A few canonverse vignettes of a lifetime of care.
"It must have been tough gathering all of it alone."
"I've been desperate for twenty years."
And it was true. He had been. The titbits and scraps that he had managed to assemble into the current painfully-incomplete wall of information on Ouroboros, gleaned from a lifetime of searching, seeking, hunting for anything that could help him to move past the only focus he had had in his life, had been the product of a lonely obsession. Thousands of hours of his time had been poured into it, and he felt no closer to finding the organisation who had claimed his life, his family. Whether walking the streets with a precious napkin clutched between shaking fingers, or falling asleep at a keyboard at four in the morning, search after search turning up empty and leaving an increasing sense of despair in their wake. Throughout it all, Barnaby had been alone.
Except... unknown to him, that was not strictly true.
"Barnaby, you will make sure you wrap up well when you go out tonight, won't you dear?" The voice was warm, and brought a smile to the growing boy's lips - he turned to face the woman who ostensibly kept his house but really was more a guardian than anything, to see her brandishing a small plastic folder and an expression that matched the kindness in her voice.
"What's this, Aunt Samantha?"
"The forecast is for heavy rain, you don't want to ruin your drawing." Touched, he tried to thank her, but she carried on, cutting him off as he drew a breath to speak. "Have you done your homework?"
"Yes, I have."
"Good boy. Dinner will be in five minutes, where would you like to eat it?"
"In here with you." He often took it into his bedroom, and she never minded, but she was always so pleased when he ate with her, that he felt like making the effort.
She beamed, and he smiled inside. "Oh, lovely, thank you! You can tell me all about that rotten ethics professor that's giving you trouble. It'll be ready in five minutes or so, and then you can head off out."
He was so used to her calm acceptance of his personal driven quest, it never really occurred to him that it was unusual - that one's parents did not typically encourage fourteen year old boys to spend four hours in an evening wandering darkened city streets and back alleys, seeking out the lowest of the city's underworld and harassing them. Samantha never seemed to have a bad word to say about it, though, just took it on board and worked her schedule around his godforsaken one. He did not appreciate this for the miracle it was, though - he'd never known anything else.
She watched him eat, listening to him release the tension she'd seen in his shoulders the moment he arrived back from the Academy, watching him cutting his food into small chunks and neatly depositing them between complains about how his ethics teacher never allowed Barnaby to participate in class debates for reasons unknown to the insulted blond, but her mind was wandering. The rain outside was just picking up, and on cold winter nights like this, the first hints of the arthritis she had been feeling creeping up on her with the passing of years meant that the last thing she wanted to do was be out in it, but she would say nothing.
She always said nothing.
"Sir, please... please help me, I just need to know have you-"
"Kid, get out of my way and go home to your mommy."
She could feel Barnaby bristle from around the corner, knew without looking the stiffness that had just rendered him rigid, and she sighed, hoping that he did not say something stupid and get himself into trouble. Again. She chanced a glance down the alley, and was rewarded with the sinking sensation that always came when she saw that look in her charge's eyes.
"Listen, you clod, I am just trying to find out some information about-"
"What did you just call me, brat?"
No.
Please, no. Samantha was not particularly religious, but she was sure at this stage God must have had an entire department to deal with the pleas she muttered under her breath at times like this. He was not listening tonight though, it seemed.
"I said you're a clod. Why else would you not help some in need?" Oh Barnaby, you idiot. She almost smacked her own face. He had been combing Sternbild's underbelly in the night for nearly a year now, and he still had yet to learn just how the darker side lived, and behaved.
"Someone needs to teach you a lesson in manners, kid." God, Barnaby, use your Hundred Power NOW, please. The aforementioned ethics teacher had not been a good influence as far as Samantha was concerned - he'd expounded on the concept that their NEXT abilities should not be used in a one-on-one fight because they were an unfair advantage, and unsporting. While this was not the worst attitude to take, per se, in Barnaby's unique situation, it terrified Samantha to hear her little master eagerly tell her about the morality of self-defence, about how he was becoming more and more reluctant to just use his power.
Barnaby hesitated too long, and the man took the opportunity and struck the boy, stunning him instantly before pulling the staggering adolescent to him, wrapping a muscular hand around a delicate neck and squeezing. Barnaby struggled limply, tears forming in his eyes, and Samantha balled her hands into fists, thinking quickly. She looked around for something, anything to help her that would be useful, and in desperation she looked up to the high-rise buildings on the other side of the street. Hitting on blessed inspiration, she drew in a dramatic gasp, pointed at a high floor that was too far away to see clearly, and shouted, "OH MY GOD HE'S GOING TO JUMP! SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!"
The effect was immediate. Passers by stopped moving and turned to see where she was pointing, and a crowd gathered quickly, the power of suggestion drawing a few 'oh my god, there's a jumper!' and 'I can see him, he's on the top floor!' from the assembled voyeurs. She did not pay them heed, instead listening to the sound down the alleyway behind her. She was rewarded with the merciful sound of a lithe body dropping to the floor, and heavy footsteps running to the end of the alley. She looked down to see Barnaby pick himself up off the ground, a hand at his throat, coughing and spluttering but alive.
She hastened away before he could see her, trusting that she could clean him up when he got home, knowing that he would return to her now and that she had better be waiting for him to hold him and tell him not to worry, that he'd find what he needed soon.
She told him this very often, and she always believed it.
Later that night, she stopped by his room, to find him slumped over his desk, saliva forming a gossamer thread linking him to his desk. He gave a slight shiver, and so she opened a cupboard and pulled out a green blanket, the one with the strawberries on that she had made him for his sixth birthday, the one that she caught him sleeping with under his duvet an untold number of times. She spread it over his shoulders, rubbing them softly, and she kissed his head, turning to leave. As she did so, the last words on the screen caught her eye - the zero results of a search string that had Barnaby had begun before falling asleep. She noticed a misspelling, laughing at his obviously exhaustion-fuelled mistake, and reset the search, waiting for a few minutes before the screen blazed its completed message.
One Result Found. View Result?
She clicked yes, turned on her heel, and walked out of the room. "Goodnight, young master."
No, no, this was wrong. This was all wrong. She had messed up badly - trusted the wrong person, not seen through the lie. How stupid could she have been, coming to Apollon when it was obvious that the person behind the subterfuge surrounding Barnaby and Emily's murders was the CEO of the very company whose doors she had fled to. She was paying for this now, watching him as he turned his back to her and walking up the stairs, heavy footfalls quietening with each step.
As the man Maverick had signalled to stalked towards her with a gun, her last thoughts, an urgent prayer, repeated over and over.
Barnaby, I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you this time.
She hoped she was right about Kaburagi.
"But DAD, all the other girls are going, why are you being so horrible about this?" Kaede had a look about her that was indignation personified, but her father merely pursed his lips, authority radiating.
"What kind of parent would let their fourteen year old out this late at night, and in Sternbild of all places?"
"One who understands what I WANT." Kaede stormed off to her room, slamming the door loudly behind her, leaving Kotetsu to collapse on the sofa and rub a tired hand over his face.
"Well, clearly that's not me, huh Bunny? Bunny?" Barnaby's attention came back into the room, and he saw Kotetsu looking at him with concern, and he realised he had totally spaced out. "Bunny, are you ok?"
"Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing."