Chapter Text
You walked into through halls of Saint Agnes Orphanage, hot on the heels of Sister Maggie. Her voice was low, but you heard every word.
“I wouldn’t have called, but we’re getting a bit desperate. He won’t speak at all. Hasn’t eaten or slept since they dropped him off two days ago,” she informed you evenly.
You nodded in understanding. “That’s not exactly uncommon, if your suspicions are correct about what you think happened to him before he was placed here.”
Dread built in the smaller woman as she led you through corridors and directed you to a door on the right with an open hand and slight nod. She was worried, but her calm façade gave no indication. There was a deep empathy that ran through her, and beneath it, a simmering anger that felt all too familiar. It was not the first time she had called you for help when one of her young charges was so traumatized that even the most skilled of the nuns had difficulty breaking through. It was your specialty, in a way. Not that you ever spoke openly about how it was that you did what you did. And she never asked you. In truth, you didn’t think she really cared about the how, but focused completely on the results you always managed to secure for her. And them.
“What’s his name?” you murmured quietly as you peered into what looked like an empty bedroom. You knew better. You could feel the anxiety from where you stood. That and so, so much more.
“Nathaniel, but I think he prefers Nate,” she provided. Down at the other end of the hall, a small scuffle broke out between a couple of boys, and Maggie tsked under her breath.
“Find me before you leave,” she ordered you as she stormed off towards the children who, whether they knew it or not, were in for the special brand of telling-off that Maggie was widely known for.
Swift movements and a flash of ginger hair drew your attention back towards the room you had stopped beside. You caught a glimpse of a dirty t-shirt and stained blue jeans riddled with holes as a small boy darted across the hall and tried to hide in the infirmary. Through the windows that lined the hall you saw, much to your immense surprise, that it wasn’t empty. A sleeping man, beaten all to hell, lay on one of the narrow beds along the far side of the room, clothed in a dark hoodie and grey sweatpants. Cuts and bruises painted his face in mottled hues, and you could tell that he was thickly bandaged under his top. Whatever had happened to him, it hadn’t been pretty. In fact, he looked lucky to be alive. You focused on him for a moment and searched to any signs of awareness. When you found none, you took a steadying breath and ventured into the room.
Open as you were, you were quickly enveloped with waves of emotions that no child should ever have to suffer. Fear, helplessness, uncertainty, and despair whirled around in his shaking frame like a vortex of pain, and at their center pulsed a steady beat of shame so strong that it almost drowned out everything else. You crouched down and looked under the table to where the sensations emanated from and took in the sight of someone who tried to curl in on himself so tightly it was almost like he was trying to disappear. He was so small; couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, and malnourished at best. Your heart ached for him. So young and already so haunted.
The swell of empathy that brought you gently to your knees tightened your throat to point that you had to swallow several times in order to even consider speaking. Maggie had been right; not surprising really since she usually was. She had worked here long enough to identify the signs by now, glaringly obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. Even if she hadn’t voiced her concerns, you would have recognized it right away. You knew those feelings well all too well.
“Hey there,” you said gently, your tone soft and soothing. You allowed peace and safety to flow from you in a halo of sensation that descended over him from crown to foot. You didn’t want to overwhelm him, and too much, too soon could confuse and frighten him more than he already was. You watched as he tried to pull his legs in tighter, but a single blue eye peeked out over the top of a denim-clad knee, curiosity getting the best of him.
“I’m Beth.” You pushed sincerity and calm towards him. “Are you Nate?”
Hesitant, but slightly less afraid, his little head bobbed once. You lowered completely onto the wooden floor with slow, deliberate movements, careful not to intrude upon his space. You tucked your legs underneath you and hunched your shoulders slightly so that you would not appear so much bigger than him. One eye remained on you, but he stayed tightly wound. You didn’t blame him. By the age he was now, you had already long figured out that the softest-spoken adults could be the most dangerous. You settled in as best you could despite how your knees protested at the hard surface beneath them. You had a feeling this would take a while, and you had survived much worse than sore joints.
“You’re new here.” It wasn’t a question. “Being in new places can be scary, huh?”
After what felt like an age, his little head lifted a fraction more to allow you more of a glimpse of him. He clearly hadn’t seen the inside of a bathtub in a while and the cracks in his lips indicated the complete lack of care he had been accustomed to. He nodded again but remained silent. You continued as you were, providing comfort and safety in soft brushes that had his tense little shoulders relaxing away from his ears by degrees. You tried not to stare at him too closely, so you let your eyes travel over the room where they once again fell on the battered man not six feet from the both of you.
“Looks like you aren’t the only one who’s needing a safe place,” you said with a little nod in the man’s direction. Nate’s little head perked up and his eyes swung towards the space you had indicated. A little spark of surprise told you he hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the room he’d chosen to try and hide in. He stared unabashedly as he took in the sights of someone so much larger than him, someone who was obviously too old to there, struggled with hitched, pained breaths as he tried to sleep.
“Even us grownups can get hurt,” you murmured. “And when we do, it’s good to accept help from people who are safe.”
The strength of his doubt nearly knocked the air from your lungs. Even at his tender age, this boy had learned that adults were the ones that did the hurting. You’d bet your paycheck that he’d rarely encountered one that he would deem ‘safe’. You sighed. People fucking sucked.
“I get it,” you whispered, ghosts of your own grief shading your words with tinges of sadness you couldn’t quite temper. “And you’re right to be afraid. People can be terrible. Even the ones who are supposed to take care of us. To protect us. They can be the worst of all.”
Wide, red-rimmed eyes focused back on you. He was suspicious and so very, very scared. So much so that your own heart fluttered a little as the sheer strength of his anxiety settled beneath your skin. But beneath all the fear you felt the beginnings of something that could, if nurtured properly, weave into a delicate thread of understanding. Not quite trust. It was too soon for that. His survival instincts ran deep. In truth, they did in most children you encountered. Kids were much more likely to listen to those little voices in their minds that screamed there was danger. Adults tended to drown them out with societal expectations of politeness, of not being judgmental, of giving people the benefit of the doubt. Especially if you had been born female. It was generally what got them hurt, or even killed. If they had just listened to their instincts, they wouldn’t have stayed in a dangerous situation. Even you, with the skills you possessed, weren’t immune. You had just gotten lucky. If damn near dying could be called luck.
You waited until he took a few steadying breaths before you shifted ever so slightly in his direction. Not too much to cause him alarm, but enough that he could see how your focus was solely on him. You had to lock away the way your heart ached for this poor, terrorized child. He didn’t need pity, he needed support. Love. Safety. Security. You weren’t sure how much of the first he would find inside the walls of Saint Agnes, but the last two he would have in spades if he only opened himself up just the smallest of cracks. He regarded you openly, his nervousness slowly receding and being replaced by something that tasted like understanding. Recognition. You were one of them. You often maintained that trauma was like an invisible beacon that could only be seen by those who had been trapped in its merciless clutches. No matter how long ago it happened or how much work one did to move through it, it left scars behind that forever shaped the wearer. You viewed the world through wiser eyes. Connected with others on a different, less idealistic level that felt more authentic even if it scared the ever-loving shit out of you. It made finding others like you, like him, easier since you picked up on little idiosyncrasies that were too subtle for the unseeing. Like Nate, you had once worn your worthlessness like a cloak, sure that it had stained your very skin in hues recognizable by everyone around you in an effort to warn them away. Undeserving of anything good. You were tainted. Unlovable. It had been a long, hard-fought battle to remove the shroud and with it, layers of loathing, of naked disdain, until you exposed something fresh and raw that you’d had to protect fiercely, lest you tear open the wounds that never seemed to fully heal and be forced to start all over again. He could see it in your gaze, and for the first time since you had sat down, his body started to uncurl.
Shouts echoed from down the hall, followed by the slam of a door that reverberated through the wooden floors and walls around you. Nate froze in place, breathing stalled completely as his eyes clenched tights and his body was flooded with fear, dread, and a heavy certainty laced with an acceptance that ran so deep it seemed etched into his very bones. You blanketed him in solace and tranquility as you reached forward with exaggerated slowness. Your chilled fingertips brushed knuckles clenched so tightly you were sure they’d split under the strain. He sucked in a ragged breath but didn’t withdraw from you. Progress, such as it was. You would take it.
“It’s alright,” you assured him. “Just other kids mad that they got in trouble. Nothing to be afraid of.”
He shook his head violently and his anxiety skyrocketed until you had to swallow past the choking clouds his helplessness and certainty of impending doom. You would have to tell Maggie to put him somewhere quiet for the foreseeable future unless she wanted to spend half the day searching every space small enough to hide this frightened child.
On the edges of your awareness, you felt the whispers of consciousness floating from the bed a few feet away. You ignored it and focused on Nate. The man, whoever he was, wasn’t awake yet. You still had time as lethargy slowly leaked from his exhausted body, but you needed to move things along. You didn’t want to rush him, but you weren’t sure what kind of person the nuns would have tucked away in the infirmary. Nate was terrified enough around you; you had zero idea how he would handle a grown man, wounded or not, if he woke up and started moving around.
You stroked your fingers lightly over Nate’s hand and let gentle streams security, assurance, and safety flow from you while you waited for whatever his reaction would be. Over the years you had learned to read and even expect certain displays of human behavior. Children were a little more predictable. When they felt safe, they often allowed themselves to be comforted or taken care of. Given the right set of circumstances, they could seek affection, perhaps the first harmless form of touch they had received in a long time – if ever. They could openly try to provoke people around them into violence, especially if that was all they knew and anything that deviated from that was terrifyingly unfamiliar. After all, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, or so the saying goes. Your abilities made it infinitely easier to calculate your moves, responses, and reactions. Knowing what the other person felt, even if you couldn’t always discern why, gave you a distinct advantage in being able to provide them with whatever it was they sought.
Nate stilled under the delicate drip of emotions you allowed to trickle into him. You kept your eyes soft as you watched his dart anxiously from your hand to his. His reaction confirmed what you had already known deep down; this little boy rarely knew touch that wasn’t violent or predatory. The knowledge made you feel hollow, your stomach clenching and twisting as you tried to swallow down the urge to hunt down whomever had harmed him and tear them apart with your bare hands. You’d never understood why people wanted to hurt others. It was one of life’s greatest tragedies that the weak depended on the strong, but the strong could prey upon them so mercilessly.
Pattering footsteps drew your attention from Nate as two slightly older boys paused outside the open door before one crept into the room. You had been so focused on Nate that you’d missed the injured man stirring into something that resembled awareness. He was relatively out of it, the hazy tenor of emotions tightly wrapped in suffocating fatigue. You doubted that he even knew any of you were there. Beneath that though . . . you’d never felt such deep, resounding grief. Something about it made your heart clench tightly in your chest, though you shook it off. The door behind you creaked as it was gently pushed open. Before your next breath, you felt tiny fingers wrap around your wrist and yank with all their might. You shuffled under the table with Nate, careful not to bang your head, and barely had time to register movement before his shaking body wormed into your lap, bony arms latching around your neck with more strength than you’d thought he carried in his whole traumatized body. His tangle of limbs poked into softer places, bruising with how hard he shook, but you would never have pushed him away. Bruises healed after a while. Rejection, not so much. With the way so much of his bare flesh was pressed to yours, it was easy to blanket him in security and warmth. The rapid pounding of his heart settled somewhat, and you felt his panic ease into something less overpowering. He was far from relaxed, but you could feel the tiny scrap of faith he’d placed in you to protect him; to protect you both. It was a start. He must have felt how determined you were to not be yet another adult in his life who failed him.
A scrawny, dark-haired boy ventured into the room on quiet feet, carefully approaching the broken stranger who, now that you’d glanced back, had his eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling. The child reached out like he was going to poke his bare foot, while his friend – not quite as brave as him – whispered from the doorway.
“Is he dead?”
You cast out and realized he was, in fact, much more aware than he had been just a few moments ago. His emotions had shifted to something more subdued, and you got the distinct impression that he was doing everything he could just to numb the devastating pain he was in, physical or otherwise.
“Boo,” a gravelly voice said suddenly, and the boy with the outstretched hand startled slightly, as did the trembling child in your arms.
“Who are you?” the nosy child whispered loudly.
“Same as you,” the man answered back. His voice was rough, but not harsh. You didn’t get the impression that he wanted to scare the kids. You didn’t get much of an impression at all, given the way he seemed to be keeping his feelings locked down so tightly. Curiosity got the best of you and you reached out, digging your way in more deeply.
“I grew up here,” he told them. There was a twinge of sadness wrapped in familiarity that could be mistaken for comfort by someone more optimistic. You knew better.
The boy from the doorway finally stepped into the room, inquisitiveness and sympathy heavy in his every move.
“Damn,” the older boy said, “what happened to you?”
You almost choked on the toxic waves of bitterness that rolled off the man as he uttered a single word.
“Life.”
Sister Maggie appeared like an apparition, silent and just as terrifying to the children that resided there. You knew she wasn’t really frightening, but she did command a level of respect with her presence that children often found unnerving. She cared for each and every child that walked through those doors, no matter how closely she guarded that fact. Not that you’d ever tell anyone. Her secret was safe with you. After all, she was keeping some of yours. It was only fair.
“This room is off limits,” she informed them cooly. “And if you’re well enough to be up, you’re well enough to be in class.”
Both boys stammered out apologies before they darted from the room. Nate curled his body more tightly against yours and you stroked a soothing hand over his dirty locks. He wasn’t as scared as he was before, but you didn’t make a single move as the conversation between the two adults continued.
“Hello again, Matthew,” her voice as close to warm as you had ever heard it. Something deep and maternal stirred in the nun, but there was uncertainty, too. And regret. So much aching regret that you found yourself shying away from the heaviness of it.
“They’re scared of you, huh?” Matthew said. Interestingly, his eyes remained cast upwards and he made no attempts to look in her direction. Or yours. Maybe he didn’t realize the two of you were tucked under the table, still and silent as you were. A small miracle, as far as you were concerned. You did not relish the idea of being discovered. Something told you it wouldn’t go down well.
“So were you, when you their age,” she replied evenly. She gathered up supplies and stalked purposefully over to his bedside. “I need to change your gauze. Preferably without you flailing around like an idiot.”
The conversation had drawn Nate’s attention, and his chin lowered from its hiding place against your neck. He watched as the exchange continue with rapt interest. Maggie was conversational, but with a bite to voice that belied her frustration. It also did well to hide just how deeply worried about this man – Matthew – that she really was. She spoke about him being a boy, a very angry boy from the sounds of it, pissed off with the world after being orphaned. But her next words shocked you into complete stillness.
“And now, you’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”
Nate picked up on the change in you immediately as your heart hammered away in your chest. With the exception of the way his arms constricted around your throat, he barely even dared to move enough to draw breath. With great effort, you forced yourself to relax against him and channeled as much calm as you could. It eased the tension a little, but not entirely.
“You’ve heard of me.” Matthew didn’t sound proud or even concerned. In fact, his voice was so devoid of feeling that you found yourself confused by the peculiar numbness he somehow pressed into every inch of his broken body.
“I live in an orphanage, not under a rock.” Her irritation was plain, and it sounded like she disapproved. But her emotions weren’t as guarded as his were, and you could feel how her concern bled into everything it touched. Still, it didn’t stop her from lashing out with her words, even questioning his blindness.
Wait – he was blind? Daredevil?? That was . . . impossible. Wasn’t it?
Of course, you had heard of him. You were certain that almost everyone in the Kitchen knew who he was. The vigilante who seemed to be everywhere all at once and had criminal elements of every ilk damned near pissing their pants at the sign of every shadow. And while you frequently encountered those who swore he had helped or saved someone they’d known; you had never had any personal interactions with him yourself. But you had heard about what he could do. The way he moved. What he was capable of. That the same person you had heard countless stories about was this broken, bleeding man that lay mere feet away from you nearly did your head in.
“Congratulations,” he muttered evenly. “You finally caught me.”
“It’s not a fair question?” You could feel the way she wondered from where you sat.
He sighed. “Yeah, the accident blinded me. It just also sharpened my other senses.”
Well, shit. That explained . . . well, not nearly enough to satisfy you. If his senses were so sharp, how the hell did he not realize that there were two additional people tucked under a table not half a dozen feet away?
“Not to worry, sister. Those days are behind me. I’m deaf in my right ear and I can’t even walk to the bathroom now.”
Humiliation hung heavy in the air around him, laden with grief and self-loathing. Whoever he was – Matthew or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen – he’d clearly been through the ringer. You listened with rapt attention as Maggie listed his injuries while she tended to bloody wounds. The numbness he had accomplished only minutes before had faded as quickly as it had arrived. Whatever effort he had tried to put in to maintaining it clearly took too much out of him to keep it up for very long. You could tell he was in a great deal of physical pain, but it barely held a candle to the emotional torment that seemed to pulse through him with every breath he took. It took every last bit of strength you had not to dissolve onto to the floor into a sobbing heap and succumb to the darkness that built ominously within him. Never in all your years had you ever encountered someone who felt so much. The depth of his emotions, of his unyielding despair even rivalled yours, and that was a feat in and of itself. When Maggie rose, she delivered another harsh blow, though seemingly without meaning to.
“Now that you’re out of the woods –“
“You want me to go.” Rejection soaked his every word, though he managed to say it with little inflection.
“I’m sorry.” She truly was, even if it didn’t sound that way.
“I’ll figure something out.”
She gathered up the medical supplies and turned back towards the sink. “There must be at least one person I can call for you.”
“No, there’s no one,” he said resolutely, but there was a subtle undercurrent of deception. You wondered if there were people who cared about him and he might just be too proud to ask for their help. Or maybe he was afraid they would turn him away? The nun said nothing else before she turned and left the room, her heart heavy with raging turmoil that she covered with a swift, purposeful gait and a rigid posture.
You absentmindedly carded your fingers through Nate’s hair as you tried to get a handle on everything you sensed coming from Matthew. There was a resigned acceptance mixed with a strong wave of expectation that wrapped around loneliness of the deepest hue. You shook your head slightly to clear your mind and turned your attention back to the child in your arms. He had settled during their conversation and felt as close to relaxed as you could expect of someone with so much fear. You couldn’t do anything for Matthew – he wasn’t the reason you had been asked to come – but you could help Nate. You pulled back ever so slightly so you could look the small child in the eyes as you pressed your finger to your lips to signal for him to be quiet. Matthew may have said he couldn’t hear very well, but if he really was Daredevil and had enhanced anything, you didn’t want this child caught in the crossfire if he responded angrily to having his secrets exposed.
You leaned in close again to press your lips to Nates ear and whispered as softly as you could, “You go first.”
He nodded, relief evident in his dull eyes. You had gained just enough of his trust for him to feel okay with you at his back. There was a quiet confidence that bloomed under all the anxiety that you didn’t try to decipher. Some feelings were just too complicated to anticipate, and trauma had a way of throwing unpredictable responses in the mix at every turn. As you watched his lithe movements devoid of any sound, you clenched your teeth so tightly you were afraid they might crack under the strain. Life had taught him, like you, that silence was golden. Your hellish childhood had provided you with many, many skills. The ability to read a room, even without your particular abilities. A level of hypervigilance that meant you immediately mapped out any and all exits in a new space, and that was after you measured up every person in the vicinity to categorize the potential threat they might hold. You were also able to move through a room unnoticed in such silence that your friends – the few you had – often accused you of operating in stealth mode. Or of being a ninja in a past life. You wondered what they would say if they knew just how those talents had formed. You doubted they would envy your so-called ninja skills then.
And it appeared that Nathaniel had learned the same lessons as you. The unfairness of it all left you burning with anger you did not have the time or space to process. You were forced to put it away for the time being; you’d deal with it later. You swallowed thickly as he crept across the floor, his eyes intent on Matthew, whose only motions was the stilted rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Time seemed to crawl, the seconds ticking by with each dull thud of your heartbeat as it rattled against your ribs. You watched as the small boys’ body twisted and contorted to allow him to sneak away, blessedly unnoticed, without ever tearing his frightened eyes from the perceived danger that the battered man in the bed represented to him. If you were honest, to you both. Because you sure as shit did not want to come face to face with the Devil, even if he wasn’t at full strength. You had never heard of him hurting anyone innocent, but you weren’t sure where you’d fall on that spectrum in his eyes, or anyone else’s for that matter. Your mistakes were not numerous, but they were grave in every sense of the word.
Once Nate cleared the doorframe you inched out from under the table in a similar manner. Your eyes stayed locked on Matthew’s unmoving body; your senses finely tuned to catch anything from him that strayed from the constant flow of misery that continuously ran through him without pause. How someone could exist in such an all-consuming despair –
Matthew’s breath halted as uncertainty and nervousness needled at him. You froze on the spot, mere inches from the door. Unseeing eyes darted around over your head as his head turned in your direction. His tongue flashed out to wet his parted lips.
“Is – is someone there?” he called out hoarsely.
Shit. SHIT!
You didn’t bother reigning in your panic as you leapt up and spun on the ball of your foot. If he really was blind, he wouldn’t be able to see you. And injured as he was, he would have a hell of a time catching up to you. You darted out the door and didn’t even hesitate to scoop up the small child who had balled up on the floor the moment a male voice had reached his ears. Even moving as quickly as you had, you did not make a sound, so you were clearly able to hear the Devil call after you, more quietly and unsure than before.
“Hello?”
You did not know how that singular word could sound so alone, so haunted, but you didn’t allow yourself time to stop and wallow on the thought as you cradled Nate to your chest and strode purposefully down the hall. You passed several wide-eyed children before rounding the corner and nearly colliding with Father Lantom. The boy in your arms had a vice grip on your neck, but you allowed your own relief and feelings of familiar comfort to wash over you both as you greeted the priest.
“Apologies, Father,” you continued to use the same soothing tones you always did around wounded children. “We didn’t see you there.”
“Which is why the sisters don’t allow running in the halls,” the father half-joked. He looked at the child in your arms with raised eye-brows, but you could feel how impressed he was. You had a feeling Nate had withdrawn from everyone else.
Your smile was natural, genuine as you nodded once. “A rule frequently broken, I’m sure."
“Children will do what they do,” he replied in kind, a knowing twinkle in his eye. He turned his attention to the frightened child. “How are you today, Nathaniel?”
Nate said nothing, but did peek over one very stiff shoulder to look at Father Lantom, or Paul, as you knew him. When you had met, he wasn’t wearing his collar and was in the process of cleaning out half of the drunks at the local pool bar.
“I think he likes to be called Nate,” you informed him with a little shrug before you looked at wide blue eyes. “Yeah?”
It took a few beats before he nodded slowly, his nervousness only just settling enough to allow the bits of trust he had put in you to guide his interaction. He didn’t seem to be scared of Paul specifically; you had a feeling it was all men, if not most adults in general. But he lacked the unease you would expect in someone who had been hurt the way you suspected he had. But maybe he had at least a few people in his life that were safe – or safer. It would certainly make the transition process to get him settled in easier.
“Good to know,” Paul smiled softly at the boy, then looked at you. “I’d like to have a word before you leave this evening, if you have time?”
You nodded. “Maggie said something similar.”
He frowned slightly but his expression cleared when he saw how intently Nate was watching him. Still, you felt a twinge of annoyance laced through a heavy thread of worry that wound tightly around him. You briefly wondered if he knew who lay down the hall in the infirmary. Which reminded you; you would have to tell Nate to keep whatever he had heard in that room to himself. If the sisters wanted to hide Daredevil in their orphanage, they must have a good reason. He had said that he’d grown up here; maybe it was just as simple as keeping one of their own safe. You wouldn’t put it past them, especially Maggie. The amount of maternal love that burned within her was breathtaking. The fact that she never showed it outwardly made you wonder why, but it wasn’t any of your business. She was allowed her secrets even if you couldn’t always afford her – or anyone else, for that matter – the privacy she deserved.
“You’re going to tag team me again, aren’t you?” you muttered, your eyes narrowing in mock annoyance, but you allowed your grin to remain so as to not startle Nate.
“Likely,” he replied around a smile of his own.
You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily before looking at the solemn child that still clung to you like Velcro. “What do you think? Should I help them?”
Blue eyes blinked owlishly at you before sliding towards Father Lantom. You felt the way he cautiously took him in; the uncertainty, the way he measured every line and subtle expression before something settled softly beneath his skin: hesitant acceptance. He looked back at you and gave a sharp little nod. Pride soften the edges of your smile and you gave the boy a gentle squeeze. Children were amazing. They would give people chance after chance to prove them wrong, even when it hurt, all because they deeply desired that love and protection they needed in order to survive. Their resilience was unmatched, as was the little seed of hope that lay nestled deeply within each and every one of them, regardless of what they survived. Nate was lucky that he was still so young. He had years to unlearn all the truths his young life had already imparted on him. He still had a chance to grow into someone who could heal and love and trust the way most children could. You envied him in that. It was too late for you. Your truths were carved in deep, bloody wounds that imprinted on your very soul. The scars were long formed through your own blood, sweat, and tears. So, you did the next best thing; you helped as many people as you could so that they did not become what had created them. It was the closest thing to breaking the cycle that you could accomplish, and that was no small thing. Not to the ones you managed to help, and definitely not to you.