Chapter I

Sansa finds a boy in pain.

Curled in his misery in a bed of white dust. Behind the orphanage by the garbage. A beating, or a lynching she guesses. Scraps and blood and bruises starting to form. Dehydration. Half-starved. He is too skinny for anything else. She has seen this all before. But worse on so many faces. On young and old and dead and dying.

Or well, some part of her had.

Some of part of her she tries not to dwell on. Her life is new, simple, in comparison to her former life. But that part of her lives in her, fierce and still surviving. Because I must, I cannot stop- Sansa tries not to dwell in the past, but the past lingers in her every movement, in every word spoken. She is new, but there are parts of her that are not. Sansa approaches the boy, moving before she has even thought much about it. Her steps are still graceful as they had been before in another life, and because of her sister, they are silent. But she deliberately kicks her small foot, a pebble skidding across the rough concrete.

The curled-up boy head's jerks up.

He looks at her with narrowed eyes. Scarlet and brilliant. Like the Red Woman. However, she is reminded of a boy-man that had so desperately called himself Reek- clinging to the girl who called herself Arya as his thin face stares her down. Because it is a similar face, same expression. Wild. Desperate. Not all sane.

Her heart is moved.

Because that was, and always will be, a central part of her.

Her heart bleeds for others. Even if she breathed through new lips, even if the heart in her chest is young and had never been punctured by ice swords. Sansa, once of House Stark, cannot see someone in pain and ignore it. Her kindness, like her father's honor, will probably be the death of her.

"Are you injured? In need of aid?" Even in a new life, Sansa cannot drop her stiff, formal way of speaking. Even with a new tongue and language, her courtesy had been beaten into her.

"... the Heroes will handle me," he spits, a moment. His lips creek as he pulls his face into a mockery of a smile.

His anger, too, is familiar. She had been so angry before. Anger was as familiar as the color of her hair and eyes, unchanged in this new life. She looks at the older boy, perhaps nine namedays- years old- and blinks quickly.

"They might never notice you," she replies, soft. She too had waited for a hero, once. And she had only been able to save herself, in the end, "But I did."

His red eyes remind her of blood. Remind her of five-pointed leaves and her hair. Fierce with something angry and hard. But she can see something else, they go wide with something that is an almost stupefying shock.

"May I help you?" Because sometimes, some were beyond help. Beyond wanting it.

He breathed, "I don't need your help. Sensei is coming back."

It is true. His teacher will come back for him. Sansa can see that. She tilts her head to the side. Red hair the color of blood, of the wirewood leaves, of his eyes, spill past her little shoulder.

"But do you want it?"

The boy reaches out. Quick as a snake. Grip fierce on her wrist. Tight and painful. Sansa is used to pain. That is not something you forget, even when your body is new. She notes his skin is dry, cracked on his hands as well, and that his grip is strong despite the fact he is only holding on with three fingertips. His fingernails are trimmed, so there is that mercy.

"Yes."

AN:

Yeah. I blame re-reading my hero on this one. And a fabulous fic where Sansa is reincarnated as Naruto's older twin(I would link but I am so bad at names it's not even funny, I can't remember it!). And the two ideas sort of meshing in my head with ah, that would strangely work in My Hero too?! Having a reincarnated Sansa recover with grumpy tired Eraserhead, too enthusiastic and empathic PresentMic just fucking made me smile. Especially with the thought of fucking Auntie Midnight taking her middle age sensibilities and being like 'NO! NO, MY SWEET CHILD, COME INTO THE AGE OF SEXUAL ENLIGHTENMENT AND BEING THE MASTER OF YOUR OWN BODY! FUCK THE SHIT YOU WERE RAISED ON BEFORE!?'

Also, all of my interpretations of sexuality come from my general observations of the original text, and how I honestly see the chemistry between certain characters. I acknowledge it isn't canon, but I also think it's not out of the realm of possibilities if the author was inclined to explore those topics. If ya'll don't agree with my interpretations, that's okay. Don't try to make me look at your head! canon though. I don't want to debate this, lol, I just want to smash certain characters together and say, 'NOW KISS.' That's like 50 percent of the reason I write fanfiction. so yeah. This is my headcanon, not canon-canon, I don't really care for a debate on that.