Your name is (y/n) and you love children, and when you say that you mean you absolutely LOVE children.

However this time there was a small but important difference: at this moment you are not with any child. No, at this time you are right in front of a little baby troll.

But it is better that we go back a little in time to see how the hell you ended up in this situation…

...

Your name is (y/n) (l/n) and you are NOT happy. To begin with you have just been awakened from your nap, and anyone who knows you knows that profaning your nap is the closest thing to a deadly sin under your roof, especially on one of the few free days that you have.

Oh, because you forgot to mention it, you are a baby-sitter. It is beautiful profession: you love children, but something that any self-respecting nanny knows is that children ≠ sleep more than 5 hours a day, another reason more to respect the nap rule.

Returning to reality, you have just been awakened from one of the most incredible and great dreams of all time: you were having tea with a Russian on the moon. Well, MAYBE at that time everything was getting a bit violent, after you accidentally spilled some of your tea on your guest's penguin while you two were dancing interpretive dance..., but that does not change that it was YOUR DREAM, and that you had all the right of enjoy it.

Slightly frustrated by your lack of rest you get up, immediately notifying the loud noises that come from the outside of your house. Fuck: if it was not for the neighborhood you were in, you would almost say that someone was being robbed.

Now a little more concerned about the possible cause of the sound you put on a winter jacket over the pajamas you are wearing and go out into the street, immediately being hit by the cold winter wind in your face. You sigh and go where the sound seems to come from, a little more cranky because of the cold weather. Shit, at least it was not snowing.

You sigh again, distinguishing in the distance (on the sidewalk) a small group of children between 3 and 8 years old gathered, shouting and laughing at something you can not see well. Oh god, have you got up for this? You grumble and get ready to approach the children to ask them not to make so much noise when suddenly your eyes focus on something.

Oh God.

A little boy, that's what you see. He is lying on the sidewalk and they are kicking him, his small and weak body trembles while the other children laugh and keep hitting him, one of them has a piece of broken glass in his hand... You see how another of them points to something in his head, and immediately their laughter increases. Your eyes focus on two small yellow dots... they are horns...

How did you not notice it before?! Immediately you feel the fury growing inside you when your eyes recognize the alien gray skin and the yellow eyes. A troll! And not only that, a child...

"HEY, YOU" before you notice the words flow out of your throat, the anger clearly noticeable in your voice. The children turn around, looking scared and surprised by the presence of an adult there. Their eyes get bigger and the older children scream and start running out of there, dragging several of the others with them. You hurry there, but they are faster than you and most of them are too far away when you finally reach the place. You try to chase them a bit but you finally give up when you see they have the advantage, and you go back to where they were before.

The child of the broken glass has left it there, on the dirty (as always) sidewalk, and you stop while you look it for a few seconds, everything seems to freeze in time.

It takes you approximately 15 seconds to be aware of your situation again.

Fuck, this did not have to be this way. It was supposed that today would be a normal day: getting up late, having lunch, overtaking some paperwork, taking your nap, watching television and going to bed to repeat the same thing the next day. Damnit! What are you supposed to do now?!

A silent moan brings you back to reality, and immediately your head bends down to look at the creature, no, THE CHILD that at this moment lies on the dirty and wet sidewalk in front of you.

Wow, you'd be lying if you said he looks fine: he's wet, dirty and hurt, big candy red wounds open under the remains of his dark gray sweater. His body has begun to tremble and then a low sound reaches your ears.

Sniff, sniff.

Oh no, oh god he is crying. Any minimal amount of fury you have had so far disappears at the moment a low, helpless, frightened cry comes out the baby troll's throat.

"Hey, it's okay, everything's going to be fine" you do your best so that the discomfort you are experiencing at this moment does not change your voice as you whisper, crouching next to the alien baby, your hand slowly caressing his back, hoping to help soothe him. He hiccups several times, takes a deep breath, and then...

"WAAAAAHH!"

Okay, that was not what you wanted. That DEFINITELY was not what you wanted.

"Shh, it's all right, shh" you gently place one hand behind the baby's back and the other underneath his bruised knees, gently holding him in your arms "I did not want to scream, I'm so sorry". He hiccups, his little hands cling tightly to your shirt, now stained with candy red tears, and he continues to cry.

"WAAH! WAAH!"

"I know, I know. It's okay, you can cry, you're going to be fine. "

The minutes pass, and slowly the tears decrease until they become soft sobs and moans. His little gray hands are still clinging tightly to your shirt, clinging to you as if you were a raft in the middle of the sea. You can feel his breathing accelerated when his head rests on your shoulder, the cold wind that blows makes him tremble under that small sweater of his.

Oh holy god, WHO THE HELL LEAVES HIS LITTLE BOY ALONE HERE?! It is winter! Snow literally fell yesterday!

You embrace the little alien child, silently thinking about what you could do now. Uh... social services? No... you do not even know what they could do to you if you asked for help for a troll. The police was the same, so…

You turn your head to look at your house. It is small, of gray walls, and still visible from a distance.

And then you make a decision.

The way back home is cold, silent and uncomfortable, the troll in your arms breathes slowly, his yellow eyes are closed while he cling to you, looking for the warmth of your body.

Honestly, you do not think you've been that happy to see the inside your own home in a long time. You sigh with relief and sink on the soft sofa in the living room, the little troll refuses to let you go as his little nails dig into your chest.

Ignoring the small punctures of pain you carefully help him to disengage. He groans and opens one of his yellow eyes to look at you lazily.

Wow. He does not even consider that you can be dangerous, he simply crawls until he is on your legs again and accommodates once more to be able to lean on you.

You swallow: this is NOT GOOD. This child... he has to have a family, right? Someone who cares about him, you can not just keep him with you...

Hiiiisss

You lower your head at the sudden hiss, the weak and small body of the troll shudders when you accidentally brush a small open and bleeding wound... A pitiful moan comes out of his mouth and immediately you feel like an idiot for not having thought about the state of the little troll first of all.

Well, calm down (y/n): you have everything under control.

With the greatest possible care you begin to lift his sweater, your mouth opens at the collection of reddish cuts and bruises that accumulate in the body of the little alien child, above the light gray skin marked by old scars. His mouth also opens, but only to give a moan of disgust and pain when his sweater rub against the wounds when it is lifted.

"Shh, it's okay, I need to treat your wounds, can you hold on a bit more please?"

You're not sure if he really understands you, but he does not complain when you leave him holding the sweater (which is apparently the only garment he has on, above his hip) while you go for your first aid kit.

Cleansing his wounds is probably the worst part; the alcohol burns and hurts, and it takes most of your willpower not to stop to embrace him when little red tears prick his eyes again. The bandages are a little easier, although your concern about tighten them excessively, causes you to remove them and readjust them twice before feeling completely satisfied with the result. You have never had to take care of such a hurt child; of course you have had accidents, and you know how to deal with wounds and medical materials, but never with something so serious. And that includes at the time that one of your children came up with the wonderful idea of jumping from the top of the slide while you were not looking (luckily, everything had ended in a sprained ankle and a few bruises).

You move away to observe the result; the white and clean bandages, now wrapped around most of the troll's chest, torso and legs, seem to stand out in some weird way in the dirty gray skin of the alien child. He, on the other hand, seems quite happy with the result, observing almost hypnotized the white bandages and caressing them carefully. Despite your fear that he can untie them you leave him: he had already gone through enough.

You sigh and you think about your next goal; his multiple wounds and cuts do not stop you from seeing how skinny he is, and how much his small ribs protrude, and you do not intend to stay with your arms crossed about it.

"Well, little guy, it seems you're a little hungry, right?" You say gently, immediately drawing the child's attention, who looks at you with more curiosity than at the bandages.

"I HUNGRY?" His finger is inside his mouth, his alien sharp white teeth gnaw gently unconsciously as his small head piece things together "I HAVE FOOD?"

"Yes, you can have food" You nod slowly and carefully help him get back into his sweater, before carrying him to your kitchen. Carefully you leave him on the small dining table, while internally you discuss about what you should feed him with; You were not an expert in trolls but he looks like... two years old? Year and a half old? You guess that means he can eat solid foods, but he looks so damn skinny…

You look inside the fridge, but for your misfortune it seems that you are quite low on supplies. Shit, it was supposed that today was the day you'd have to go shopping! But now... No, you're not going to risk leaving this child alone, not even in exchange for all the gold in the world. You're looking for a little more and finally you find the closest you can use to cook a proper meal for a child of his age: half a can of cocoa powder for hot chocolate.

Oh god, you know your conscience is going to kill you for simply giving that amount of sugar to a baby, but it's the best choice you have right now, and he really seems to need it.

You slowly start cooking the hot chocolate; You take a small saucepan from the cupboard and heat some milk, stirring it to avoid it burns. Carefully you pour a few spoonfuls of the sweet-smelling cocoa powder into the liquid, letting it slowly mix with the hot milk, that now slowly turns light brown. You look askance at the little alien baby, who at that moment seems to be frankly impressed by the sweet scent of the drink, while you make sure he remains secure and at a safe distance from the fire and the kitchen utensils.

In the end you decide to get a little creative; you add some cinnamon powder, nutmeg and a little sugar. The result seems even sweeter and more appetizing than the previous one, and the way the little baby eyes are now widened (his little nose moves trying to absorb every tiny amount of sweet scent that comes out of the small saucepan) make you smile a little. You can practically see him drooling over the food.

You laugh softly when the child tries to get off the table, gently pushing him away with one hand to make him stay in place. "Okay, be patient. It's almost finished" you try to talk as kindly as possible. He looks a little cranky, frowning in an almost adorable way at the same time that his hands cross in front of his chest. You laugh again.

"Okay, it's fine..." you say, wiping away the tears of laughter that appear at the tips of your eyes, while you turn off the fire and start serving the drink in two large white ceramic mugs "just let me cool it down a bit" you add, noticing the obvious impatience of the child.

Carefully you lower the temperature of the mugs to something safe enough for the child to drink without getting burned. You observe the final result... it looks a bit... boring. Your eyes are quickly directed to the shelves and cupboards of your kitchen, desperately looking for something that can make the drink look a little more cheerful, when at last you find the perfect solution (and probably the least healthy, too). You promise yourself that you will take care of balance this later, and you pick up the can of whipped cream, adding an abundant quantity on top of the two mugs. You smile when you see the final result and take the mugs to the table, passing the one with most cream to the little troll, who looks at the drink with bright eyes and his mouth open.

You almost laugh when he observes with confusion and curiosity the small pile of white cream on top of the mug, before prudently licking the whipped cream, staining his nose in the process. Immediately his eyes widen and it takes less than a second for all his attention to focus on the mug full of sweet brown liquid and the scant cream that now floats on top. You smile and grab a napkin before gently wiping the remains of cream and chocolate from his face, although inside you still feel a little uncomfortable about the speed with which he is drinking.

Anyway, you decide to let him be and you start with your own mug, enjoying the heat and the sweet taste that emanates from the hot winter drink while you keep watching the child, who continues to drink as if there was nothing more important in the world.

A couple of minutes later and the same alien baby is lying on the table, the mug now almost empty a short distance from him. His stomach gurgles happily and there is a small smile on his exhausted baby face. He yawns, and you leave your cup on the table to get up and carry him. You gently pat his back until you get a small burp, you smile again and start rocking the alien child, softly humming an old and familiar lullaby.

It does not take many minutes until the little boy closes his yellow eyes, and you again feel his relaxed breathing in a deep sleep. Carefully you hold him against your chest, making sure he is comfortable even while he is sleeping. You sigh, and more logical thoughts come back to your mind: What are you going to do with him now?

Just then the baby moves, clinging more tightly to you, and your eyes shine for a second when your vision captures a small mark between the baby's tiny hand and elbow...

Well, you do not lose anything for trying.