You look down at the corpse that lay on your stairs. The bloodied black jacket it is wearing isn't attached to its shoulders. The corpse almost perfectly blends into the sidewalk. But that's because it's not a corpse at all. There is a light breathing pattern.

Lifting the almost corpse into your house, you lay it on a small bed. The boy can't be older than fourteen. You lay him on the bed and take off his coat, putting it in a clothes basket for later to wash. You sit next to the bloodied boy with bandages all over his face and body. reaching your hand over his head to replace the bandages on his face, faster than a snake's strike, he grabbed your arm before your fingers even grazed his face. A single uncovered eye looks at you with... traces of fear, unfamiliarity, and cautiousness.