Summary: Eva always lived in an idealistic home—until her father hit her. With her life crumbling around her, she can only turn to one person: a mysterious, masked superhero.

Author's Note: I guess this is something like BeautyandtheBeast…but not quite. Lol. Dunno. Anyways, I think there's far too few Kenny x OC stories on here, so I'm adding my own! :) Enjoy! Translations are at the end. (I also give credit for the title to the amazing band Amaranthe.)

Pronunciation Notes: Eva Lehtinen = EHY-vuh LEH-tih-nehn, with a voiced h (meaning a breathy h sound) in the first syllable.

As the first bell rang, I pushed through South Park High's double doors, waving and smiling at the friends—and acquaintances—I passed as I went. I sidestepped Eric Cartman's outstretched foot, saying, "Hiya, fatass."

"Screw you, bitch."

A little smirk crossed my face as I left the asshole behind, and finally made it to my locker. It was weird—I'd only been in South Park for four months now, and I was already on my way to the top of the school. In Denver, I hadn't been very popular—most high schools decided popularity on money, and we hadn't been that high in the hierarchy there…but in South Park, things were different. The hierarchy was based on personal merit (for the most part), and I'd managed to become friends with the very top dogs of the school.

My parents were first-generation Finnish immigrants, and they hardly spoke any English at all—I was bilingual, and on my way to becoming trilingual (French being the third language), having been taught English in school, but my Finnish roots still showed. For a start, I had super blonde hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin, and a faint accent to boot. Not to mention my last name was Lehtinen. How much more Finnish could you get?

I spun my combination lock around a few times until it popped open, and was about to grab my stuff for homeroom when someone slammed my locker shut. Leaning against the next door locker was none other than my friend Kenny McCormick. I laughed and shoved him playfully. "Hey, I was using that, huora," I teased.

"What's that mean again?" Kenny asked through his hood, pretending to think.

"What does it sound like?" I snickered, reopening my locker and getting my stuff. Kenny's eyes sparkled with mischief as he linked arms with me, leading me away from my locker and towards homeroom. "It sounds like whore," he acknowledged.

I rolled my eyes. "Täsmälleen," I muttered.

Kenny guided me into the seat next to his, and pulled out a sheet of paper—his US Supreme Court homework, no doubt. "Eva, would you-"

"Give it here," I said resignedly, dragging his scribbly homework over. It had taken me a while to learn to decipher Kenny's chicken scratch, but once I'd gotten it, it was easy. We spent the better part of homeroom going over his answers (read: with me giving him the correct answers) but for the last thirty minutes, we played the dot game. Why? Because it's fun.

Finally, the bell rang, and we went our separate ways—me to chemistry, Kenny to history. I liked chemistry, but none of my really good friends were actually in that class, so it kinda sucked for that reason. The only person I really liked was Butters, but he was always in Cartman's shadow, so that was no good. Still…it was Butters and Cartman or nothing, so I sat beside Butters and began getting my stuff out, ignoring the angry looks Cartman was giving me.

"Uh, h-hey, Eva," stammered Butters, baby blue eyes wide in shock. (Yeah, I never sat next to them.)

"Hej," I said lightly, accidentally letting my accept slip in.

Cartman crossed his arms. "What're you doing here, Viking?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes at me. Viking was just one of his many attempted ways to torment me, but of course it didn't work. I'd heard worse.

"Sitting. What's it look like, fatass?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "What, is it a crime now?"

Butters shifted uncomfortably. "I don't mind you sitting here, Eva," he whispered earnestly, wincing when Cartman looked thunderous.

"Leave him alone, Cartman," I snapped, jumping to Butters' defense.

Silence descended, and thankfully the class began—I settled in for a lecture class when our teacher, Mr. Hendricks, turned the SmartBoard on, and hurried to get out paper for notes. I took notes in Finnish, because it helped me remember the information better—and besides, it kept everyone from stealing my notes.

I was in for one hell of a boring day at school.

When I got home, all I wanted to do was collapse into my bed and pretend that I didn't have to go to school tomorrow, but, of course, my father—my Isä—was drunk. My mother—my Äiti—was scared of him when he was drunk, so she was probably out of the house somewhere—safe. She never seemed to think to warn me, though. Isä's alcoholism was probably runoff from the common Scandinavian winter alcoholism and depression, but it was never dark 24/7 in South Park…so maybe that wasn't such a good excuse. Either way, I wasn't in the mood to deal with the runkkari, so I tried to slip past him—to no avail, of course.

"Where were you?" he slurred, in Finnish, leaning heavily against the doorway to the living room.

I frowned at him. "At school," I answered shortly. Maybe he'd leave me alone…

Isä looked at me through cloudy eyes. "At…school? Why?"

"To learn," I muttered, brushing past him. Unfortunately, his fingers closed around my wrist, and he pulled me back. "Look at me when you're talking to me!" Isä demanded, glaring furiously at me. I jerked my hand away and took a step backwards, cold fear clenching my heart. Maybe Äiti had a reason to be scared of him…

"Isä, you're humalassa," I chided softly, attempting to reason with him. "You've had too much to drink. Why don't you go lie down?"

"Don't tell me what to do!" he cried, face growing angrier by the second.

I held my hands up in clear surrender. "I'm not, I swear," I assured him, my tone as gentle as I could make it. It was tough, considering how much I wanted to smack him upside the head for getting so drunk.

"Don't lie, Eva!" Isä snarled, advancing on me.

Well and truly scared, I turned on my heel and sprinted upstairs and into my room. Isä was faster, though, and caught me just by the door. I didn't know what he was going to do, so I screamed and thrashed about, struggling as best I could—but he was much stronger than me. Suddenly, I felt a horrible stinging sensation across my face.

Isä had hit me.

Tears welled in my eyes, but he wasn't finished—he pushed me hard to the ground, and kicked me in the side. I swore I felt something crack. Sobbing quietly, I waited for the next blow: it was a swift punch to the eye.

Finally, several hits later, Isä stumbled drunkenly from my room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

A loud sob escaped my throat, and I clamped my hands over my mouth lest he hear me. Isä had never hit me before—oh, sure, he'd given spankings when I was misbehaving as a child, but to outright beat me up? Never! That…that just wasn't my Isä!

"But it was," I whispered, curling into the fetal position and letting myself cry my eyes out.

Bang!

I let out a little shriek at the strange noise, and spun to face the origin—my window had somehow come open. Trembling and sore in more places than I cared to think about, I got to my feet and moved to close it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."

This time, I didn't have the energy to scream—I just whirled around, feeling my injured leg give out underneath me as I did so. The mysterious figure cloaked in black (who had decided to come into my bedroom without an invitation, apparently) was quick to step forward and steady me, helping me silently to my bed.

"Who—who are you?" I asked him, switching to English to follow his example.

He regarded me for a moment, and I did the same—he was some kind of superhero, apparently, judging by the hood and mask over his face, the black cloak, the slate-grey spandex outfit, and the…underwear on the outside? Strange. He also had a neon green question mark on a spring sitting atop his head. By his height and appearance, I figured he must be around my age.

"I'm Mysterion," he said, in that strange, gravelly voice of his.

I shifted uncomfortably—my injuries were beginning to ache. "Why are you here?"

He averted his gaze—he had the most brilliant blue eyes, and I was sure I'd seen them somewhere. "I had intended to rescue you from your father, but…I was held up on the way, and arrived too late."

Unprepared, I winced at the unwelcome reminder. Mysterion looked back at me, a frown creasing his face. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, his tone considerably gentler. "Believe me, he will never lay another hand on you, Eva. I swear it." The promise was solemn but passionate, and I found that I did believe him—Mysterion, my would-be savior. I didn't know why, but he seemed honest, trustworthy. I liked him.

"Thank you," I breathed. I curled my legs underneath me, grimacing at the pain the movement brought on. "H-he usually doesn't do that, you know," I said, feeling the inexplicable need to defend him.

Mysterion scowled. "Once is more than enough," he said sharply.

He was being very defensive about the—the hitting thing, and I wondered something. "Mysterion…did your parents ever abuse you?" I asked softly, timidly. I was afraid he would get mad at me—but I couldn't help but ask. It was the only possible explanation for him freaking out so much about one time. That comment, once is more than enough…it implied so much to me.

The superhero's face grew taut, his eyes hardening before me. "Why would you think that?" he asked tightly.

Pity welling in me, I beckoned for him to come sit next to me. With a little hesitation, he did so, looking more than a little awkward. "You seem very defensive about—abuse," I explained gently. "And your reaction to me asking pretty much proved it." Unsure of myself, I hung my head and looked away. "You can tell me. It's not like I could go rat on you without telling about what my Isä did too, and I—I could never do that."

Mysterion touched my shoulder lightly, then squeezed for reassurance. "I—I was abused by my parents, when I was younger," he admitted finally, voice rough from more than just him disguising it. "But once I became Mysterion, I was able to make them stop."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, reaching out to take his hand, but losing the courage and letting my own hand fall into my lap. With a faint smile, Mysterion pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me close while still being cautious of my injuries. I leaned against his shoulder, shutting my eyes. It was as if…as if we were taking comfort from each other, because we both understood what it was to be hit by a parent—by the person who's supposed to love you most in the world.

"It's going to be all right, Eva," Mysterion told me quietly as he released me, rising to his feet.

Panic suddenly overwhelmed me—I reached out and grabbed his gloved hand, pulling him back towards me. "W-will I see you again?" I asked urgently.

Smiling, Mysterion brushed a stray piece of pale-blonde hair out of my face. "Yes. At school."

I was so taken aback by his statement that I was powerless to stop him when he detached himself from me and slipped noiselessly out the window. At school? Did that mean… "I go to school with Mysterion," I whispered, shaking my head. Well, those electric-blue eyes had seemed familiar…maybe I could figure it out from there? Probably not, though, because if all it took was figuring out his eye color, other people would've figured it out—and if he had a true secret identity, then it obviously wasn't that easy.

But…who was he? Who was that super-sweet guy who ran around at night helping people? I wanted to know, almost more than anything. I wanted to get to thank him properly, to befriend him and let him know that he'd given me hope—hope that things would be okay again, even after what my Isä did.

The next morning, I woke up stiff and sore, with visible bruises everywhere. The house was silent, so I figured Isä was sleeping off the alcohol. Quiet as a mouse, I grabbed my clothes, snuck into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me.

I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with Nightwish (my favorite band) printed on it, before setting to fix my makeup. A hoodie would cover the markings on my arms, but the black eye and assorted other bruises on my neck and face wouldn't hide easy. I worked for almost thirty minutes with foundation and concealer, covering the bruises and making them look just about invisible. To balance things out, I added a little blush, lipgloss, and mascara—and then decided I wasn't going to look any less injured. With a sigh, I crept out of the bathroom and hurried downstairs, snatching my laptop case and backpack off the kitchen table and darting out the door as fast as possible. I really didn't feel like dealing with Isä that morning.

I walked to school every morning, even in the bitter cold, but that morning I'd forgotten my winter coat—so I was reduced to a shivering mess before I'd even gone two blocks.

Fifteen minutes into my walk—about halfway to school—someone started driving alongside me. "Need a lift, Eva?" asked a smirking Kyle Broflovski, leaning out the window of his car. He was one of my closest friends, but even though our paths crossed most mornings, I felt I was a little too out of the way to justify asking him for rides.

I smiled in relief, nodding. Kyle stopped the car, and I hurried to get into the passenger seat. "Shit, it's freezing out there," I muttered, turning up the heat without asking.

"You know, I could give you rides to school," Kyle offered, pulling away from the curb.

I shook my head. "Nah, it's all right. I'm not exactly on your way, anyway," I said, holding my hands in front of the heater. Kyle's parents had bought him a nice new car for his sixteenth birthday, and the heater—and AC—was incredible.

Kyle rolled his eyes at my stubbornness. "I just don't want my friend freezing, that's all," he muttered.

"I won't freeze," I assured him.

"Oh yeah? Well, this winter's supposed to be the coldest since 80-something. If it gets too cold, I'm getting you anyway," Kyle told me firmly, though he was smiling.

I was surprised, but pleasantly. "Kiitos, Kyle," I said, beaming back at him.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, "You spoke in Finnish again, Eva," he said, laughing.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I meant thanks," I clarified, facepalming. "But hey, Finnish sounds way cooler than English—we get to roll our rs."

We bantered back and forth about languages—Finnish versus Hebrew versus English—until Kyle pulled into the parking lot. Even once we were out of the car and heading inside, we were still discussing the merits of the three languages, though by then we were onto origins and enjoying ourselves thoroughly. Kyle was the friend I could always count on for intelligent conversation.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" asked Kenny as he sidled up, orange hood pulled over his head and drawn tight—he'd apparently done the same thing as a kid, always muffling his voice inside a bright orange parka.

I grinned. "Languages."

"Nerds," Kenny shot back, though it was all in good fun.

At that moment, Stan Marsh—Kyle's best friend since forever—walked up, waving to us. "Hey, guys," he greeted.

"Hej, Stan," I said brightly. "How're things with you and Wendy?"

It was always the right question with Stan—unless they were in one of their "off" periods, that is—and this time, I was rewarded with a dreamy smile. "Great," he murmured.

Kenny snickered and made gagging noises, prompting Stan to jokingly punch his shoulder. It was a well-known fact that Stan was head over heels in love with Wendy, and vice versa—they fought like crazy sometimes, but always managed to get back together in the end. Now that was real dedication, in my books.

"Guys! Guys, you'll never believe what I just heard!" screamed none other than Cartman, running up to us.

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "What is it now, fatass?" he groaned.

Too distracted by his breakingnews, Cartman didn't even bother to come up with some angry retort. "Apparently, they're requiring all seniors to take sexed, starting today!" he blurted, his words stumbling a little in his haste.

That got even Kyle's attention. "What?" he demanded.

"You've gotta be kidding me," muttered Stan.

"This is bullshit," growled Kenny.

I nodded my assent. "Didn't we take sex ed last year?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "Seriously. Are you sure about this, Cartman? I don't want a fucking false alarm…again." Two weeks ago, Cartman had come to us with the news that Craig Tucker was moving to California—which had proven to be false.

"I'm sure this time. They're gonna announce it in homeroom today!" Cartman insisted.

"If this is true…then this is gonna suck," I complained, crossing my arms. "Yhteensä paskaa." Sex ed was the bane of my existence—because I always started blushing like crazy when anything about sex was mentioned, be it condoms or birth control or whatever. Kenny, perv that he was, loved to exploit that little detail of my personality. It wasn't that sex embarrassed me…it just made me blush. Which should've gone hand in hand, but didn't.

Cartman glared at me. "This is no time to be speaking in tongues, Eva," he said seriously, as if I was possessed or something. "We have a problem here!"

"We can't do anything to stop it, so let's just chill out and see if this is actually true before we start freaking out, okay?" suggested Stan, intelligently stepping in before things got out of hand. I wasn't a combative person naturally…except when it came to Cartman. Plus, if you put me, Cartman, and Kyle in the same place for too long…usually some argument broke out, with Kyle and I screaming our heads off at Cartman for being a runkkari.

No, that isn't a very nice word.

The warning bell rang, and we all dispersed to homeroom—Kenny said something pervy about sex ed and I ducked my head, hoping to hide the redness that I could feel overtaking my cheeks. "Real mature, Kenny," I muttered, though I was grinning.

Laughing, Kenny slung an arm around my shoulders as we entered our homeroom, dropping his arm only once we'd gotten to our table. "I hope Cartman's right about the whole sex ed thing," he said, smirking.

"You would," I groaned. "They're just gonna make us put condoms on bananas and talk about birth control and suggest we practice abstinence. It's not like some kind of in-school porno."

Kenny's bright blue eyes turned very mischievous. "Yeah, but it makes you blush the whole time, so it's worth it," he said, laughing and ruffling my hair when I facepalmed. "Admit it, Eva—you blush at anything sexual."

I huffed. "So what? It doesn't embarrass me! You know that."

"I do," he acknowledged. Suddenly, he began studying my face—I shifted uncomfortably, scared that he'd see evidence of Isä's treatment of me there, although I felt I'd done a pretty good job of hiding it, especially considering that so far Kyle, Stan, and Cartman had all failed to notice. That was a damned good track record—considering how much time Kyle especially had gotten to look at my face.

"Do you…is that a black eye, Eva?" asked Kenny, frowning as he brushed a little hair out of my face, to see better.

I pulled away. "Uh, no," I said, though it came out as more of a question.

Kenny looked sad. "You don't have to lie to me."

"Okay, it is, but…I just klutzed my way into tripping into the table last night. It isn't a big deal, and I didn't want to make a fuss out of it." It was a lame excuse, but I hoped Kenny would buy it—I wasn't up to explaining the truth just yet. Maybe someday I'd come clean to my friends, but…not yet. Definitely not yet.

"Suit yourself," muttered Kenny, clearly hurt as he looked away.

"Kenny…" I began—but I didn't know what to tell him, so I fell silent.

Finally, several long minutes later, Kenny turned back to me. "Eva, I don't know what happened, but…if somebody hurt you, I want you to tell me so I can go kick the shit out of them."

I swallowed nervously. "That's sweet, Kenny, but…it was just me being clumsy."

Kenny turned away again, head at a tilt towards the table—it turned my stomach to see him so upset with me, but…I couldn't tell him. I just couldn't! At least…not here. Not in homeroom, with so many kids around. But maybe…maybe later, I could muster up the courage and explain it. As long as he promised not to hurt my Isä.

"All right, I'll tell you," I whispered. "After school, okay?"

Looking back at me, Kenny made as if to speak—but our homeroom teacher, Ms. Marshall, stood up to take roll, interrupting him. Once she'd sent in attendance, she said, "Now, I want your attention for just a couple more minutes—the school has changed their policies, and all seniors are now required to take two one-hour sex ed classes per week. The first one is today, after lunch, in the auditorium."

I groaned and hung my head—so Cartman had been right. Sex ed was being instated for seniors! Vitun helvetti, this was horrible! Two hours a week of sex ed. Holy shit.

Finally, Ms. Marshall was finished talking to us, and Kenny leaned close to me, his forehead nearly touching mine as he made our conversation considerably more private. "After school," he agreed. "Do you wanna…come over to my place and talk about it? I know it's not the best, but…"

"That sounds great," I assured him, smiling. "Thanks, Kenny. Really."

He smiled softly and took my hand, squeezing it for a moment. "No problem."

In all truth, I was terrified to come clean to Kenny—while it hadn't even been an issue with the only person to know, Mysterion…I hadn't exactly had to tell the superhero. He'd already known. But Kenny had no idea. Well, maybe he had an idea, but…he didn't already have the knowledge. I'd have to tell him everything. It was daunting to think about—telling anyone that my Isä had hit me. I didn't like to dwell on that fact anyway, but at the same time, I understood that Kenny was just a concerned friend. If the roles were reversed, I would be pestering and consoling and confronting him until he finally came clean about what had happened. It was something I sort of…expected among my friends—that they would work an answer out of me, especially if it involved physical harm.

Dimly, I wondered if Kenny's parents had ever abused him. I'd known Kenny since sixth grade, but…he'd never shown any signs. I certainly hoped they never had—he didn't deserve it. Hell, nobody did.

I only hoped Kenny wouldn't go after Isä—despite everything, I didn't want to believe my Isä, my loving father, was a bad person. Surely he'd just been drunk and had made a mistake…surely. I knew he loved me, and that he'd never consciously do anything to hurt me. It was a one-time occurrence, never to happen again. When I got back from Kenny's that night, he'd be the same sweet Isä I knew and loved.

Translations:

-huora = whore

-täsmälleen = exactly

-hej = hey, hi (lol)

-Isä = father, dad

-Äiti = mother, mom

-humalassa = drunk

-kiitos = thanks

-yhteensä paskaa = total shit

-runkkari = really nasty, insulting name for someone

-vitun helvetti = fucking hell