Son

The air has a bite to it today.

Delorian grunts as the cold pulls the weight of his brick bag lower. The trek up the mountain is hard enough for him without the changing seasons, but what did he expect, living on a fall island? More often than not, the seasons tend towards the cold, and though he's lived on Davenport for thirty years, that isn't going to stop him from complaining about his aching bones, even though the young men down by the pier chime in every time he sits to drink with them, "Stop complainin', it makes you sound old as hell." Well, after all these damn years, he gets to be a little old.

He passes by a makeshift rest stop and several slide pipes, and reaches the well at the top. When it's finished, the entire mountainside will have access to the fresh groundwater. It's been almost a decade since he started working on it, but it's about a month away from completion. There isn't a soul on Davenport that doesn't thank him whenever he passes them every morning. He only tells them to thank his old man. Richard Edward Delorian taught his son everything he knew, now Alphonse was only paying it forward.

He's huffing and puffing by the time he reaches the top and sets his work bag down. If it were warmer and he could breathe a little easier, he'd do the usual and stand with his hands on his hips, gazing upon the island like he'd built it himself, and inhale the crisp air. Now it only feels like his lungs are on fire. There's no time to waste, then. He has to get to business if he wants to be off this mountain before midday.

There's a satchel he doesn't notice is there until he almost trips over it. "What the—"

It's a little thing, barely enough to carry a meal, let alone all the notebooks he's just sent flying. Why would anyone leave this here? Or is someone in trouble? 

Delorian is up on his feet the moment the thought crosses his mind. Davenport used to be a pirate haven before Delorian cleaned up its streets. No criminal dared step foot on the island since he officially received his badge. That doesn't mean they won't start now, but dammit, why now?

It's an empty clearing. The less Delorian sees, the more panicked he becomes. How long has this thing been here? What if he's too late, what if he had the opportunity to save someone and failed again—

There sits the well, surrounded by green grass and smashed at the side. Bricks lay everywhere. There'd been a struggle, someone really was in trouble, he'd missed the chance—

He doesn't know what possesses him to look, but he peers over the edge of the well, and sees there, at the bottom, a boy no older than fifteen, unconscious, and covered in scrapes and bruises.

"Oh, oh dear God." Delorian falls to his knees, struck by the sight before him, shaking. So young, what could he possibly have done to deserve such a fate? What kind of monster would do this?

Before any tears come, Delorian hears a shuddering sigh from below, and is instantly on his feet again. The boy is still alive! All is not lost!

"Hold on, boy! I'll help you!"

Thankfully, Delorian had prepared for this possibility a long time ago (the possibility of someone falling in, not an attempted murder!), and had a sling built to help pull people back up. He fetches it from his work bag and throws it over. With a little bit of work, he manages to get the contraption wrapped securely around the boy, and he pulls.

The boy doesn't regain consciousness with all that handling, not when Delorian grabs him and holds him, not when he calls. He only shivers, and once, he whimpers in pain when Delorian attempts to stand him up.

He's never been a gentle man, but that won't stop him from trying. Leaving his work bag behind, he carries the boy down the mountainside. People gasp and a commotion builds around the two of them as he pushes past the crowd to find the town doctor. 

"Oh my!" comes one old woman's surprise.

"Poor boy!" Another sobs.

Someone had run ahead to fetch the doctor, so he was prepared to receive the boy by the time Delorian makes it there. He and the nurse lay the boy down on a stretcher and wheel him into the examining room, while Delorian stands outside, waiting for the news.

It's not until midday that the doctor comes to relay the boy’s condition.

"He's lucky you found him when you did."

"What happened? Did someone hurt him?"

"Nothing like that. The boy was on the brink of starvation and collapsed from weakness. Those injuries are from the fall. It's amazing, really. No broken bones, even from the height of his fall and the lack of nutrition."

Delorian grunts in response.

"Oh! He was asking for you, by the way. We got an IV line in and he was awake within minutes, and hasn't shut up since."

Delorian thanks the doctor, and goes into the room. He makes eye contact with the boy and doesn’t know what to expect, and pulls off his cap, holding it sheepishly in front of him.

The boy scrutinizes for a moment and then smiles the brightest smile Delorian has ever seen. It's like summer’s come back for a second. "Here he is, the man of the hour! Thank you, Mr. Delorian! I'd have been a goner without you!"

Delorian frowns and shakes his head. "If I'd been just a little later—"

"Nonsense! You saved me! This must be fate! This must be destiny!"

He tries to stand up, but Delorian is at his side. "You stay put, boy, at least until the doctor says it's okay to go."

"Masaomi."

"What's that?"

"It's not 'boy,' it's Masaomi."

What kind of name is that? "Alright, well, Masaomi, you need to rest."

"Hm, okay Mr. Delorian."

"And then when the doctor says you can go, we'll get some real food in you."

Masaomi gives one look at the IV fluid bag, and nods energetically. "Yes please!"