The orphanage doors creaked open, and the familiar smell hit me first—old wood warmed by the sun, Mia's lingering bread scent from breakfast, a faint hint of paint from the kids' art wall where drawings curled at the edges. It should've felt like coming home after a nightmare.
It didn't.
Hank helped me out of the car, his big hand steady on my good shoulder like he was afraid I'd tip over. "Easy, kid. One step at a time."
I nodded, but everything felt off-balance. My missing arm threw my weight wrong, like the world had tilted on its axis. The sling pulled tight at my neck, and phantom itches crawled through nerves that weren't there anymore—sharp, insistent, impossible to scratch.
The kids were waiting in the yard—fewer than I remembered. Luke and Hope were gone. Adopted. Their spots at the table would stay empty now, their drawings taken down or faded. Good for them, I guess. They deserved families who wanted them. The place felt emptier without Luke's goofy rhino horn bumps popping out when he got excited, or Hope's quiet way of watching everything with too many eyes.
They other kids waved from a distance. Smiled careful, like they weren't sure if hugging would hurt me. No one mentioned the arm. No one stared too long at my face—teeth always on display, no lips or skin to hide behind.
they never trully cared did they. . .
I tried to smile back. It probably looked more like a grimace, bare teeth flashing in the sunlight.
Inside, Mia was waiting. She hugged me gentle, wings folding soft around my shoulders, careful of the sling. "Welcome home, sweetheart," she whispered into my hair.
Home...
I pushed the thought down down for now.
Hank clapped my back light—too light, like he was afraid I'd break. "Rest up. We'll get you settled. Dinner's soon."
But he was uneasy too—I could tell. His smiles didn't reach his eyes. He kept glancing at the door, like expecting someone to knock with bad news.
That evening, I tried to adjust.
It sounded simple... It wasn't.
Eating one-handed was clumsy—spoon slipping, food spilling. Tying shoes? Gave up after the third try, just slipped them on loose. Even sitting felt weird—nothing to lean on that side, my body listing like a boat with a hole.
I ended up in the common room, staring at a book I couldn't focus on. The pages blurred.
Lily found me there.
She plopped down beside me without asking, like she always did. "Need a hand?" she asked, grinning wide.
I snorted. "Kinda short on those."
She laughed—real, bright, the kind that cut through the heavy air. "Here. Borrow mine."
She popped her own arm off at the elbow, joint clicking loose like it was nothing. Held it out, wiggling the fingers. "Detachable. Return when done. No late fees."
I stared, then barked a laugh. It hurt my chest a little, but it was real. My teeth flashed in the light—bare, always visible—but for once it didn't feel like a monster's grin.
"You're weird," I said.
"Takes one to know one." She reattached it casual, then scooted closer.
"Seriously though. You'll get used to it. I did. Took time, but… yeah."
We sat like that for a while. She helped me with the book—turning pages slow, reading bits out loud when my eyes got tired. Made dumb voices for the characters. Took her arm off again later, using it like a puppet to make a younger kid across the room giggle.
Got a few more laughs out of me too.
She didn't baby me. Didn't pity. Just… was there.
Like a big sister.
For a bit, it felt normal.
Almost.
The other kids drifted in and out—quiet hellos, quick waves. No one asked about the fight. No one asked about Slade. They just… existed around me, like I still
belonged.
It helped.
A little.
Two days later – night…
Hank stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed tight over his chest like he was holding something in. The overhead light was low, casting long shadows over the table. Mia sat there, papers folded neat in front of her, but her hands shook faintly on the wood.
The air was thick. Tense. Like the quiet before thunder rolls in.
Hank's voice came low, rough. "So… you signed the papers, huh."
Mia didn't look up at first. Her wings were folded so tight they trembled against her back.
"I had to," she whispered, voice barely holding.
Hank stepped closer, boots heavy on the floor. "We said we'd fight it. Together. For him."
Her head snapped up. Eyes red, wet, fierce.
"Fight it?" Her voice cracked, then rose—sharp, raw, breaking open. "With what, Hank? Your fists? Your old hero name? They don't care! They never cared!"
She stood fast, chair scraping back hard.
"They said if we keep him, they'll shut us down. Full audit. Cut every penny. Take the kids—scatter them to state homes worse than any facility. Lily. The little ones. All of them!"
Tears spilled hot down her cheeks.
"I signed to save them! The rest of our babies! Because someone's gotta think about more than one child! Someone has to choose who gets to stay whole!"
Her wings flared wide, knocking a cup off the table. It shattered on the floor, pieces scattering.
Hank didn't move. Just stood there, taking every word like blows.
Mia sobbed, voice raw and ragged. "You think I wanted this? You think I don't love him like he's my own blood? Like I didn't rock him when nightmares woke him? Like I don't see his bare-toothed smile and think 'that's my boy'?"
She wrapped her arms around herself, wings curling in like a shield.
"But I can't lose everyone! I can't watch them all get torn away because we held on too tight to one!"
The storm poured out—sobs shaking her whole body.
Hank waited.
Silent.
Patient.
When it slowed—when her breathing hitched and quieted—he knelt beside her chair, big hand gentle on her back.
"I'm sorry," he said soft, voice thick. "I didn't… I didn't think about you. What this put on your shoulders. The choice they forced."
Mia leaned into him, shaking.
"I understand," he murmured, holding her close. "You did what you had to. For all of them. For the family."
He rocked her slow until the sobs faded to quiet tears.
"We gotta get him ready," Hank said finally, voice steady again. "Tell him tomorrow."
Mia nodded against his chest, wings drooping.
"For the
Later that day
Lily and I were out in the yard again, messing with a half-built sandcastle that kept crumbling. My good hand wasn't steady, and in all honesty I wasn't going to use my quirk for a good minute.
but she helped without making it a thing—patting towers smooth, adding details with her usual precision.
"Look," she said, popping her arm off again and using it to carve a moat. "Extra builder. Multi-tasking pro."
I chuckled, teeth flashing in the fading light. "Show-off."
She grinned back. "Gotta use what I've got. You too."
We worked quiet for a bit. The sun dipped low, painting everything gold and long-shadowed. Other kids played farther off—fewer laughs echoing than before. The yard felt bigger. Emptier.
I watched my stump in the sling. Still felt wrong. Heavy and light at once.
Phantom fingers itched.
I've been acting like a kid, I thought suddenly.
Like I'm really nine.
Crying too easy. Hiding from the hard stuff. Using this body—this age—as an excuse for everything.
But I'm not.
I'm nineteen in my head.
Died once.
Lived a whole life before that truck…
I hurt Slade because because I let anger take over too long. Stood up too late. Let fear win.
There are consequences. To my actions…
Real ones.
Arm gone. Slade broken. Kids scared.
And whatever comes next… I made choices that led here…
I need to own it.
Stop whining like a child.
Start acting like the man I should've been all along.
Man, I'm glad I'm realizing these things but it shoulda been a few days earlier, heck for consequences being a reason why I woke up like this is kinda disappointing.
Lily suddenly nudged me with her shoulder. "Earth to Tod. You zoning again?"
I shook my head. "Just thinking."
"Deep stuff?" She reattached her arm smooth. "Share with your big sis?"
I smiled small… kinda, with teeth on full display, but softer this time. Less wrinkles on my eyes "Later. Promise."
Hank appeared then, shadow stretching long in the fading light.
He looked… solemn. Quieter than his usual quiet.
"Tod," he said soft. "Can you come with me a minute?"
Lily raised a brow, playful. "Ooh, principal's office vibe. What'd you do—steal all the cookies from the jar?"
I huffed a laugh. Hank's mouth twitched faint, but his eyes stayed heavy.
"Yeah," I said, standing. "Coming."
Lily waved her detachable arm one last time.
"Don't go too hard on him, big guy. He's already short one—don't take the other!"
Hank nodded faint, almost smiling.
I followed him inside.
He was quieter than quiet. No small talk. Just heavy steps down the hall.
Something's wrong.
Bad wrong.
We went to Mia's office—the spare room she used for paperwork, with her desk piled high, a flickering lamp, and walls covered in kid drawings.
Mia was there, sitting behind the desk. Wings folded tight. Eyes red like she'd been crying again.
Hank closed the door soft behind us.
"Sit, son," he said, voice low.
I sat.
My stomach twisted hard.
"Tod," Mia started, voice soft. "We need to talk."
My stomach dropped.
I knew that tone.
The kind adults used when the news was bad but they were trying to make it gentle.
"Is it Slade?" I asked. "Did he…?"
Hank shook his head quick. "No. He's stable. Healing slow, but he'll be okay."
Relief flickered—then died. If it wasn't Slade…
Mia squeezed my hand. "The people from the hospital… and the quirk safety office. They've made a decision."
Hank's jaw tightened. He couldn't look at me.
"About me," I said. Not a question.
Mia nodded, eyes shining. "They say your quirk's too high-risk now. After the fight." Her voice cracked. "They want to move you to a different facility. One for kids with…
uncontrolled powers."
The words hung there.
Facility.
Not home.
Not here.
I stared at the table, tracing a scratch in the wood with my thumb.
"For safety," Hank added, rough. "Theirs. Ours. Yours." He spat the last word like it tasted bad.
I swallowed. "If I stay…?"
Mia's grip tightened. "They'll investigate the orphanage. Cut funding. Maybe shut us down." Tears spilled then, quiet down her cheeks. "All the kids… scattered.
Lily, the little ones, everyone.
It spilled out gentle but honest, voices thick with sorrow.
At first, I panicked like a kid. I feel like I still am.
"No—please." My voice cracked high. "I can control it better now! I'll be good—I promise! Don't send me away! This is home!"
It's unfair.
ITS SO… unfair.
They want me gone because I'm broken. Because my face looks wrong—teeth always out like some permanent snarl. Because I hurt someone.
I begged. Pleaded.
Then—my reflection hit again.
Harder this time.
Consequences.
My actions.
The fight. The anger. Standing up too late.
I did this.
I stopped breathing fast. Sat straighter. Wiped my eyes with my good hand.
"Okay," I said quiet. Steady as I could.
Mia's face crumpled fresh. "Tod—honey, no—"
"I get it." My voice didn't shake much. "It's my fault. The fight. The risk. If I go… the kids stay safe. The orphanage stays open."
Hank's eyes shone wet. His big fists clenched on his knees. "It's not your fault, son. It's the damn system. Cold bastards who don't see kids— just problems."
But he looked defeated. Like he'd broken his word to protect me.
I stood slow.
Hugged Mia first—one-armed, tight as I could. She pulled me in, wings wrapping warm and full, like they could shield me from everything.
"I love you," I whispered into her shoulder.
She sobbed soft, holding longer. "I love you too. Always our boy. No matter where."
Hank next—his arms careful but strong, like he could carry the world if it kept me safe.
"You're my dad," I said into his chest.
He held longer, voice rough. "And you're my son. Forever. No paper, no facility changes that."
We stayed like that a long time.
Family.
Even as it broke.
Later that night
I lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling.
The sling pulled heavy. Phantom itches crawled endless.
Keychain in my good hand—the little sandcastle cool against my skin.
Tomorrow, or soon, they'd take me.
It will be a cold place. Locked doors. No Hank's steady presence. No Mia's wings. No Lily's dumb jokes or detachable arm waves.
But I wouldn't cry like a kid anymore.
I'd face it.
Consequences.
Accountability.
Like the man I needed to be.
The room felt empty.
But the keychain was real.
Solid.
A piece of home I could keep.
I held it tight.
And waited for morning.
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Hey guys I'm back, I hope u like it and give me some feedback, I won't ask for power stones but I will ask for just comments, and reviews. Let me know about the passing and if it all flows together. I feel like in the scene with tod being told he gotta go, I think I made it a bit choppy, plz let me know and thank you for reading. 👍