Word Count: 1,061
The child is past the point of shivering when they find it, it's curled in a small ball. Trying in vain to conserve it's limited amount of body heat and survive just a moment longer. Their heart twinges at the sight. Recalling the fervent need to survive; a need that had driven them awayawayaway from all they knew.
Because staying meant being trapped.
Being caged. Locked away. And the man would go crazy and the other would go insane. They would lose themselves. Lose BruceHulkBanner. So they ran.
And looking at this tiny being more closely, they can see signs of what drove it to the cold landscape. There are bruises that are glaringly visible with how pale the child has become, cuts and scrapes that range from healed to fresh and frozen. They recognize the marks on this child, and they rage.
They carefully strip off their coat and hat. Bundling the bruised child with shaking hands. Afterwards the rage they let loose takes over, slowly making them stronger, tougher, more durable. In this form they can take down anything, survive anything. In this form they can protect this child.
The rage simmers. Barely controlled because they don't want to harm this child further, they wish to guard it. So they gently cradle it and jump forward. Making sure to shield it from the cold winds that rip at their body. With this rage the cold is nothing.
A hundred or so leaps later they spot what they were searching for. It is a safe place, of this they are certain. In the far away abyss that is their rational mind they recognize this building. With the rage still curling tight and hot in them they only know that the place is a safe haven. They shrink down with a sigh, releasing the rage they had kept close to their beating heart.
Their rational mind recognizes the building as a hospital. They shift uneasily as they feel the cold bite into them, being made aware of the fact that they have lost their boots and barely have pants to cover their modesty. Their jacket and hat are still wrapped around the child and they are more than hesitant to take either item back. They slowly walk up to the hospital, taking note of the people that slowly bustle in the lobby area.
They take a moment to consider placing the child at the hospital's front door; certain that within minutes someone would realize that a abused child was right outside of the hospital. But if that didn't happen, if no one realized that the child they had cradled for miles was outside then it could freeze to death with help just on the other side of a glass door.
It would be a travesty.
"Excuse me, sir? Is there any- Do you need help?" They must have stood outside the hospital for too long, and with their state of undress anyone would be concerned, the nurse that had come out to talk to them certainly was. Their rage still not settled fully they merely shift the child in their arms, bringing attention to the thing that had driven them to rejoin humanity. The nurse came closer and moved their coat slightly, stopping when he uncovered the child's bruised face. "I see. Sir, I'm Lewis Straford. And I'm here to help. Can you tell me what happened?"
Concern clear in the nurse's eyes, they relax more, letting the last vestiges of their rage dissipate. "No, I'm sorry. W- I, was out walking. Enjoying the weather, you know? And I came across 'em, I couldn't just leave them there. They looked so…." They trail off, rage beginning to mount again when they recall how they stumbled upon the child.
Straford nods in understanding, and it hits them that the man is probably used to this sort of thing. The abused or hurt being brought in without their story. The thought makes them sad and tempers their rage. "Alright, thank you for bringing them in. We'll take it from here." With that Straford walks into the hospital and comes back out a moment later with four more people. The one with a blanket gently takes the child from them, making sure to securely cover the child.
As the woman lifts the child from their arms the child shifts, "No, don't go…. Jack." They blink at that, wondering who Jack is. They risk a glance at the nurses; curious to see how they took the child's words. Ready to bolt if they assume that they're Jack and know more they told Mr. Straford.
But they aren't looking at them. Instead they're all looking at one another, quietly whispering to each other as they place the child on the stretcher and tuck them in. "Another one…. Do you think?"
"It can't be. You know it's just a story."
"Yes, I know. But there's been so many. And they all remember him, Jack. Hair as white as snow, lilting laughter, caring eyes. They've all said…."
"It's a children's tale, this Jack doesn't exist. It's something that their generation came up with, something to comfort them. Like the Sandman."
"But the ones that are awake. The things they say…. What if he's real? What if there's really a Jack who has been saving them all? Taking them away from what's been hurting them?"
They never hear the answer to the question though, as a blast of cold air hits them hard and they glance up at the sky. Not sure what they're seeing they rub at their eyes, but the outline of a person is still perched on top of a telephone pole. They tilt their head and squint at the blurry image, not sure of what they're seeing. Another icy gust takes the air out of their lungs and forces them to close their eyes for a moment, and when they open them again the person(?) is gone and the nurses have moved the child inside to be treated.
Their rational mind insists that there was nothing there, and that the cold was merely causing them to hallucinate. The other though, the other questions that and files the imprint of another possible other away. If there is a other that helps those that are in need, then maybe the world isn't as ugly as they feared.