Chapter Text
It’s awfully tiresome to walk miles on end, nonetheless on a sprained ankle and several broken ribs. But what else could Thorfinn do other than march forward? Granted he was slow on his feet, multiple times he was close to being left behind by Askeladd's band. He even heard one Dane asking another if it was really fair to let him walk, and if it wasn't just better to kill the boy instead.
Which only earned a snort from the other, ”That boy could take you on despite his injuries”
…
Thorfinn was seated in a haystack, as he always did after Askeladd’s army had raided yet another village. Leaving its houses hollow and abandoned so they could be occupied by the danes greed instead.
He didn’t take part in it, not because of his injuries, rather he didn’t want to.
Just like he didn’t want to be sleeping under the same roof as any of those bastards.
He was content with sleeping in one of the village's barns, often choosing the one more far off than the others which just as often meant they were more run down and unkept. This time he was lucky though. The little barn he had settled into was meant to store hay and fire wood, so the roof was intact and well kept. Unusual for barns this close to the woods.
Sure the insulation of the small structure was pretty solid, but that didn’t mean the autumn breeze didn’t find its way in. And while Thorfinn was tending to his injuries- to his best abilities- he couldn't help but shiver as the fall got its cold grasp of him.
After a while he was at least able to construct a half-assed makeshift orthosis with a pair of sticks and fabric he got from one of the villagers…
Thorfinn made sure that the knot was tied securely, not wanting his work to break when he put pressure on his ankle.
And after making sure it was strong enough for him to at least walk on, he felt his fingers had gone stiff, due to both the cold and the still movements with his fingers when building the thing. He flexed his hands, trying to regulate at least some heat back into them.
Thorfinn let out a sigh, leaning back and letting his back fall into the hay. He could already feel a headache coming at the thought of the amount of hay that would be tangled into his blond hair when he woke up. Which already was matted and far too tangled than what could be called healthy hair care.
But he didn’t care enough to even bother taking care of it, that wasn't right, he didn’t bother taking care of himself at all, he avoided bathing as much as humanly possible.
What was the use of it anyway?
He’d just get dirty shortly afterwards anyway. On some days, when he’d finally take his time to clean himself; he'd be just as dirty and covered in blood as the day before.
His clothes are filthy, bits of fur and fabric had either been torn or burnt off after fights or simply a single hunt, he could care less of his appearance, it didn’t matter anyway. He found taking care of himself only took unnecessary time, time that could be spent on something more important - like training.
Only one thing really mattered anyway…
Thorfinn's hand found its way to his belt, where his daggers sat, by habit he let his fingers curl around one of the twos handles, his fathers.
It was all he had left of him, the only reminder of his home. The only reminder of faint memories of his mother and sister. Whose faces had become fussy and smeared.
But despite that, he could still remember his fathers face, strangely enough. He was the only family member he could still clearly remember.
Before long Nótt did her magic and Thorfinn drifted fast asleep.
~~~
Aizawa was doing a routine patrol around a small part of Musutafu, and that's when he spotted him.
A blond boy in fetal position, laying unconscious in an alleyway.
His clothes were old and worn, filthy. He was noticeably beaten up, his face bruised. Though, some of the bruises marking his face had begun to fade not so long ago. But his attention had quickly drifted to his leg- he couldn’t tell if it was broken or simply sprained.
Aizawa didn’t know if that was the boy’s only injuries, and the lack of consciousness only made the creeping worry worse.
Shota couldn’t help but curse under his breath as he quickly pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance.
…
To say Aizawa wasn't worried would be a blatant lie, who wouldn’t be worried when an unconscious boy was found injured, laying in an alleyway.
Not only did he have an ankle injury but also a dislocated shoulder that had gone untreated, worst of all multiple broken ribs.
The boy hadn’t awoken yet, and the silence left by the lack of answers made it all more difficult to know what had happened.
But that wasn't all, far from it.
Because the patient laying on the hospital bed Aziwa was seated next to, didn’t exist.
There was nothing about him, in Japan nor in any other country in the world.
The DNA test didn’t help
Neither did the genealogy research.
There weren't even any public records that he existed.
It was like he was just… placed there in that alleyway, 3 days ago.
What more, he’d been covered in dried blood. Some of it had been his own- but the nurses that had been cleaning him had found mats of blood and bits of skin tissue in his hair. Which was discovered wasn't from him. His clothes hadn't been spared from whatever blood bath he’d been in either.
That knowledge only fulfilled Aizawa's confusion and worries more.
Who was this boy? What has he been through- or done..?
And the daggers the boy carried only backed up his suspicion about the child's activities and what he could possibly be involved with.
Or…
He could be a native of some sort?
Aziwa glanced down at the pictures he had been given by Naomasa Tsukauchi.-
“What am I looking at?” Aizawa gestured towards the pictures laying on the table in front of him.
The hospital room’s door was slightly ajar, letting in the sounds of shoes squeak against the sterilized white floor,- Of rolling hospital beds being hurried down the halls. It had been a minor villain attack 20 minutes ago when a nutjobb had fired his quirk in a drug store, simply because he was denied a pack of cigs. And it just so happened that the bastard had a gun quirk.
“How cliche” Aziwa had muttered, he darted his gaze away when he got the sight of a little girl. Bandages wrapped around her bare- bleeding chest as nurses and doctors hurried her hospital bed down the hall.
Tsukauchi had also seen the girl but he didn’t say anything, his brows only knitted together, before his tired gaze went back to Aziwa and the pictures.
“The boy's belongings. Clothes and weapons.” Tsukauchi answered. Aziwa had noticed them of course, he was far from blind.
But he just didn’t think of it at the time. What had been more important then, was to secure the child's safety.
“We have reason to believe he's from a tribe from somewhere in the north. But those theories are far too slim to weigh out the other suspicion.”
Aziwa raised his eyebrow, the clothes the blond had been dressed in did seem traditional. But so worn one could believe he had just picked them out from the trash.
“What else do you believe it to be then?”
“Some sort of villain organization"
Azaiwa was about to object, but held his tongue. His fingers traced over the picture which content was of one of the daggers, most of it had been cleaned off thoroughly. But those stains were unmaskable. Blood.
-It could be from whoever had hurt the young blond, he had been found with multiple broken ribs.
Aziwa's mind went to Eri. She had been through so much, and they might have a similar case on their hands again.
“Where the hell am I?”