Chapter Text
The rain pelted down on Chan as soon as he opened the door of his policecar, eyes set on the array of people milling about the small, innocuous house.
He hated cases like these, cases where he got a call in the middle of the night. Cases where he would be met with blood and violence. Cases that didn’t usually concern him, but Minho hadn’t known who else to call; cases with kids involved.
He could feel his feet getting soaked almost immediately in the heavy rain as he pulled on his police hat and made his way over, only stopping at the sight of a familiar face just outside the house.
“Hyung! Didn’t expect you here!”
Jeongin hastily moved to salute him, his big doe eyes staring at Chan. Chan gave a nod back, trying for a smile that felt more of a grimace on his face.
Everything the young policeman said always seemed to be accompanied by so much enthusiasm that it slightly intimidated Chan. He knew that he probably had been no better as a newbie but still, it sometimes felt like the equivalent of staring straight into the sun.
“Minho called me.”
Almost instantly, the bright smile on the younger’s face faded, giving space to a concerned frown.
“They still haven’t managed to get him to open the door?”
Chan forrowed his brow. Minho had not said much when he’d called Chan out of his bed. All he knew was that there had been a 911-call and that the caller had been a terrified teenager no older than 12.
“Chan-Hyung.”
Minho chose that moment to stick his head out of the door, beckoning Chan closer. Chan only spared Jeongin another smile before stepping around him and up to the house entrance, keen on getting out of the rain. Upon reaching Minho, the other immediately started talking.
“We have arrested a man in one of the bedrooms, a male in his late fifties. He was brought to the hospital with a stab wound to his lower stomach.”
They walked as Minho recounted what they knew so far, stepping inside the house and instantly being met with the metallic smell of blood. Chan listened attentively, glancing into the kitchen as they walked by; dirty dishes were culminating on the counter, a plate of Jajjangmyeong sat untouched on the small kitchen table. A glass must have shattered on the ground, and Chan spotted the sad remains of a second plate somewhere on the other side of the table, along with two chairs that had fallen over. He followed Minho further into the house.
“He was… naked,” Minho was saying as they reached a second door, leading to a bedroom. Chan stopped to look at his friend, at the pinched expression on his face, eyes not meeting Chan’s as they fixed the crumpled sheets on the bed.
And Chan took a second to breathe before doing the same, knowing Minho too well to not recognize the emotion on his face as disgust. Anger flared inside of him, hot and strong, before he dampened it down down down. He knew where this was going and he hated the whole human race for it.
The blood was everywhere, painting the sheets and dripping on the floor from where the biggest puddle was located on the bed.
“Who is he?” Chan asked quietly, pressing the words out from between clenched teeth. He felt Minho turn to him, but couldn’t pull his stare from the mess on the bed.
“It seems like he was a friend of the father, we’re working to look into it. But Chan,” he paused there, waiting until Chan finally did look at him. “That is not why I called you. Focus.”
It was a reprimand, as sharp as only Minho dared to voice it towards him and Chan was infinitely grateful. He appreciated Minho’s bluntness, his fierce loyalty and strong sense of justice, his honesty and stubbornness. He wasn’t Chan’s favorite partner he’d ever had on the police force for nothing. It was moment like this that he deeply regretted moving precincts.
Letting his eyes travel around the room at large, Chan took note of the clothes strewn across the floor, the pillows laying around instead of on the bed, the little lamp that had been kicked off its place on the bedside table. There had been a struggle here, visible to a trained eye even without the charring red blooming on the bedsheets.
Not for the first time in his life, Chan hoped his hunch was wrong, that Minho had not called him here for what Chan guessed he had.
But he could also see the red handprint beside the bed, the little droplets of blood leading his gaze to a door at the side of the room, where several uniformed officers were already waiting for him and Minho. They looked as tired as Chan felt.
“His name is Yongbok. He is the one who called 911,” Minho filled him in quietly as they walked over to the door, the other officers shuffling to make space. “He told the agent on the phone that there was a man in his bedroom wanting to hurt him, and that he’d stabbed him with a pair of scissors trying to get away. He’s 11 years old.”
Chan allowed his hands to ball into fists, just for a second. Only 11… No child deserved to feel the kind of terror that lead to something like this.
“We tried everything but he won’t open the door,” Minho continued, voice hushed now that they stood so close to said door, likely to avoid the kid overhearing.
“He’s part Australian. So I thought, maybe…”
He looked at Chan as he trailed off, voice hopeful. Chan knew what his friend wasn’t saying. He had always been good with kids, especially scared ones. But that wasn’t why Minho had called him here tonight. It was because he had spent his childhood in Australia, because the familiarity of a shared experience might help to get the kid to open up, literally and emotionaly.
He squeezed Minho’s shoulder as he passed him, squatting down in front of the door and motioning for the other police officers to leave.
“You have 10 minutes,” one of them huffed, a tall guy with dark circles under his eyes. “Then we’ll take down the door.”
Chan ignored him, but he heard Minho click his tongue, annoyed.
“I’ll keep them away from you for 15. Good luck.”
Chan nodded, staying silent until there was no movement anymore in the room. He cleared his throat, setting his sight back on the shut door and settling more comfortably.
“Yongbok? Can you hear me?” he started slowly, slipping into his mother-tongue with ease. There was no answer, but Chan hadn’t expected there to be.
“My name is Bang Chan, I’m with the police. You can call me Chris, though, if you’d like. It’s the name I used in Australia, back when I lived there. Do you know Australia?”
He only stopped talking for a short moment, waiting if Yongbok would reply. It stayed silent behind the door.
“I’ve grown up in Sydney. It’s really nice there, lots of beautiful beaches. I really miss it sometimes, especially the sea. Have you ever been there, Yongbok?”
He went on like that for some time, just rambling about his birth city, reminiscing about evenings spent laughing with his family, feeling the sun dry his wet skin after a swim in the sea. He threw in a question every now and then, trying to hear something, anything from the scared boy behind the door. But Chan was nothing if not patient, and so he kept talking.
“…and you wouldn’t believe the scream my sister let out when she got up in the morning and saw that opossum. Woke up the whole house. Do you like animals, Yongbok?”
Chan held his breath when finally, finally, he thought to have heard something.
“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, careful to keep his voice light and gentle.
“…Felix. My name is Felix. Not Yongbok.”
It was quiet, and Chan had to strain to hear it, but the kid had talked. Chan let out a relieved breath but refused to celebrate yet; there was still a door separating them.
“Felix? That’s a very pretty name. Nice to meet you.”
Chan felt his brows furrow slightly in confusion, even if he didn’t let any of the emotion show in his voice. Minho had clearly told him the kid’s name was Yongbok. Why did he not want to be called that? Chan shook off the confusion for now, filing the questions for later. Now that the kid had engaged with him, he hoped to keep him in the conversation, so Chan forced himself to stay silent until the kid – Felix – talked again.
“Are you- are you here to arrest me?”
No preamble, no niceties, straight to the point. Chan winced. Felix really had to be terrified.
“I want to understand what happened first. And make sure you are not hurt. Are you hurt anywhere, Felix?”
It was silent again for an alarmingly long time until the next answer came.
“I- don’t know.”
It was followed by a sniffle, and Chan felt his heart break.
“Can you feel along your body for wounds? Can you do that for me, Felix?”
It was quiet again after his enquiry, and Chan hoped it was because Felix was concentrating on his task.
“My- my ribs hurt. And I think I cut my hand,” Felix’ voice eventually came muffled through the door. Chan grit his teeth. Okay, one thing after another. He had to make sure no ribs were broken and that Felix was able to breathe properly.
“Alright, that’s okay. We can work with that. Can you try to take a deep breath and tell me if it hurts more?”
Felix’ answer almost came immediately. “I think- I think its about the same? The pain, I mean.”
Chan had to double-after, had to make sure. “But you can breathe okay?”
“Yes.”
Chan let out a breath. Okay, that was good news. Now there was the cut. Chan assumed it came from the scissors the boy had used to stab the man with.
“Can you find something to wrap your hand with, Felix? Like a cloth or a shirt should be fine.”
This time, he could hear Felix moving on the other side of the door.
“It’s really dark in here, I can’t- can’t really see. But I can use my shirt?”
“Yes, okay. That’s actually perfect, Felix,” Chan reassured the boy, “Just wrap it as closely and as tightly around the cut as you can, okay?”
He almost said we can have a closer look at it at the hospital, but refrained from it in the last second. He didn’t know yet how Felix would react to that.
“Felix, you okay? Did you wrap it?”
He needed Felix to keep talking, to keep him engaged if he ever wanted the kid to get out of the little closet he had shut himself in.
“Yes.”
“Very good. You’re doing great, Felix. Is there anything else hurting?”
The following silence lasted longer than before again, so long that Chan shifted his weight, wondering if he pushed too much.
“My- my face. And,” Felix hesitated before continuing, and Chan braced himself. “And- my shoulder. It- it’s wrong, kind of? I can’t move it.”
It took a few seconds for Chan to understand, and when he did, familiar anger coursed through his veins. Anger at the world, at the person who had hurt Felix, who had caused the boy to dislocate his shoulder.
“Chris?”
Chan cursed himself, shoving his feelings deep into his chest. This was not important right now, Felix was. The fact that he had called Chan’s name for the first time was. Felix’ shoulder would have to wait until Chan got him to a hospital.
“Yes, I’m here, sorry. Just thinking how to help you best. It sounds like you have a dislocated shoulder, Felix.”
He stopped briefly, thinking lightning fast.
“That sounds a lot scarier than it is, I promise. You’ll be fine. But,” Chan licked his lips nervously, “but the best thing would be if I could look at it, see that you’re really okay. What do you think, Felix? Can you open the door for me?”
Chan held his breath. Maybe it had been too much too fast, maybe he had just destroyed what little trust he’d built between himself and Felix, but he could hear the clock ticking at the back of his mind. The last thing he wanted was for his colleagues to return and break open the door, traumatizing Felix more than he very obviously already was.
He waited a minute, then softly knocked on the smooth surface on the door. He only now noticed that there was blood smeared on it, too.
“Felix? Everything okay in there?”
“I don’t- Do you promise? Not to arrest me?”
He sounded incredibly small, incredibly young.
“Of course, Felix. I want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all I’m gonna do.”
“And after?”
Despite himself, Chan felt his lips quirk at the question. Felix was a smart one, he had to give him that.
“After that I’ll listen to you. I want to understand what happened. But I can promise you that no one is going to arrest you, Felix.”
Not on my watch, anyways, he thought to himself grimly. Anyone who still believed any of this was Felix’ fault didn’t deserve to call themselves a police officer.
Felix seemed to think about it before speaking again.
“And it’s just you?”
“Yes, just me.”
Chan felt himself nod, despite Felix not being able to see.
Another few seconds of silence, of hesitation from Felix’ side.
“Do you promise?”
Chan refused to let his thoughts wander, refused to wonder what had happened in this house for Felix to be so cautious, so scared. He needed to stay in the present in order to help Felix.
“I promise, Felix. It’s just me here. I want to make sure you’re okay. Everything else we can talk about after, alright? I’m here to help you, Felix.”
“You won’t- won’t hurt me?”
The ached hurt worse than any gunshot wound. Chan swallowed it down.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise, Felix. You’re safe with me.”
He was not surprised by the vehemence of his own words, of the truth and sincerity he could taste on his tongue. He would not let anyone else hurt this boy ever again. Not if he could help it.
When the door clicked open, Chan moved away ever so slightly, not wanting to crowd the boy or tower over him. And there, sitting on the ground just beside the door, a pair of wide, impossibly big eyes stared up at him from the darkness of the closet. Chan’s first thought was how could anyone hurt such a small kid?, eyes tracing over the lanky frame even though most of it was hidden under a loose shirt.
Felix looked younger than his 11 years, a messy mop of brown hair falling into his face. One arm was wrapped tightly across his knees where he’d drawn them close to his chest, the other hung limply at his side. That was when Chan noticed the bruises. They littered the boy’s skin, blooming across his arms and where his right eye had almost swollen shut. There was dried blood around his nose and mouth, likely from a nosebleed, but Chan’s eyes were instantly drawn to the large patch of red on Felix’ formerly white shirt.
He had to consciously put in effort to smile at the boy reassuringly, letting himself drop down into a crouch once more. He was very aware of the distance between them, careful to keep it even if his heart screamed at him to get closer.
“Hi there, Felix. Thank you for opening the door.”
Felix nodded at him, shaking badly and otherwise staying silent.
“Can you tell me if this is your blood, Felix?”
Chan motioned to the boy’s stomach, where most of the red had cumulated, afraid of some kind of stomach wound but instantly calmed when Felix shook his head no.
“S’ not mine,” he whispered, eyes never leaving Chan. Chan noticed how tense he was through the shaking, seemingly on full alert, almost as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. Chan felt his heart break again.
“Okay, that’s good, thank you. Can I look at your hand, please?”
Chan made sure to stay where he was, not moving until Felix nodded slightly, ever so slowly holding out his hand for Chan to examine. Chan reached out just as slowly, fully aware of the eyes watching his every move, but stopped shortly before touching Felix’ hand.
“Can I touch you?”
Felix flinched, just slightly, but enough so that Chan noticed none the less. He instantly pulled back a bit, making sure to hold eye contact.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, Felix, alright? If you say no, I will respect that.”
Felix didn’t move for a moment and then, to Chan’s utter horror, his face crumpled. Big fat tears started to roll down his freckled cheeks, breath hitching with hiccups bordering sobs, and Chan ached with the need to hold him, to hug this boy close to his chest and ease his pain, just a little. As if hearing his thoughts, Felix surged forward, crashing into Chan and holding on with his one healthy arm desperately, pushing impossibly close to Chan.
Chan sat frozen for just a second before his brain caught up, slowly drawing his own arms around the shaking boy, cautious of his hurt shoulder. He just sat and let Felix cry, murmuring comforting words like You’re safe, I promise and You’re okay every now and then while gently caressing the boy’s back. Felix was whispering something under his breath, again and again, like a mantra or a prayer, and it took Chan a moment to understand the words.
Please don’t hurt me.
And maybe it was this moment that sealed his fate, the first time he held Felix’ small body in his arms, shaking with sobs and littered with bruises, holding on to Chan with a desperate grip, but Chan would never be sure later. It very well also could have been the moment he walked into that house, knowing that there was a child somewhere in there that needed his help. Or maybe it was when he was woken up by a call, Minho’s voice telling him There has been an emergency, I need you here and Chan not hesitating for a second.
Or maybe, just maybe, not meeting Felix, not taking him in and watching him heal and grow and love had just never been an option for Chan.