Killian needed to get somewhere safe. His head pounded, his vision blurred around the edges. "Stupid, stupid." He hissed at himself. What the hell was he thinking? He knew better than to wander around the city at night. The Bronx wasn't the kindest place during the day, let alone in the dead of night.  

His stomach curled. The smell of summer in the city was never pleasant, even worse during a heatwave. 

He never should have left the shelter. Killian leaned heavily against the brick wall at the opening of the alley. He grabbed roughly at his black hair. In the far back of his mind, Killian admitted to himself that maybe he should have never run away from his last foster home. He tried to stare down this stupid alley through his blurred vision. This alley has invaded his dreams night after night. This alley that Killian couldn't ignore the urge to come back to.

Why? 

It's just an alley like any other. Trash on the ground. Graffiti on the walls. Well, the graffiti was pretty weird. Killian couldn't makeout any of the tags. 

"Hey, kid." A loud voice called from behind him. 

He looked over his shoulder at the three men standing behind him. Three large, clearly drunk men. Fuck. 

The one who spoke pulled out a knife. Thug number two pushed Killian deeper into the alley, as thug number three smiled at him. An ugly smile that made Killian shiver. "Empty your pockets." Thug number one demanded. 

Fear nearly choked him. A tremor raced up his arm. Whether it was from fear or the migraine crashing his skull. Killian did know. 

"Does it look like I have any money, dipshit?" Killian shouldn't have said that. But like always, his mouth runs away from him.

Killian slammed on the ground as thugs two and three started to rain down punches and kicks. He curled into himself. If one thing foster care taught him was how to take a punch. He protected his head and tried to ignore the pain. He's good at ignoring pain.

"Well, isn't this interesting?" A gravely voice echoed in the alley. 

"This ain't your business." The ringleader said to someone past Killian. 

Killian lifted his head a little to take a peek. There at the deadend of the alley stood a man. He was leaning against the dead-end wall, and he was mostly in the shadows. A small light from the man's cigarette was the only light. 

"It's amusing that you think you can tell me what is, and isn't, my business." The stranger said as he pushed off the wall. His footsteps echoed as he calmly moved closer. "It seems to me," He pointed at himself with the light cigarette, "that three grown men are beating up a kid." 

"Not a kid," Killian couldn't stop himself from saying, "I'm fifteen." 

"Yeah," the stranger was in the light now. He was a tall man with pure white hair and black eyes. Normally, Killian would think the stranger was handsome if the man's gaze didn't make him feel like a mouse in front of a mountain lion.

Who the hell is this guy? 

"That's not the point you think it is, kid." The stranger glanced at Killian, then back at the three men. "I really hate people who beat on kids," The stranger shrugged, "call it a quirk." He flicked his cigarette at the ringleader. "So," a dangerous smirk appeared on the stranger's face. His dark eyes took on a hungry glint. 

Killian couldn't stop himself from instinctively moving away from the stranger. His back hit the alley wall. Killian wasn't reassured when he noticed the three thugs all stepped back. This is it. Killian could run now. The three idiots moved back enough that Killian has room to run. Like he always does. Yet, Killian didn't want to run. So, for the first time in his memory, Killian chose to stay. 

The stranger's smirk stretched farther as if he knew what was going on in Killian's head.

Killian would swear later on that he saw a fang peaking out of the stranger's smirk. 

The stranger was in front of the ringleader in a flash. "Who wants to die first?"