one and a half weeks later
today is finally the day it goes down. . .
So this was the plan for today.
Another adoption day.
Another day where someone might come and take one of us home—though, if Tod was being honest, it wasn't very likely. It never really was. There hadn't been any new kids brought in for almost two years now, and the youngest among them was five… heavily mutated, too. The kind of mutation that made adults look away a little too fast.
Tod didn't like thinking about it like that. It felt mean. Cruel.
But it was also the truth.
Kids like that didn't get chosen.
There weren't many of them left in the orphanage now. The halls felt emptier than they used to, quieter in a way that made his chest feel tight. Tod wasn't sure what would happen once there were too few of them left to justify the place existing at all. Sometimes, late at night, that thought scared him more than being adopted ever did.
But back to Slade.
Slade was twelve now—old enough that adoption was basically off the table. Everyone knew it. As kids got older, their chances dropped fast, and Slade had already passed the age most families were willing to "deal with."
So he got angry.
For the past two years, Slade's anger had found one target: the other orphans. They were the only ones he could take it out on. Sometimes Mia or Luke stepped in, but they couldn't be everywhere. They couldn't stop him every time.
Today… today was probably going to be Tod's turn.
Hopefully.
Tod sat quietly as the adults walked through the yard, pretending not to stare while very obviously staring. Their eyes skimmed over children like they were items on a shelf—too strange, too loud, too broken, too much.
Then they stopped.
Their attention settled on a boy sitting alone on a bench.
His head was lowered, brown hair grown long and thick, falling forward like a mane and hiding most of his face in shadow. From this angle, they couldn't really see him clearly—just a small frame, faintly glowing eyes peeking out from behind the curtain of hair.
The adults exchanged a look.
He doesn't seem too bad, one of them thought. Probably not very different at all.
Up close, Tod didn't look dangerous. He didn't look uncontrollable. Whatever mutation he had, it was subtle enough from here—easy to ignore, easy to explain away.
We could handle this, they decided.
They imagined the looks they'd get, the quiet praise. How kind, people would say. How brave. Adopting a child from a mutation-focused orphanage—but one that wouldn't draw too much attention.
Tod didn't look up.
He could feel it anyway.
That familiar pressure settled over Tod's shoulders—the feeling of being weighed and measured, not for who he was, but for how little space he might take up in someone else's life.
Somewhere behind him, he could already feel Slade's anger beginning to stir. It was like a storm he'd learned to sense before the clouds even rolled in.
The adults approached him anyway.
They crouched down to his level, careful, deliberate, and put on what they clearly thought were warm smiles. The kind practiced in mirrors. The kind meant to look kind without requiring much effort.
"Hey there, young lady," the man said softly, his voice gentle in the way adults used when they thought a child might break. "My wife and I noticed you sitting here all by yourself. Are you lonely?"
The words hit Tod wrong.
He jerked his head up without thinking, eyes snapping to the man's face—and in doing so, the curtain of hair fell away.
For just a second, the world seemed to pause.
"Huh…" Tod said, his voice rough and strained, frustration slipping through before he could stop it. "I'm not a girl."
The smile didn't disappear.
But it changed.
They didn't flinch—not visibly. They were good at that. But the man's hand was still resting lightly on Tod's shoulder, and Tod felt the subtle shift immediately. The faint tightening. The hesitation.
He was painfully aware of things like that.
His senses were always sharper than they should've been—trained, twisted, and honed by a quirk that borrowed from animals that survived by noticing everything. The smallest change in breath, posture, pressure. He felt it all.
The couple exchanged a brief glance.
The warmth in their expressions dimmed, like someone lowering a light just enough that you noticed the room wasn't as bright anymore. The interest—the curiosity, the fragile hope—faded almost instantly.
"I'm sorry about that, young man," the woman said politely. Too politely. "We'll be going now."
They stood up.
And just like that, they walked away.
Tod watched them go, his chest tightening in a way he didn't fully understand yet. Part of him wanted to call out—to ask them to reconsider, to explain, to promise he wouldn't be difficult.
Even though he knew why they'd changed their minds.
Even though, deep down, he didn't actually want to be adopted by people who mistook him for something he wasn't and left the moment they saw his face.
It still hurt.
It hurt knowing they didn't want him—not because of who he was, but because of how he looked.
As the adults walked away, Tod caught sight of Slade. The anger that had been simmering on his face earlier melted into a smug, satisfied grin.
A moment later, the couple was speaking quietly with Mr. and Mrs. Jhones, explaining—begrudgingly—that they "didn't feel a connection."
Tod could tell from Hank and Mia's strained smiles that they knew it wasn't the truth.
Still, they walked the couple out, polite to the very end.
That was when Slade moved.
He stepped up beside Tod and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in just a little too tight. His voice dropped into that familiar, taunting drawl.
"Aww," Slade said, looking down at him. "They didn't wanna take you, huh?"
His arm tightened.
Tod's skin crawled. He hated being touched—especially like this. Especially by him.
But something in Tod snapped into place.
Today.
Today was the day.
He took a breath, heart pounding, and tried to steel himself. Just talk back, he thought. It can't be that hard.
He looked up at Slade, forcing his face into what he hoped was defiance.
"L-leave me alone, Slade," Tod said.
The words came out smaller than he wanted.
Dang it. That didn't work.
Slade's grin vanished.
"What did you say to me, you freak?" Slade snarled.
Tod swallowed. Slade looked terrifying up close—bigger, broader, and far too comfortable using that size to hurt people.
Okay. One more time. You can do this.
"I said leave me alone, Slade," Tod repeated, his voice steadier this time.
He reached up and shoved Slade's arm off him, stepping forward instead of back—even though Slade still towered over him. He really was big for his age. Mutant quirk or not.
"And," Tod added, his voice shaking but strong, "you need to leave all of us alone."
For a brief moment, Slade just stared at him.
Confusion flickered across his face.
Then it twisted into rage.
"What did you say to me, you little fugly lookin' piece of—" Slade growled, straightening to his full height.
Tod felt his stomach drop.
…I really should've taken more time to prepare.
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Hey there, peeps! Sorry for the cliffhanger. I've never written a fight scene before, and I'm not totally sure how to do it yet. I think I've put enough thought into it to make it work, but I'll have to finish it later.
sense I've got a date I'm about to go on. :1
I'm actually waiting for her to show up right now, and I finished up this little scene while I was waiting. (Granted, I've been waiting for a minute since I showed up early.)
So yeah, I'll probably finish the scene tomorrow—or maybe the day after—since I'm staying the night at her place tonight. Priorities, sadly. 😔
Hope y'all have a nice day!