𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗖 | chainsaw man x reader

𝗢𝗡𝗘 ּ ˖ ࣪ kindness

It must be difficult to be kind to the unfortunate.

If it were easy, you imagine that at least once, someone would have offered you help when you were freezing to death on the sidewalk.

An offered hand, some spare change, even just a simple "are you alright?". But no one, not one single person, did anything to help you—and so you lay there dying.

It's your own fault, some would say, scornful look in their eyes as they see people like you doing something as innocent as laying on a park bench. Nothing is keeping you from being a productive member of society, you're just a waste of space.

And even if it was true—even if it was your own fault you had to pick through garbage bins for dinner—does that make you less than human?

You were just a girl, hardly nineteen, leaning against the shoulder of your best friend as you faded in and out of consciousness. His shoulder was shaking where you leaned against it, and you could hear his clattering teeth through the cold winter breeze. You couldn't see him well, but you knew he looked like shit. A far cry from the energetic, sweet boy you knew in your youth.

The nostalgia for times long gone makes your skin crawl.

The roads were empty at this time of night—a light powdering of snow over the street-lamps causing the whole street to be bathed in a sort of dreamlike aura. The atmosphere could almost be described as peaceful; like a painting you would find hanging up in a museum with an obnoxious title and even more obnoxious price tag.

A hazy, foggy dream. You wish you were dreaming so badly it made you clench your teeth. But you were here, right now, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You had played the game of life with the hand you were given at birth, and you lost. It was sad, really.

You find yourself thinking that perhaps this wouldn't be a terrible way to die... falling asleep for the last time beside the only person you have ever care about. It's one of those romanticized deaths, ones you used to read about in books from the public library or manga stolen from the nearest corner store.

You compare yourself to these heroes yet you wouldn't be dying after a life full of victory and friendship. Your death would not be sad. People everywhere wouldn't be wiping tears from their faces when they heard another homeless person died on the street last night. At best you might get some exasperated sighs, maybe even a delicate handling of your corpse—

Unexpectedly, you hear boots crunch on the snow in front of you. The person passes without a word, likely not even a glance. Maybe they hadn't noticed the two of you—perhaps you and your best friend were comparable to that of trash on the side of the road.

The world was cruel. It was so, so cruel. You're sure if you had the energy, you would get up and beat the shit out of the person who just passed you both by. You try to curl your fingers into a fist, yet you can hardly even do that. A sense of dread washes over you like an inescapable tidal wave.

You are going to die here, there is no avoiding it. Hypothermia had set in already. You're sure now, that this is it.

As you slide up the wall, you feel the boy leaning on you fall into the snow. You want to help him, god do you want to help him—but you have to do this first.

Stumbling forwards, you step towards the woman walking away, your thin shoes hardly stopping wet snow from seeping into the soles. You wince, yet you still manage to gather yourself into some form of coherency.

You take a deep breath, and in this moment, you recall every instant in your life where you've been beaten—ignored—willed away by these people. The people who pass you by, the people who harbor no compassion, the people who—

An inhale. The crunch of snow beneath feet. Far away footsteps.

"You're a piece of shit!" You try to yell clearly, but it still manages to come out as a garbled mess. "You ignore us, not even asking if we're still alive. You're awful—a terrible excuse for a person!"

The woman turns quickly, and you're struck by her unnatural appearance.

She looks straight out of a movie or book or... something. Red hair speckled with snow, strangely colored eyes... it's like she's, not a person—just as you said.

She eyes you quizzically, and all of a sudden you feel as if you're under surveillance. She was probably a cop. Maybe. You just can't put your finger on it...

"Me? A terrible excuse for a person?" The woman asks, voice questioning but calm; as if this was a run of the mill conversation to her. "What would that make you and your dying friend?"

You don't splutter, and you certainly don't think when you say: "Even if i'm just a heap on the side of the road, at least I can still say I have some fucking empathy."

This seems to strike a chord in the woman, and she stares back at you with a serene, downright creepy smile on her face. Another shiver wracks its way through your body.

Her bowed lips smile wider, words flowing through you like poison. "Do you wish to live?"

The question takes you aback, and your drowsy brain is reminded of the boy in the snow behind you.

"Only if that other kid, Denji, can live, too—he's all I have." You say, air of finality settling between you and the strange woman. She looks displeased with your answer, and you can't help but think why. Why would this seemingly hostile woman want to help in the first place?

"Do you know who I am?" The woman asks instead of answering your own question, hand poised on her chin in thought. She looked completely unaffected by the weather, like some sort of perfect robot roaming the streets of Tokyo. Maybe you were dreaming, and this was some sick introduction to the afterlife. Nevertheless, you consider what she asked.

You sift through your memories as well as you can, nothing pertaining to an ethereal redheaded woman reaching the surface. Her demeanor is so strange that you're sure you would remember her if you had met.

"No—no I don't know you. Why would it even...matter..." Your words begin to trail off, and you start to sway where you stand.

You're surprised it took this long for you to start passing out. A shame, really, that the last face you would probably see was one belonging to a woman you didn't even know.

Your eyes, fighting to stay awake, finally close in exhaustion, your body shutting down close behind. It feels as if there was a switch in your brain for consciousness and someone just flipped it with all the power they could.

The last thing you see before you black out is the sight of the woman walking towards you, her coat slashing almost violently in the wind.

You don't think you've ever felt so cold.
‏‏‎ ‎