Hello, My Name is:

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own My Hero Academia

When he woke up again, the boy cried out in anguish. The fever seemed to have broken and while he was definitely not completely healed, his somewhat foggy mind was clearly able to understand what he had just done. As well as what he had to do.

Shaking hands lit a small fire and watched as the smoke rose, misting in the cold air. Strips of bloody but carefully cut and cleaned meat were cooking on a dented grill. Although the shock had left, the guilt still had not and probably wouldn't for a while.

'Mama would be horrified if she was here.' thought the green eyed kid, his mind burdened by his morals and innocence.

The body of the wolf had been slowly dragged to another clearing of trash and small hands had persistently dug at the biting sand until the pit was deep enough for the body to be buried. Or at least what was left of it.

While the wolf had tried to attack the boy, the child also knew the reason behind the wolf's actions, and knew that he had to do the same if he wanted to live.

Whatever food might have been edible previously was now ruined by the rains, and it was incredibly unlikely that he'd find a sealed and non-expired meal now that winter had begun to settle in. Less people would be taking strolls by the beach, most preferring to stay at home then go visit a trash filled place. Less people meant less food would find it's way to were he was stuck. And no food meant death.

So the green eyed boy cried, for his mother and for the wolf. But he cried silently, for fear of being attacked again. Wolves normally travel in packs after all.

The meat was tough and overcooked but the boy ate and savored it anyway. Food was food, and he would die if he didn't eat.

Not for the first time since he had come here, the boy thought about leaving the makeshift house and fire pit he had made in order to get to society. He knew he was at a beach because he had wandered to the shoreline, but as young as he might have been, he realized the tall towers of trash he would have to travel through in order to leave could crush him easily if they fell. And he simply wouldn't survive if he spent a night outside in the cold temperature and rains.

Trapped and alone in the piles of trash, the boy began to mumble out a plan in order to divert his thoughts from what he was currently eating.

"I should...mm... no.. maybe that jar... mama would like that... the rain... I don't want to get sick again... is that..." The half spoken sentence continued as thoughts filled his head like a calming balm.

To translate the kid's thought's from mumble to speech the conversion went like this: "I should store some of the food in my house, no. I need a box, maybe that jar could work. I can also make a garden, mama would like that. But my house got broken in the fight and the rain and cold isn't good. I don't want to get sick again, I might be able to find a clean car, is that warm enough?"

And so on. At some point the ramble of words slowed to a stop and the boy looked around before getting up. And falling down again. In his hunger and shock, the kid had forgotten that he hadn't left the fight un-injured. The gash on his left leg, a bite mark on his forearm and a couple other scratches decorated his sickly pale skin.

And a dump is definitely not a sanitary space. Something that is even worse for a four year old kid who just started recovering from sickness and got injured.

The sight of his own blood made the boy feel like hurling again. Reminding him of the killing blow he had landed on the wolf. An accusing shade of red, dotted with flecks of sand and dirt. His wounds had definitely not been tended to.

Getting back up on shaking legs, he started to travel through the piles of trash near his designated home.

His mother had instilled in him the importance of safety and had made sure he knew to find the first aid kit below the bathroom sink if he ever got injured and she wasn't home. Because of this, the boy began to search for a safety kit in the drawers of broken cabinets and other possible hiding places.

He had travelled quite a long distance away and had found many other odd trinkets or trash filled boxes but eventually he was able to find a small box that had a few extra large bandaids and a half full bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Being four years old and therefore ignorant to stitching and anything else having to do with healing other than putting down bandaids, he carefully folded a piece of clean-ish cloth he had found and drenched it in the alcohol.

"First, you need to clean the hurting area so it doesn't get infec-infected. And then you can place a bandaid over the hurt." whimpered out the boy, trying to ignore the stinging pain as he dabbed at his injury.

After having covered his injuries and giving them the light kiss that was necessary for the hurt to heal, the boy got up and cautiously made his way back to his tent, careful not to get lost.

Knowing he might need it in the future, the boy brought the box and the few remaining bandaids and the bottle of alcohol with him. He also brought the rusty pocket knife and rotten fruits and vegetables he had found. The knife would be useful if he needed to defend himself, and while the fruits and veggies were inedible, he would be able to set them aside so they could become compost and so that the seeds within them might grow.