When the self-proclaimed Professor Chaos first mentioned hearing ... disputes, for lack of a better word, coming from the New Kid's house, everyone wrote it off. Nothing more than Butters trying to farm popularity, right? Made sense, given how rapidly the New Kid was growing on Coonstagram.
Nobody bothered to check, or they would have noticed that it made sense. Despite being able to hold 'conversations' via writing what he wanted to say on paper, New Kid never talked about his family. When he hung out with the group, it always outside or at someone's house. No-one seemed to notice or question it, and for that the New Kid was extremely grateful. He'd rather listen to some overblown monologue from 'The Coon' than deal with awkward conversations.
Eventually, a bored Mysterion found himself sat in the nigh-empty Freedom Pals base. Having easily completed another underwhelming mission, he was left to reflect silently, flicking through memories like folders in a filing cabinet, thinking of something to do. If someone was free, perhaps they could help him sweep the city? Although his mind was less focused on that than the hazy throughline just beyond mental reach. Was his memory just incorrect? If not, who was it?
Maybe the New Kid? Granted, he was a member of Coon and Friends, but he didn't seem particularly invested- in anything, for that matter. Plus, he was the one of the few kids in town with real powers; Mysterion could see himself being invested in someone so similar to himself.
With all that considered, he stood up. He crossed to the computer in a few brisk strides, then punched in the info for the New Kid's comm. Once the call connected, he gave his message, paying no mind to the quiet sound of curtains parting behind him as Doctor Timothy made his way to the main room.
"Contacting the Coon and Friends? Or perhaps one in particular?" He asked, voice echoing around Mysterion's skull.
"Just the New Kid," he replied, somewhat tersely.
"You could invite him over," The other suggested.
Mysterion nodded in acknowledgement, relaying the suggestion. When he turned around, however, he noticed Doctor Timothy as well as a previously unnoticed Toolshed doing a bad job of looking innocent.
"What?"
"Well...You aren't exactly subtle. You want to talk to the New Kid for a reason, right?" Toolshed asked.
No reply. Not that anyone was expecting one. Mystery was par for the course with Mysterion, so whatever reason he had was unknown to the rest of them. Shrugging, Toolshed wandered off, leaving the other two alone. As per routine, some kind of conversation would have started, had the New Kid not wandered in.
At that point, he was wearing a hood for his superhero costume, but usually without the domino mask that he was now sporting. Doctor Timothy immediately fixed his gaze on the New Kid, likely trying to suss out the reason for the change; it would be a lie to say Mysterion wasn't mildly interested either.
But not 'complete invasion of privacy' interested.
Before he could say anything, the psychic Freedom Pal was scanning the New Kid's mind. The resulting shock caused Doctor Timothy's next question to spill over, so Mysterion heard it just as easily as the intended recipient.
"What the Hell happened to your eye?"
Everything froze. New Kid's expression briefly flickered away from its usual apathy. Air rushed out of his lungs. Despite impulses telling Mysterion to march forward and rip the mask off- to just get a straight answer- the way New Kid bit his lip and glanced backwards towards the exit forced him to calm down. 'Deer in headlights' came to mind. Being too direct would scare him off. Being indirect ran the risk of New Kid getting more uncomfortable than he already was.
Mysterion sighed, forcing a mask of calm. "New Kid?" The other flinched, but seemed to be calmer. "New Kid can I see what happened? Is there a mark?"
Slowly reaching forward, Mysterion went to remove the eyepiece. The New Kid tensed with a sharp intake of breath, but he didn't move away, instead flicking his gaze to Doctor Timothy.
"I'm going to take the mask off now. Is that Ok?" A nod.
Gently, he pulled it off, revealing a dark bruise over the New Kid's right eye. Mysterion gestured to Doctor Timothy to fetch paper and a pen, while he processed the revelation that someone had really done this, something noticeable and damaging- not the usual scrapes or grazes accumulated by any normal ten-year-old. It wasn't right for anyone to do, but Mysterion's mind jumped to who could have possibly done it. Some angry sixth grader? An irritated classmate?
Or the fallout of a familiar routine. New Kid had kept the details light. All he'd specified was that his parents had fallen out (clearly not an infrequent event, judging by how lightly he took it), and the collateral damage had been the ugly purple mark.
'Not their fault.'
'It's nothing really.'
'They didn't know I was there.'
At least it wasn't intentionally done. That made it marginally better. Not by much though.
The throughline. He'd been thinking earlier. Why the New Kid was so ashamed of his own home, why he never contributed to any discussions about parents, fuck- even why he went with Cartman's spiels about parents. Most sane people tried to correct the guy when he complained about his perfectly normal mother, but- fuck.
It made too much fucking sense.
"I'm sorry, Kid."
The New Kid shrugs. He writes a short thanks for their concern on the remaining free space, hops off his seat and heads out, apparently unfazed. Mysterion sees him replace the mask at the top of the stairs.
He just watches as the other leaves, as does Professor Timothy. When the sound of the door shutting lightly drifts down to them, Mysterion crosses the room again, smothering the feelings of deja vu, and saves the New Kid's contact info.
He'll call later, he promises himself.