The snow melts as it meets the ground. My old gray boots squish on the pavement at a leisurely pace and my eyes sweep over the busy street, deserted of people but crowded with speeding cars trying to get home before the cold sets in. The foreboding clouds cast a shadow over the houses and shops. The cold begins to settle and I quicken my steps. I'm almost there, just a few more blocks. The brave birds that decided to stay grow quiet, and a tint of blue shades the area. The snow is beginning to stick. They catch on my eyelashes and I have to blink to sweep them away. I snuggle deeper into my hoodie and tuck my hands into my pockets. My clouded breath hits my face and I pop some peppermint gum into my mouth. By now, a steady fall of white continuously covers the ground and I can tell it won't be stopping anytime soon. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the house and I jog up the solid wooden steps to the ornate turquoise door I have grown so accustomed to.

I reach up to ring the bell, hoping someone is home, only for it to swing open in a rapid swoop. The smiling face of my Uncle Nick greets me with so much enthusiasm, it's contagious. I subconsciously match his smile and take off my boots before stepping through the doorway.

"Janus! How're ya doin' kid?" He gives me a hug and ruffles my hair.

The heat is stifling and I suddenly wish I had worn something lighter. I realize the heat is coming from the kitchen, along with the smell of sugar cookies and brownies. I make my way to the kitchen. "I'm fine," I lie. It seems like I've been doing a lot of that lately, I barely give it a second thought. "I'm in the 11th grade, you know?" I smooth out my hair and stand a little straighter.

He just laughs, "Yeah, well you're still a kid to me." Rolling my eyes I open my mouth to retort when I hear a loud BANG of metal hitting metal from the kitchen. Our smiles fall from our faces and we go rigid when we hear the shuffling of feet along with a draft of cold that wasn't there a moment ago. Going along the wall with stealth befitting of a ninja, Uncle Nick makes his way to the kitchen door. He puts his index finger to his mouth in a shushing motion. He glances at the door, then back to me, and holds out his hand in 'do-not-move' gesture. I nod, having no intention of following his orders. I'm not a child, I can handle myself. Uncle Nick is 24, not that much older than I am. It's been a while since someone was bold enough to break into the mansion, the security system must be offline. I'm going to have to ask him about that later.

We're finally at the kitchen entrance and Uncle Nick is poised to attack the intruder. He rushes in with a battle cry and comes face to face with… nothing, or rather no one. The kitchen is deserted and, at a first glance, completely inconspicuous. His wallet is on the counter and Uncle Nick checks to see if his belongings are in order. I study his face for some kind of sign. It changes from stressed to relieved, to confused.

"Everything's in check." He mumbles. He walks to the window and closes it with a click. He looks around some more for any indication of missing belongings. He sighs and turns to me. "Everything's in check." He repeats with confusion.

"Hmm," I say. Something feels off though. Regardless of what I see, I can feel it in my gut that something is amiss. I close my eyes and think, think, think. My eyes snap open in realization and I ask tensely, "Where are the brownies?" He quickly walks over to the oven and opens it to reveal two empty pans littered with brownie and cookie crumbs. Uncle Nick mutters a few curses and closes the oven.

"OUCH!"

Turning our heads, our eyes move to the cabinet under the sink to where the scream came from. The immediate gasp that came next pushes us into action. We run to the cabinet and swing it open to reveal big green eyes of a boy looking up at us in alarm with ruffled orange hair atop his head and in his face. He couldn't be more than nine years old. None of us move and I start to get fidgety. My ADHD must be acting up. I start to notice little things, like the strange scar on his neck and the way Uncle Nick suddenly went still and the soda stain on the sink. When was the last time I took my pills? It was when I got Sherlock when he was only a pup for Christmas. Two years? Yeah, that sounds about right.

My attention is brought back to the current situation when I feel my uncle tense beside me, which automatically puts me on edge. The freckled face that was so startled before has a mask of determination and awareness. He's going to run.

"Now hold on, kid." Uncle Nick says. He holds out his hands in surrender and the kid flinches, his mask falls and he cowers against the wall. Nick quickly puts his hands down and the mask is up again. The kid kicks outward and Uncle Nick steps back in surprise. Once the little thief sees his chance, he lunges towards the window, but when he finds it closed he looks shocked and trapped.

He picks up the closest thing he could find and points it at us threateningly. "Don't come any closer!" He blinks and licks the leftover crumbs off his mouth. He sighs deeply, savoring the taste before his eyebrows scrunch together and his grip on his weapon tightens. Uncle Nick huffs out a breath and starts to move towards him. By now, the kid's full attention is on the possible enemy. "Get away!" He screams and in a swift snatch, his weapon is gone. The kid looks like he's lost all hope.

"A can opener?" Uncle Nick asks. He takes a few steps towards the boy and I stand beside him to close the gap. The kid suddenly bunches into a ball and covers his head. He's terrified, shaking so fast he's almost a blur. Uncle Nick looks lost like he doesn't know what to do next. He looks to me for help and nods towards the cowering, and now sobbing boy. His eyes bore into mine with a silent plea. 'Say something, anything! Please, I'm not good with this kinda thing.'

I take a breath and nod my head. I crouch to the boy's level and reach out my hand, only to retract it when he flinches. "Hey, listen. We're not going to hurt you." He scrambles further into the corner and cries harder, burying his face in his knees and covering his orange hair even tighter. Okay, new plan. "Were you hungry? Is that why you stole the food?" He sniffs and lifts his head hesitantly to look at my face. He bites his bottom lip and returns his head to his knees. I wait for his response and his grumbling stomach gives me one. "Where are your parents?" His head buries deeper into his knees. I do a once over on the boy and notice the dirt on his clothes and the fact that he has no coat and the cuts on his bare feet. "Do you have a home?" My voice drops to a whisper, so he knows this part of the conversation is only between him and I. I'm guessing he doesn't trust Uncle Nick, if his reaction and posture are any indication. The crying is dulled and only a few sniffs escape him. He lifts his head and looks at me in the eye, unblinking in challenge. I nod my head slightly in assurance, then I say, louder this time, "Are you still hungry?"

Uncle Nick sees his opportunity. "Hungry? Is that what this is about?" His posture relaxes and he belts out a deep belly laugh. The kid jumps from the sudden break in tension and relaxes in the slightest bit. "You may have broken into the best house in the neighborhood if you're lookin' for food!" My uncle is the chef. No, not a chef, but the chef. He started out when he was 16 in his hometown of Fawcett City, under the tutelage of his father, my grandfather, and became well known in the community as the best of the best. Word got out and his clients became more and more well known. Eventually cooking for Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor (not the nicest guy, if Uncle Nick had anything to say about it. In his words, "He was a complete ass. But that would be an insult to asses everywhere"), and catered for some Justice League events. Eventually, he wanted to establish a bigger base of operations for his ever growing business and settled down in Central City, claiming that he chose the place because, "It was in the middle of the country, it's easier to get around if ya know what I mean." Plus he and the Flash got together for "taste-testing parties," which I just knew to mean as eating every leftover cake, pastry and cookie they could find in the workshop's inventory. He always said that the Flash was the only man who could ever out eat him.

The kid doesn't even look remotely surprised by this news, and stands up slowly, stretching out his back. He's calmed down considerably, and although he looks like his guard is lowered, his eyes say otherwise as they flicker across the room and take everything in. I drop my voice. "Relax, we won't call the cops on you for being hungry." He turns slightly to me and searches my face for any sign of deception before relaxing for real and giving me a small smile.

Uncle Nick walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a massive amount leftover cake a customer brought to his shop from the aftereffects of a charity event. The kid goes rigid and his mouth drops open in wonder. Uncle Nick takes it the wrong way and his smile falls. "You don't like cake? Are you allergic to it or something?" He jokes and shifts nervously from foot to foot.

The kid shakes his head and mumbles "It's been a while…" Nick looks at him carefully. "How long is a while?" But the boy just shrugs and walks towards the cake.

His hands are twitching and he licks his lips. Finally, it looks like he can't wait any longer and he starts devouring it in one fell swoop, taking big chunks of it with his bare hand and standing over it as if it would disappear if he wasn't guarding it. Uncle Nick wants to tell the boy to slow down, but the desperate and awed look in the kid's eyes stops him, so he just watches worriedly. I go to the refrigerator to get some water for the boy to drink the cake down with. I can still hear him inhaling the dessert like it's a contest or something. Doesn't the kid need to breath? He should really slow down.

Just when I'm about to speak up, the kid suddenly stops. He looks at the remainder of the cake. What used to be a cake the size of half the table is not about the size of the boy's hand. He looks around until his eyes land on the paper towel. He takes some and carefully wraps it around the cake, stuffing the dessert in his pocket before looking up to see us staring at him. He looks defensive, almost sheepish. "What?" He asks.

Uncle Nick snaps out of it. "You just ate a whole cake in less than a minute." He sounds like he's in awe, and I don't blame him. The kid eats almost as fast as the Flash.

"I have a fast metabolism," His answer sounds automatic and practiced. Uncle Nick nods and goes to the cabinet to take out a container.

"Here, this should make it easier to carry your cake in." The boy hesitantly takes it, gets the cake out of his pocket, and transfers it to the container. Then he turns around and heads for the door. We watch him go and for the first time, I notice the limp in his walk, the howling wind shaking the house, and how dark it is outside. Most of all I notice that the boy has noticed this too. He braces against the cold by pulling the sleeves of his shirt to cover his hands and hiding his mouth and nose in his shirt like a turtle. Before he reaches for the door handle, he pauses and turns to us with a slight smile that reaches his eyes. "Thanks. For the food."

Uncle Nick frowns slightly. "Kid, it's brutal out there. At least wait until the storm passes." And the orange head looks so hopeful at that moment it breaks my heart. Uncle Nick and I could tell that he wants to stay in the warmth of the house, but something holds him back and the hope runs away from his eyes.

"I can't." He turns the door handle and lets in the cold. "Thanks," he repeats, only quieter, more cautious and reserved before he steps out into the winter storm and disappears into the white. We rush to the door to search for the little orange-haired, cautious thief and find only his retreating footprints in the snow.

"For a kid with a limp, he sure does leave fast." Uncle Nick says, surprising me. Sometimes I underestimate his observation skills.

"Hmm," is all I can come up with. We stand there for a few moments before Uncle Nick states that he has to make a few business calls about Mr. Wayne's birthday party for his son, Richard if I recall, and hurries away without looking back.

I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes, reviewing what has just occurred. The situation plays out like a movie in my head, and I start to realize some things about the kid I didn't contemplate before. Like how he constantly looked at the clock, or how he rapidly tapped his hands during the few moments he spoke or, now that I think about it, how we never learned his name. Of all the questions I asked, I didn't ask the most basic one of all, even though I doubt he would've told me. The more I think about it the stranger the boy became and the greater the mystery... But most of all, the most puzzling part wasn't everything that was unknown about the boy, but how familiar he seemed, like I've seen his face somewhere before, but I just can't place where.