Chapter Text
Spirit hissed as Stein swabbed at the deep scratches along his arm with a disinfectant-soaked cotton ball before covering the sterilized wound with a bright yellow bandage and moving on to the bite mark, angry red and bleeding from some punctures, on his hand. Several other colorful Band-Aids were covering his arms and face from where the boy had got him, as well as a few patches of burns, mostly first-degree with a couple of minor second-degrees, all tended to and protected under layers of aloe and gauze. The fire affected his suit jacket more than any pound of flesh.
“That kid is savage,” Spirit complained, letting out a low whine at the sting of the disinfectant against another open cut. “I thought that after you patched him up again, he’d calm down and trust us. He will end up tearing his stitching again at this rate!”
Stein hummed as he picked up another bandage and placed it across the back of Spirit’s hand. “He’s extremely defensive,” he agreed, his expression not changing as he disinfected another cut and got another whimper and whine from Spirit. “The clear language struggle, the body language and stance, his behavior in general…I suspect he might have been isolated from any contact with another person for much of his life.”
“What? Do you think he’s like Tarzan? Raised by wolves?”
“Apes raised Tarzan. Mowgli is the one who wolves raised,” Stein corrected. Finishing the last of the cut, Stein moved the first-aid kit aside. He would return it to the infirmary later. “But yes, it is possible he’s from a similar background. However, the possibility animals truly raised him is unlikely. I hypothesize he came from a highly isolated background. Limited social encounters, enough to grasp spoken language and not much else.”
It had been three days since the boy woke up, and they had made no progress in learning anything from him. Whenever anyone came by, he’d attempt to attack, usually with claws and teeth rather than with magic, which was good for them. But how he would constantly display behavior more akin to an animal than a person certainly made one think. This wasn't like a child pretending to be a wolf because it was fun or a phase; this was how he really was.
It was rather interesting, and Stein, if he were honest, would have greatly enjoyed a chance to study this child and his behavioral traits. But getting past that defense mechanism and getting him to talk was more important than his own personal curiosity—for now, at least.
Running a hand through his hair, Spirit leaned back so his head could tap against the hall's wall, “Well… that explains why he’d rather growl than talk. He likely doesn't know many words to convey what he wants to say,” he muttered. “So, we must approach him like he’s a scared, wounded animal if we want him to cooperate. That’s not going to be easy. It’d be helpful if we had something to give him that might calm him down… you think we could get food from the cafeteria and bribe him?”
“Not a bad idea. He should be getting hungry by now. But I’d recommend soft foods.”
“Then how about you go fetch some grub,” Spirit suggested with a grin as he remained seated on the floor. “You’re the doctor; you know better than me what foods would be best for him right now. Whatever I grab, you'll probably say he can't have and send me back to get something else.”
Stein stared at him, hand slowly cranking the screw in his head. Click, click, click. A few seconds went by between them before he stood up with a hum. “All right, I’ll go. In the meantime, stay with him and keep him from jumping out of any windows again,” he said as he walked away. A few steps in, he paused to turn and look back at Spirit. “And try not to get bit again.”
With a nod, Spirit pushed himself back to his feet. “Relax. I’ve figured out his patterns; he won’t be able to sink his teeth into me again," the Death Scythe said with a confident grin as he pointed at himself with his thumb.
The professor only hummed.
He was completely unsurprised when he returned only a few minutes later to find Spirit nursing several new bite marks along his arm and angry scratches across his face.
The boy was on his bed; the gown was gone, torn off, and left in shreds on the ground, leaving him just in a pair of Superman-themed underwear. Stein would need to get him a new gown after they finished, but once his injuries healed, he could move the kid onto normal clothes again. He was crouched low on his hands and feet, back arched. Stein didn’t see any sign of blood leaking through the fabrics and was satisfied that his attacks hadn’t caused any new tears.
When the boy saw Stein, his attention turned away from Spirit and onto him. Lips curling back, the boy growled, acting more like a feral dog than a human, a scared, aggressive, feral dog. He had even managed to arrange the blankets and pillow of the bed into some nest shape. When Stein took another step towards the boy on the bed, the boy dropped lower, another warning growl as bandaged fingertips dug into the mattress.
“Careful, Stein,” Spirit warned, “He’s in a mood.”
“He’s a child,” Stein responded with a deadpan tone. A child who was hungry and scared. Stein didn’t blame him for lashing out and acting on instinct. It was probably the only response he knew to this sort of situation. So, he kept walking.
With a hiss, the boy raised one hand, and flames engulfed it; the fire wrapped around his limb with such detail that he could see how the flames were molded to look like a larger hand, poised to swipe, claw, and burn. Now that Stein was curious about. Elemental magic was rather rare, and witches with that primal magic grew to be dangerous. The destructive pull was stronger with them than the average witch. Logically, that meant the boy was a danger and threat to the school.
Or rather, he would be.
But where was the fun if they didn’t take a few risks now and then? He’d never been able to study primal magic, and the boy could hold valuable information.
Before the child could attack, hitting them and at some of the very flammable medicines in the room with fire, Stein held up the takeout box he’d gotten from the cafeteria. “Before you start attacking us again, wouldn’t you like to have something to eat at least?” he asked.
The boy made a low chirping noise, his expression relaxing into confusion as the flame flickered out in his hand with a sizzle and stream of smoke. Stein took another step and opened the lid to the box, letting the boy see a helping of mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, and a cup of beef broth. Soft foods and liquids would be good for the boy’s stomach and easier to digest.
He could see the boy's nose twitching, and he watched as he took a step closer to Stein. His hands were hanging on the edge of the bed as he leaned out as far as he could, sniffing the air and staring at the box.
Then, his entire stance shifted and changed. The boy stepped back and lowered himself; his bare stomach brushed the thin blanket on the bed. His eyes never left Stein, specifically the food, but his gaze had changed. Sharpened. This wasn’t just hungry curiosity. This was a predator waiting to pounce.
Stein could tell who the prey was.
It was important when handling wild animals to not show them fear. That was an easy bit, and Stein couldn’t find it in him to be afraid of the child at all. At most, he felt a reasonable bit of caution. Though he might not be scared of the boy, he wasn’t foolish enough to think he wasn’t dangerous. They were in a room full of flammable substances and a volatile fire starter. The wrong move could set the room ablaze.
Even so, Stein remained calm as he reached for and brought a wheeled table over to the side of the bed and gently placed the Styrofoam container of food atop it. “All for you. You haven’t had anything to eat since you arrived. I can only imagine how hungry you must be.” As soon as he said that and placed the food down, Stein took three slow steps back, putting distance between himself and the food.
Once Stein was far enough away, the boy drew close to the food, sniffing the air and then staring up at Stein—silent expectation. It was as if he were expecting Stein to lurch forward and snatch it, probably, and yet he hovered over it, ready to bite any hand that got too close to take it from him.
It was getting tiresome, but Stein wouldn’t blame the boy for being mistrustful. “Relax, kid. It’s not poisoned,” Stein said as he pulled up a chair and sat down. “If we wanted to hurt you, we wouldn’t have put so much effort into stitching you up and saving your life.”
Another pause lingered between them as the child stared at him, but it lasted only a few moments longer. Perhaps he was finally starting to understand that they weren’t his enemies, or maybe he was just hungry, but the boy turned all his attention to the food and began eating with gusto.
It was a… disgustingly messy process that got food all over the blankets on the bed. The boy ignored the use of any utensils and ate with his hands, scooping up mashed potatoes and carrots with his fingers, sucking the digits clean, and going in for more. Whenever Stein shifted, or Spirit got up and approached, coming to stand closer to him and Stein, the boy would hunch over the food and growl.
Food guarding behavior, Stein noted.
“It’s fine, keep going,” and the boy did. He was eating even faster. More food missed his mouth and landed on his bare skin and the bedding. It gave Stein time to look him over, at least.
He had done so briefly during the surgery, but at the time, his focus was more on keeping the boy alive and stopping the internal bleeding than it had been to look him over. Now that there was no immediate danger, the doctor allowed himself the time to take in the boys’ appearance.
What stood out the most was that he was covered in scars. More scars than Stein had usually seen on veteran agents. He had known the boy had scars; he could tell as much during surgery as he could see them on his face and his hands, but it hit differently, seeing just how many there were. Long, jagged strikes against his flesh as if something had cut through him, and smaller, stagnant ones that resembled puncture wounds. Some were fresh, and some were very old. There were even old burn scars scattered across his flesh.
He theorized that maybe, being as young as he was, the boy hadn’t developed a full immunity to his flames. The boy was likely very fire-resistant but not completely immune. Still, with how young the boy was, witch or not, Stein would have been lying if he said he wasn’t concerned.
He was also incredibly thin; there was muscle, of course. Stein could see wiry muscles in his fame, but he was far too thin for a boy his age, and he had been incredibly light when he had been carried. Suggested that he didn’t eat as much as he should, or perhaps he couldn’t eat as much as he should have been.
The boy was too small physically to accurately guess his age, and because he refused to communicate in anything but growls and posturing, his mental age was hard to guess. Still, Stein would have placed him somewhere in the seven-to-nine range.
He opened the lid to the soup and drank it all in seconds, and Stein was sure the boy would have licked the Styrofoam box clean if he hadn’t interrupted by clearing his throat. The last thing he needed was for the boy to eat the box.
“I do have some questions for you,” Stein said, watching as his posture tensed up again. He heard that low growl rise from the back of his throat as he hunkered down, ready to spring and fight or run. Stein kept his face completely impassive as he reached into the pocket of his lab coat. "But, before any of that…”
He pulled out the grey stuffed rabbit toy.
The blood and dirt had been cleaned, glass shards removed, and fresh stuffing provided, courtesy of Spirit, and Stein had done all the stitching. He held the toy out to the boy, saying, “I think this belongs to you.”
As soon as the toy was out in the open, Stein saw the fury and distrust disappear in his gaze, replaced by disbelief and hope. Golden eyes widened, watered, and his body relaxed. Slowly, he opened and closed his mouth a few times as though he was trying to speak, though no words were coming out, at least not at first.
“Bon-Bon?”
The words came out soft and quiet, a thick rasp.
Stein raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so he does speak,” he mused, tossing the toy to the boy.
The kid caught it immediately and cradled the rabbit in his arms as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and perhaps to him, the toy was. Having the toy made him relax almost immediately, after all.
“Bon-Bon?” Spirit whispered and cooed. “That is pretty adorable.”
Stein ignored him. “We don’t want to hurt you,” he pressed, still seated and leaning forward, folding his hands together as he stared at the young witch. “We want to help you. You’re very hurt, and your home was destroyed. We want to find whoever you were with, the witch who was living with you, but to do that, we need your help. We need you to answer some questions for us. Can you do that for us?”
The boy hugged the rabbit plush tighter and said nothing, only staring at the toy intently. A few seconds passed, and then he gave a wary nod.
Good, Stein thought. “Okay, let’s start with something easy. Could you tell us your name?” he asked. They couldn’t keep calling him ‘the boy,’ and ‘kid’ was out of the question to avoid causing confusion. It’d be good to have a name to go with the face.
The boy just hesitated again, which was fine. Now that he had his toy back, the aggression was gone, so Stein could make do with hesitation. The boy licked his lips and swallowed, his eyes glancing between Bon-Bon and Stein. “Mah…Maleko,” he stammered with clear difficulty.
Maleko, Stein mused to himself. Fitting, considering where they had found him. “All right, Maleko. Can you tell us about yourself?”
Hank liked to believe he was a good person. He was not perfect by any means. He had his vices and his weaknesses, but he always tried to do what was right.
When he learned of a possible witch living on the outskirts of his town, he decided to investigate personally before calling in the DWMA. If the woman wasn't a witch, he didn't want to waste the Academy's time or possibly make some gal's life harder. So he did what any good sheriff would do: He stopped by her house, introduced himself, and tried to get a grasp of the situation.
That had been a mistake. He should have called the DWMA as soon as suspicions of a witch first emerged.
Her boyfriend had brought them tea to drink outside in her garden. They spent some time with simple, harmless small talk, and at the time, Hank thought the rumors were just that: rumors. Kai was clearly not a social person, but Ollie made up for it, taking charge of most of the conversations. He thought they were just a nice couple who wanted the privacy and quiet of living out of town. They were far more receptive to his occupation than most people seemed to be nowadays, too, which had warmed him up to them even quicker.
Hank tried his best to be a good person. He made his mistakes and messed up occasionally, but he always did what he did to try and help others. With Kai, it was always to protect others.
By the time he realized the rumors were true—that Kai and Ollie were witches—it was too late. She had him on a leash and muzzle, and she was far too dangerous. If he raised the alarm for the DWMA and drew the attention of meisters and weapons to their city, his city would cease to exist. She’d warned him that if he refused to be her little pet, she’d raise the tides, and all his city would drown.
He couldn’t take that risk.
He couldn’t…
Hank growled as he slumped over in his office, a half-finished bottle of whiskey in his hand, an empty one tipped over on his desk. This couldn’t go on forever; he couldn’t keep doing this forever. He just couldn’t.
The DWMA already had their eyes on the city, and it wasn’t his fault—it wasn’t. Kai’s home was destroyed, and her “son” was missing, and the DWMA had them on their radar. She had told him to behave, told him to keep them off her track while she gathered help from other witches or whatnot. She expected him to keep being her obedient puppy while she was gone. That he'd keep the peace until she got back because he was too much of a coward to go against her.
Hank was tired of being a coward.
He finally did what he should have when he first heard the rumor of a witch in his area.
He contacted the DWMA.
This was the only way he would ever be able to make up for his mistakes, so he took the opportunity and made the call. Once the agents from the organization came, he'd tell them everything he knew. Everything. Where all the factories were, who was involved, and everything he knew about the witches themselves. Maybe, then, this nightmare would finally end.
He just had to wait until morning.
He took another swig of his whiskey; the longer it took for him to sober up, the longer it'd take for him to regret his decision.
As he was reaching to take another sip, he paused and raised his head. There was a sound in his office, beyond the creaking of his chair and the rustle of clothing. A quiet, low...hissing.
Turning in his seat, he was met with a little girl standing in the dark hall at the open doorway. Something inside of him went ice cold. "Hello, little lass," he said, swallowing thickly. "Um... what are you doing here? It's rather late," not to mention this was his home. But he kept that part quiet, tried to keep the fear off his face. "Did you need something?"
The girl smiled, and it was a terrible, cruel smile. "I came to collect you, but I hear you're misbehaving instead." There was a snake draped across her shoulders, its head raised and looking at Hank like he was its next meal.
He only felt worse, the dread going deeper. "To... collect me?"
"You should know that Kai doesn't appreciate disobedience," the girl said, her smile growing. "Trying to help the DWMA? So noble, so pitiful. Such a shame that you won't be around to tell them anything when they arrive."
There was movement behind the girl, and Hank looked up to see she was standing in front of a hulking figure, its left eye glowing with a witch's rune.