A/N: The events of this fanfic occur not in Japan (not yet at least), but in Kazakhstan, so OC's will have Kazakh and Russian names, but worry not, none of that will affect the story itself.

Chapter 2: Prolonged rehabilitation.

He spent three weeks at the hospital. All he did was walking around the floor, reading brochures and some medical books, mostly human anatomy, watching TV and sleeping. Well, trying to sleep at least. His arms and back stopped aching on the second day of his unneeded rehabilitation, they were a little bit sore, but that was it. If there was something wrong with him it was that he hadn't spoken a word for these three weeks. He wanted to, he really did, but he just... couldn't. Like something inside him was stopping words from escaping his throat.

My health is fine, but why am I here then, why they won't let me leave? his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

A nurse entered the room, "Hey there, little one," a soft voice reached his ears "How are you, how are your arms?" she asked with a smile on her face. An elderly woman in her fifties made her way to bed he was occupying and sat beside him. She looked almost like any other ordinary person, with big brown eyes, radiating with the warmth he hadn't seen in a while, her gray, smooth hair in a neat bun, her face had a surprisingly low amount of wrinkles for someone her age. The only thing that made her stand out is a bunch of little scales that were scattered across her face and a few more on her neck. She was one of the few people in the hospital that was kind to him, who didn't look at him like the rest of the staff, like most of the patients, like him.

She's been nice to me this whole time, talk to her at least once, dammit, he told himself, but all he could answer her with was a nod.

"It's okay if you don't feel like talking, dear, nobody's forcing you. Just now if you'll ever need something, Max and I will be here for you."

Another nod. The door closing. Silence.

Zhanar and Max were his only visitors. Max is his grandfather's friend and colleague, one of the country's best traumatologists. He was the one, who chose his name, always joked about seeing a fire in his eyes. Oh, the irony. He was also the one, who carried him back to the hospital after his mom found him, yet he wasn't afraid of him even after witnessing what exactly he had done, his eyes always carrying worry and sympathy.

Come to think of it, my parents hadn't visited once in these three weeks, he realized. But why? Max said something about them 'fucking with papers', a small smile appeared on his face at the memory of Zhanar hitting him in the back of the head. It faded instantly. They probably don't want to see me after what I've done, he shook his head, thoughts like this are the last thing he needed at the moment.

He got off of his bed at the announcement of the dinner and went to the dining room. He was stared at with that look again. Maybe Max has something to eat, he thought and headed to his office.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Come in!" an older man in his late fifties was sitting behind the desk, his grey hair was slicked back. He looked at his visitor, "Oh, hey there, kiddo! Great timing, was about to go after you anyway, come in, sit down," Max pointed at the chair closest to him. "Hope you like pizza with mushrooms, cuz I've ordered a couple of boxes. They should come in a couple of minutes," a courier arrived just when he said that. "Another great timing, eh?"

"Well, swoop in, pal," he said, putting a slice on a plate in front of him. "So, how your day went, anything interesting happened?"

The boy shook his head.

"Yeah, sorry, dumb question. Have you read the book I gave you?"

He nodded.

"Good to know, most children get tired of reading about human anatomy very quickly."

"..."

"What about your arms and back? Felt any pain recently?"

He shook his head yet again.

"Huh, you really are tough, aren't you?" he muttered.

The boy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I saw them..." he pointed at his bandages, "...when I carried you back here. It was quite a mess, to say the least. Some folks even thought about filling you up with painkillers. It was quite a surprise when you woke up and just looked like you gave absolutely no f-*cough* -interest about your arms."

He tilted his head.

"Subtlety isn't really my thing, isn't it?"

Another nod from the kid.

"Heh, yeah," he looked at his watches. "Well you look at a time, I think it's time for you to go to bed, young man," he showed them to his guest. It's 10 am already?

He nodded and got up, looked at him with a small smile and gratitude in his eyes, waved his hand, and left.

He was back in the alley again. Looking at a mangled mess of a human body he left. He was breathing heavily, petrified with fear. Suddenly, a corpse turned its head towards him, empty eye sockets were glaring at him, it pushed it's the body off the ground, shaking and twitching.

"You..." it spoke "You're a fucking disgrace to humanity," its voice was horribly distorted, as it echoed all around him. "So how does it feel like, huh? How being a fucking murderer feels like, huh?!"

"I-I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry," he mumbled

"Ohhhh, you're sorry? Aren't you a sweet little boy? Will your apologies regrow my skin? My muscles? Will it bring me back to life? No? THEN THEY AIN'T WORTH SHIT!" it snarled, spitting blood right on his face

"I-I'm sorry, I just was r-really scared."

"Was? What about now, huh? Now you're not? What's the point of being scared of a deadman anyway, right?"

"I-"

"Shut the fuck up, just shut the FUCK UP!" he winced at its scream, "You know what? I hadn't a chance to "eat you" when I was alive, how about we fix it right now, huh?"

With that said, it grabbed the boy and started opening his mouth. It opened the way no normal mouth should, sheer darkness inside it. It started to pull petrified boy closer, into the abyss.

Before it could eat the boy, he was yanked further and further away from that atrocity.

"Tch, see ya around, kid," the voice said in his head, "Maybe I won't be alone next time, who knows."

He shot up, gasping for air, tears leaking from his eyes. He felt something crawling up his throat.

He ran. It's prohibited to run in hospitals, but he didn't care. He needed to get to the restrooms as fast as possible, or janitors will scold him again.

He somehow made it in time, right now kneeling in front of the toilet, letting tonight's pizza out. His throat was burning from the inside, water in the toilet steaming.

He looked at his arms and started vomiting again. Why did it turn out like this? he thought, that face still in front of his. Why I've decided to go home by myself? Why that person was there? Why did he decide to follow me? Why he... Why I... he started crying, trying to keep his voice down, trying not to wake up anyone. Especially them, they'll worry, if they'll see me like that. Hope there are no cameras here.

It took a couple of minutes to calm down, he went to the sink to wash his face. An oval faced boy with brown hair with a tint of gray in it, with black big eyes and bags under them and an unhealthily pale face, was looking back at him. He splashed his face with cold water a couple more times and looked at the clock above the mirror. 3 am... I really need to go to sleep. I hope I won't see that again.

Thankfully, the moment he laid his head on the pillow, he fell asleep almost immediately. He was even more thankful the next morning for not seeing that thing again.

The fourth week already.

A blonde young man at the age of 16-18 with a cast on his middle finger and a few patches on his face stood on a balcony, lighting the cigarette, chatting with his friend, a tanned black-haired muscular guy with bandaged forehead and neck, about a fight they recently had, about going out somewhere when they'll leave the hospital.

"Say..." the blonde guy said while looking out for nurses, "...have you seen that kid from 113 room on the floor above us?"

"The one with bandaged arms? Yep, saw him, why? "

"Well..." he paused to smoke, "... I've heard nurses talking about him having that abnormality or somethin'"

"Are you shitting me?" the non-smoker exclaimed. "Why the fuck they're keeping him with us? Aren't these freaks, like, dangerous or something?"

"I dunno, the ones I've seen before just had either some useless shit like hair length changing or they just were ugly as fuck. Besides, he's just a kid, what can he possibly do?" the smoker said nonchalantly.

"His bandages are thick as fuck, man, don't you think having someone like that is dangerous?" his friend asked anxiously.

"Even if he has some super-duper power, it just might be as dangerous for himself as it is for us, so I don't think he would use it," he theorized, "and don't tell me that you're afraid of a damn four-year-old, pal, that's fucking lame."

"They're unpredictable, man. I've heard about some dude that had the power to control metal, imagine if he just went nuts one day"

"It's a fucking comic book character, you moron," he laughed, extinguishing his cigarette.

"The fuck you just sa-"

"Let's go now, I'm hungry "

"..."

Not the best time to get some fresh air, huh? the subject of discussion stood on the balcony right above them.

A couple of hours later a door to his room opened, his mother came in along with his dad and grandpa looking like they've been fighting for a couple of days without any rest. He looked at them, his eyes turning blue for a moment.

"Hey there," his mother looked apologetic, softly adding, "get packed, sweetheart, we're going back home"

"Jalyn, I need to tell you something," he tilted his head to his grandfather. "I hope you'll forgive us for not visiting you often."

"It's okay," he finally spoke, his voice steady and a bit cold

"We were busy with-"

"At home," he interrupted him. "I'm a bit tired of this place."

"There's one more thing, son." his dad finally spoke, his voice low, sounding a bit anxious.

He looked at him questioningly.

"Do you want to take your bandages off?"

He froze at his father's question, looking at his forearms, curious and frightened at the same time. From time to time he was examining the cloth that was covering his arms, sparing him from presumably -Definitely- horrific sight of the skin -I hope there is any skin left- beneath it.

Do I want to do it? Do I really need a reminder of that day to be in front of me? he remembered a nightmare he recently had. There's no way I'll forget about that, if it must remind me of something, then let it remind me of what I really am...''A fucking murderer"

"Son, are you okay?"

"Yes, mom," he turned to his grandfather. "I want them off."

That was not a pleasant sight. His eyes widened when he saw what was hidden behind those bandages: black, somewhere red from the blood covering it, scorch marks covered his forearms, the skin, or what's left of it is now rough, some parts of his muscles now were seen, yet somehow they were still intact, they weren't even damaged, according to his grandfather's words.

Maybe I'm more resistant to the fire on the inside? Or my body just started adjusting to my... abnormality from the insides, but was used to early?

"Can it heal?" he asked, looking at his arms that he himself mangled.

"I don't know, dear, the fact that they're still capable of moving is a miracle itself. A normal hu-" he hesitated, looking at his grandson with sadness. "A normal human would've needed an amputation if something like that happened to them."

"A normal human", huh? Guess now I can't be counted as one.

"Do you want me to cover them again?" he said, pointing at his disfigured arms.

"I wouldn't want to scare anybody," he looked at him. "Yes, please."

It took a couple of minutes to cover all of that mess up, "Let's go, your parents are waiting."

"Yeah."

Why the car is here? The house just a couple blocks away, he thought, then he looked to the right, to the route he chose to go home nearly a month ago. They don't want me to go this way on my feet, aren't they? he realized.

It took five minutes to reach their house: a three-storied building made of yellow bricks with a green roof made of ceramic tiles.

The moment he got off the car, all neighbors' eyes were on him, parents quickly began shooing their children home, looking at him the same way he did. He just ignored them, making his way to the gates of his home, already hearing a familiar rustle behind it.

His German Shepherd greeted him with happy bark, as it started jumping around him, panting heavily and willing to play after a month-long parting.

"Hey there, Dallas, long time no see, huh?" he said with the same steady voice. The dog calmed down after hearing its owner's voice as if somehow understanding what he had been through, all its happiness and excitement faded way, as it slowly licked the kid. "I'll play with you later, okay? I'm really tired," he said, leaving his friend and heading inside the house.

There are two things that his grandmother hated the most: Russians and people with abnormalities. He knew about the latter, so it wasn't too big of a surprise for him, when upon arriving home, first thing, that met him was the look he was slowly beginning to hate. She tried to hide it, hugging him, saying that she missed him, he just played along, preparing to live the rest of his life avoiding her gaze.

He later knew the reason for her absence in the hospital from his grandfather. She tried to convince them to send him to the orphanage, to disown him, saying that he'll be a disgrace to their family, that he's going to be the cause of their death. Somewhy he wasn't angry or mad or sad. He wasn't even surprised. He somehow expected that to happen. He was just glad that the rest of his family told her to either deal with it or leave.

He also told him that he used his connections to change his documented abnormality as "Body temperature regulation" instead of "Fire generation". Apologizing for the inability to do more, for not having more influence to write him down as a normal kid. A look of gratitude and a hug from his beloved grandchild caused him to break down, he started crying, hugging his poor baby-boy.

Just being hated is better than used as a weapon, he thought. Unwilling to know what happened to his corpse.

In the next three months a few things happened:

His parents decided that it'd be safer, for both him and others, to drop off his kindergarten. All the neighbor kids he befriended left him, most likely due to their parents' interfering. He was spending most of his time watching superhero movies and cartoons on TV, reminiscing of a dream he now knew was unachievable. His colorful eyes now were black most of the time, a glint of blue appearing when he was playing with Dallas. He hadn't shown any emotions since returning home.

His mother entered his room, all of the furniture replaced with fireproof variants, comic books neatly placed on shelves, toys -or action figures, as he corrected her once- posed in fighting poses. Her son was watching another one of these movies, she knew how they inspired him, how much he wanted to be like them. She decided to do something to help her child, to bring his dream back, even if it would make her worries grow even larger.

"Watching your movies again, huh?"

He nodded.

"They're kinda inspiring, don't you think?"

Another nod.

"Say, don't you wanna be like them?"

He frowned.

"I did," he answered, his voice still steady, still cold, unfitting for someone his age.

"Did? You've got an ab-" she mentally cursed at herself for a slip-up, reminding herself not to use that disgusting word, "-power, aren't you, maybe with it, you can-"

"I can't," he interrupted her.

"Why?" she knew, what he'll answer, she knew how much it hurts him talking about it, she knew he blamed himself for killing that... that monster, but she needed him to say it, she could find a way to use it to help him.

"Because my abnormality is dangerous, I AM dangerous. I've killed a man, mom," she saw a bit of red in his eyes. Keep pushing.

"He tried to-"

"I KNOW WHAT HE TRIED TO DO!" he shouted, his irises turning completely red. "BUT THAT DOESN'T JUSTIFY KILLING HIM! HEROES DON'T KILL!"

You have to keep pushing, you have to help him, "You had no control over your powers, dear."

"SO WHAT!? I HAD A CHANCE, A SMALL CHANCE TO RUN AWAY, HE WAS CONFUSED WHEN I BURNT HIS SHIRT. I COULD'VE JUST RAN AWAY. COULD'VE CAME BACK TO YOU! INSTEAD, I'VE SAT THERE LIKE A MORON, BEGGING HIM TO LEAVE ME ALONE. GIVING HIM TIME TO COME TO HIS SENSES, TO PULL OUT A KNIFE, TO COME AT ME," he was gasping for air, his eyes wet. "A REAL HERO WOULD'VE FOUND A WAY TO SOLVE THIS WITHOUT KILLING HIM, WITHOUT MANGLING HIMSELF!"

"He was suspected of killing 17 children."

"That doesn't matte-"

"You're right, it doesn't," she cut him off. "Killing is a bad thing, we both know it. But despite that, think about how many you have saved."

"It doesn't justi-"

"I know. You can't bring him back, you can't clean it off of your conscience, but you can at least dull the pain it's causing you."

"...How?" his irises had a tint of blue, toned down, but beautiful, nonetheless.

"Learning to control your power, using it to help people in need, to save them. To show them, that these mutations-" He'll give it a better name if it works. "-are not curse, that they can be a blessing."

"I-I..." he stuttered, finally letting his tears flow. Cry of relief -I hope it's that- escaping his throat.

"Shh, my baby," she hugged him, muttering in his ear. "Just think about it, please. Maybe you won't be a hero, but you'll still be able to help people. I just want you to know, that I'll always support and help you on your way."

"O-okay," he tried to break his hug, trying to not get her shirt dirty with his snot. "I-i will."

Thank God it worked.

"Thank you, dear. I'm about to take a nap, wanna join me?" he nodded. "Then let's wash your face first".

"I love you, mom"

"So do I," she said softly.

They were eating together the next day, everybody was at work, except for his mom, who asked for a day off to spend it with him.

"Mom?" he started a conversation, the first time in three months. His voice still cold, though.

"Yes, twinkle?" she asked.

"Can I sign up for swimming lessons?"

"Of course you can."

"What about light athletics?"

"Sure, why not?"

"And breakdance?"

That one confused her, he never was a fan of any dances whatsoever.

"Sure, sweetie, but why?"

"Swimming and light athletics will help me to develop some musculature and increase my endurance," he answered.

"What about breakdancing?" she clarified

"It'll help me to become more agile and develop my... Vestibular? Yeah, vestibular, it can also be implemented in the fighting."

"We can just sign you up for karate, boxing, and other stuff like that, you know. Why do you even need to learn how to fight? Don't you have your fire?"

"I can't control it yet, besides, if I end up fighting someone fireproof or with ability to block quirks, I might get beaten."

"That's a good point," she nodded in agreement. "Wait, what's a 'quirk'?"

"That's how I call abnormalities."

"Why quirks, though?"

"It...sounds cute?" he answered with uncertainty.

"Fair enough," she shrugged

"Oh, and one more thing," he added.

"Yes?"

"Your taser can change its voltage, right?"

"...Yes?" Victoria started to feel a bit worried

"Can you use it on my two or three times a day?"

"...What," she flatted out

"If there's fire quirk, then there has to be an electric one as well. I need to get used to shock so I'll be able to counter it."

"I'll... think... about it." he was scaring her a bit, but she promised to support him. At least he has a goal now.

A/N: The protagonist's name is Jalyn Ushar (yes, it sounds weird af, I know). In which Jalyn=flame and Ushar=fly. So his name means Flying Flame. I thought it'd be nice for someone in this fic to have a name with a meaning.

Thank you for reading.