"Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

He shouldn't be nervous, not really. There is no reason for his stomach to flip with fear as he watches the cabbie unload all his earthly possession – one large rolling duffle, one footlocker with a combination lock, one day pack and a laptop case. There's no reason for him to lose his breath as he pulls the money from the black leather wallet to pay the cabbie. No reason to be nervous as the man, who smells like sweat and vinyl and stale cigarettes and ginger, hands him a pair of matte black ring crutches. There's no reason to be afraid. This is just another first day at a new place. Just another classroom. Just another set of adults to hurt him or nag him, just another set of boys to mock him. This is just another group home. Another hospital. Another foster placement. Another summer camp. Another school. It's his fourty-third in not quite sixteen years. You'd think he'd be use to it by now.

The cabbie thanks him for the generous tip, and leaves quickly.

It's not the most frightening place he's ever been (that goes to the children's hospital in Phoenix with its lurid Pepto Bismalt pink walls, visiting clowns and overly friendly doctors), but it still feels imposing. A tall gray building half way between a victorian mansion and full castle rises against the blue-gray clouds. A few crispy leaves swirl on the pavement, caught in a cold mid September breeze. This is his first time in Ohio, and he's surprised at how damn cold the state is. He's glad for the worn black leather bomber jacket around his shoulders.

He pauses for a minute, trying to figure how to carry his things into the school. It's midmorning on a week day, and the front drive of the campus is deserted. Off in the distance, he can see blurs of crimson and navy moving in a circle around what he assumes is a sports field. He really needs to get a new prescription for contacts. He's left with a predicament. He can't - he won't - leave his things just sitting on the driveway in front of the school. But, he also can't carry them in. He's supposed to be gentle with his ankle for another few days, until the swelling goes down. And then a few weeks of physical therapy. God, he hates his stupid body. He hates the stupid predicaments it puts him in. He hates his mother, for doing this to him.

He sighs. There isn't much of a choice. He fishes in his laptop bag and pulls out his phone. It's a dinosaur, a prehistoric relative to the smart phones everyone else seemed to have. Unlike him, and the newer phones, this one is damn near indestructible. It's survived nearly four years and fifteen placements with him. It's as familiar as the battered black trunk and the crutches.

He opens his wallet, looking for the card they'd given him. He glances at his Driver's license to remind himself again who he is supposed to be. Hunter Clarington. Seventeen. Ex-military academy student.

That, at least is true. He had liked Colorado, as long as it had lasted. Then, things had gotten fucked up, and he'd had to move once again...

A/N: Okay, I know I said "No more WIPS" but, Hunter has been driving me crazy. Like, to the point where I've been needing to write this so badly that I've been itchy. This will likely be AU. Probably very different from a lot of my other stuff… more in the same realm as Battles Waged Quietly than anything else. Thus far, I have no pairings…

Let me know if you think I should continue, or corral Hunter, shove him in my ginormous closet and let him have a cage match in there with the rest of my characters.