?"

"Yeah, kid, you can trust me," Dabi placed his hand on the back of Death the Kid's head. He pushed him forward, allowing him to cry into his shoulder. This reminded him of something. Dabi couldn't remember what that something was. Maybe he did remember. Shota had done this for him before he got taken to the orphanage. It was weird being the one that initiated it this time. Full circle.

Dabi picked him up with one arm. He wasn't that heavy. Starving will do that to you. The kid sobbed into his shoulder. He clung to him, refusing to go with anyone else, so Dabi had to take him home.

"Do you think you can find someone that can take him in? Do you know a doctor or anything that can give him counseling? Therapy? I don't know about this kind of shit, Shota," Dabi sighed.

"You'll have to take him for now. He needs someone he can trust. Moving him from place to place will just increase his anxiety."

"I don't know how to look after myself how am I going to help this kid?" Dabi sighed.

"You'll figure it out," Shota shrugged. "We're going to do a sweep of the area. When he is ready for questioning and offers to be a witness, let me know. He didn't commit any actual crimes as far as I'm aware. The media just played it up like that. Go home."

"Are you sure?" Dabi looked at the lump of bones clinging to him. He could still fill out some pieces of paper like this, probably.

"Just go home."

Dabi nodded. No booty call tonight. "I'm too young to be a father and you're too old to need one," he sighed. "This place is going to be a mess, just warning you, don't expect anything. It's not going to be symmetrical in the slightest."

Death the Kid didn't answer. He'd stopped crying a little bit ago but he didn't reply. "Hey, kid, you listening?" Dabi frowned.

"You're warm."

"What?"

"You're warm. Other people aren't as warm as you. Is it your symmetry? You're warm."

"Whatever you say, kid."

"You're warm," he nuzzled his face against Dabi's neck. "So warm. I haven't known warmth until now."

"Surely that can't be the case."

"The world is a cold place. So cold. Forever cold. It's a cold, cruel, terrible place," another tear escaped his eye.

Dabi patted his head. "Not anymore, right? You said I'm warm."

"Yeah," Death the Kid smiled. "Not anymore."