Quick warning: If you're easily offended by slight mentions of child abuse/something similar, then you might want to leave this story for another day.
He didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit. He didn't like this, but what was he doing just standing here?
'Go and help him,' his conscience whispered to him urgently. Every time he would move to help however, his traitorous rational mind stopped him, 'Go in there, and you'll just end up like the kid,'
Right now, he was hiding as four drunk men mercilessly beat up a child, who couldn't have been older than twelve. He looked to the street from the alley. Everyone was ignoring it. They most certainly noticed it, if the pained cries of the boy was of aby indication.
Everyone was just like him: they knew something was wrong, but they weren't going to interfere.
He had to do something. He pushed through the thoughts clouding his mind. He had to do something. He ignored the fear coursing through his veins. He had to do something. He took a deep breath and steeled his face. He had to do something.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Too bad someone else beat him to it.
He, and the rest of the people in the alleyway, turned towards the newcomer. There, stood a white-haired man wearing a curious red coat, glaring at the four men.
"The fuck is that supposed to mean? We're just teaching this little shit some fucking manners." One of the men said in a drunken slur, grinning as he punched the boy again. The white haired man glared even harder as the boy coughed out something about protecting his mother.
"Now, if ya know what's good for ya," At this moment, the three other men each pulled out a weapon. A pistol, and two switchblades. "You'd turn around and leave." the man's grin threatened to split his face. The three behind him laughed as if there were some hilarious joke while the child whimpered in fear.
He turned to white haired man. He might want to help the boy, but he wasn't prepared to truly risk his life. He figured that the man beside him would do the same, and that way, he wouldn't have to bear this guilt alone. He watched as the man closed his eyes, probably to stomach the-
"Get away from the boy."
In that instant, the drunkards' laughs ceased, and their grins disappeared, "What? Are ya a fucking idiot or some shit?"
In some ways, he agreed with the drunken asshole.
"I don't care. Step away from the boy. This is your last chance."
The four men's faces soured at that, "Kill him." The three men leapt at him, weapons at the ready. He didn't want to watch. He didn't want to watch as someone got brutally murdered in front of him.
A pained shout.
A pained shout that clearly wasn't the white haired man.
Somehow, the man I'm red had disarmed one of the men with a switchblade and was now grasping his arm behind his back in a painful hold.
A few moments of shock.
Then, the other man with the switchblade charged.
And again he was disarmed, though this time, the would be victim grabbed their heads and slammed them together, knocking them out.
The man with the gun instantly started shooting, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he shouted as the white haired man ducked and weaved, till he eventually reached him, grabbed his arm and head from under him, and slammed his head into the wall next to him. Not enough to knock him out though, but enough to cause a concussion.
The last man stared in fear as his men were taken out by this one person.
"Take your 'friends' and leave. You will not do anything like this again, or I will find you, and I will do something far worse. Understood?"
The drunkard nodded frantically, "Good. Now scram."
The two men grabbed their friends, though the mildly concussed one had difficulty in doing so, and left the alley.
"Are you alright?"
He snapped from his awe. In all of the action, he had forgotten why this happened in the first place. The boy looked at the white haired man in amazement, "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. They didn't really do much to me."
A moment of silence as the man narrowed his eyes, before he nodded, "Good. Now, you might want to go home and rest for a bit. Stick to populated areas, and try not to go near alleyways for a while, OK?"
The boy beamed at him, "Yes sir!" he started walking to the street, before he paused and turned around, "T-Thank you, sir!" With that said, he ran off.
Another few moments of silence.
"You can come out now."
He jumped at the white haired man's voice. Slowly, he rose from his hiding spot.
"...why?"
A raised eyebrow, "Why what?"
"Why did you help him? Why did you risk your life for someone you didn't even know? Why?!"
Why couldn't I be like you?
The man closed his eyes, "Hm. Because he needed it."
'What?'
He continued, "There's nothing wrong with helping people. The boy needed help, I gave it to him. Simple as that."
"That's it? Not for the glory or something?"
Not to satisfy the guilt eating at you?
A scoff, "Of course not. Those who do it for the glory are only doomed for failure."
Yet another moment of silence, "That kid is gonna think you're his hero now, you know?"
A rueful smile, "Ha, if I had a penny for every time someone said that…"
"How do I be like you? How do I become a hero?"
A sigh, one filled with tiredness, "You don't want to be me, kid. Trust me." He moved to exit the alley like everyone else, "Let me tell you this though, heroes aren't born; they're made. If you want to be a hero, you need to find your own path."
The man disappeared from his view.
He sat there, for over half an hour, thinking. What just happened showed him how cruel the world could be. He wanted to change it, no matter what.
In that moment, Jack Morrison knew what he wanted to do.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
I wrote this one shot because I haven't had internet for the past week or so. Still don't, actually. I'm writing this author's note literally a few minutes before posting this. Right now, I'm in a coffee shop freeloading on their free WiFi.
This wasn't meant to be a "good" story, as you can somewhat see that it's not really polished, but eh, boredom's a bitch.