Warning: While I mean no offense as I write any part of this story I realize that despite my efforts it may come across as unpleasant. If you are sensitive to such things, you might not want to give this story a go. :) Otherwise, I hope those of you that chose to take a peek at what I am writing can enjoy it.

-The Ginko Riots-

-Chapter 1 –

-Becoming a Heroic Icon-

Hiro had stared down the barrel of a gun before.

He had stared down the barrels of multiple guns before and since becoming a hero in the San Fransokyo community 2 years ago he'd faced down much larger constructs.

But he hadn't stood against an entire army like this before; with nothing but the grocery bag under his arm, the utilitarian clothes on his back, and an umbrella in his hand.

"Get out of the way, you dirty Ginko!" an English soldier shouted above the pour of rain. He was popped out from the hatch of a large tank, flanked by men with machine guns, armed vehicles, foot soldiers, and- guess what?

More tanks.

Hiro was outnumbered, out-gunned, and out of his mind but the whimpering behind him steadied his feet.

He was tired.

He was tired of being tired.

He was tired of being afraid to learn and to enjoy learning.

He was tired of having to carry a Taser in his pocket.

He was tired of having to wear shoes with thrusters hidden in the heels- constantly ready for a quick escape from the rioters.

They said the British soldiers had been brought in to satiate the protests and tame the aggression that flooded the streets of England.

They never said they were there to protect the Japanese threatened by them.

The helmeted man turned and grabbed a walkie-talkie from his hip, speaking into it. Above the downpour and with the length of distance between them it was impossible for Hiro to hear him.

"Mark!"

They never said the soldiers wouldn't shoot a ginko.

"Fire!"

The umbrella was shot out of his grip. It's plastic cover was riddled with holes and thrown back, the metal bar in his hand snapped and cut into his flesh as it flew from his grip. Blood rolled down his wet skin, oozing from the cut across his palm. Diluted by the water it soon became pink.

But Hiro still didn't move.

Instead, he listened to the terrified screams from behind him and tried to picture the nuns protecting the children without injury.

When he didn't move he thought he heard the commander curse and a part of him thanked some higher power that this was being filmed on live television. If it wasn't they would have blown him up by now.

"Kid!" the man shouted, sounding very short on patience, "get out of the way- do you even understand English?!"

Hiro didn't reply. He simply raised his head higher, I will die for these people if I have to.

"For the love of the Queen- someone get me a translator!"

But no-one moved because, as Hiro knew, they didn't have one. This time he did hear the rain soaked figure give his order to fire a warning shot. The beating blades of a helicopter flying above caught the clipped bang and the very unmoved Japanese-American standing relatively unharmed in the middle of the intersection. Rain was quickly soaking through Hiro's clothes and he thought heard one of the sisters call to him, he thought he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

And yet he remained where he was. His gaze as cold and unwavering as permafrost Hiro wondered how long he would have to stand here before a solution was found.

Now the commander was talking with someone on his walkie-talkie. He was frowning, young face pulled into a taught grimace.

They'd been trying to get Hiro to move for upwards of a half an hour. They'd approached him, tried to talk, but all he'd said was, "Find another path." Again and again, they'd tried to move him. Again and again, they chose to ignore the church housing orphans behind him. He wasn't terribly certain what they where they were going or why they felt the need to bulldoze through a seemingly abandoned chapel and he found that he didn't really care. He was sixteen and he felt like he was sixty and he wasn't going to let them through.

He didn't use any violence against them even when they tried to shove him aside. Every single time he just put himself back in place and when they got more insistent he pressed his fingers into the black, gel bracelet around his wrist. He was sucked against the ground then, multifunctional sneakers cementing him to the pavement. They'd literally have to break his legs to move him.

"For fucks sake," he muttered under his breath as the officer shouted at him one more time before signaling to his troops, using his index and middle finger to gesture a change of direction, "All I wanted to do was pick up some goddamn groceries." As the men moved out he watched, turning his head to observe and then moving back to watch the next line.

A few of the soldiers spat at him.

A few tried to punch him.

One landed a booted blow on his shin.

But still, Hiro never twitched.

He, unlike these good-for-nothing men, could take a hit.

It was about ten minutes before the small army of reinforcements had finally strutted off.

From behind him a nun approached, "Young man!" she called, fighting to be heard above the rain. Pressing his fingers into his wrist band to deactivation the suction in his sneakers, he turned to her. The helicopter was still hovering above as she waddled towards him with the veil of her habit held over her head, "quick, come inside, come!"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him forwards and for a few steps he let her, then dug in his feet, "we must hurry!" For a moment Hiro looked up at the helicopter, willing it to go away and after a few minutes it did. Then he was dragged inside the chapel and the swarm of children were likewise ushered off the porch and into safety. Several nuns bustled him forwards, hushed whispers echoing around the moldy chapel.

"Um-" he started, noticing a few Asian faces in the mixture of children, "What are you-"

The head sister was taking nothing from no-one as she grabbed his hand and barked at a younger sister, "Where is that first aid kit?!" Blinking rain out of his eyes Hiro was pulled down to a pew, watching the girls bustle about with boxes and such. Though he might have protected them from being run down it still wasn't safe here for them anymore. They'd been caught on live television. Protesters and anti-ginkos were likely to come after them now- even if the nuns were white themselves. People would hate them just for their relationship with a ginko.

"I'm sorry," Hiro said truthfully, guilt welling up inside him. He knew it wasn't his fault that this was happening but the more heroic side of him wished he could have prevented it so they wouldn't be forced to move.

"Foolish boy!" the old woman spat and bopped him on the head with her free arm, "what nonsense do you speak of?" An amused smile pulled at his lips and he let her pull up his sleeve to examine his wound. "What monsters those men are!" she mumbled furiously, "thinking they can storm through here like this," she continued a hushed, very ungodly rant as she grabbed the first aid kit handed to her.

"Oh- no, please," Hiro pulled his hand from her grasp suddenly, "you shouldn't waste any of that on something like this-"

"That's some bloody blasted hogwash!" the nun retorted.

"Hey, wait," he scuttled back, "listen, it's alright. You need all of that, I've got my own back at the dorms."

The nun opened her mouth to protest but a different voice beat her to it, "Gelda, give him some space." He turned and saw the pastor then. A man who looked to be in his mid-thirties with the kind of smile that sucked you in and made you think everything would be okay. He had short salt and pepper hair marked by the occasional clumsy braid likely done by the little girls his old church housed. In his left hand he held a wooden cane which he leaned into heavily and his blue eyes glittered with kindness. But his skin wasn't pastel white and his eyes were narrowed.

A ginko.

Ah, Hiro thought, that explains why the army was so willing to tear this place down. A part of him had wanted to believe that because the church seemed so utterly devoid of life they had simply thought it abandoned.

Of course he was wrong.

The man limped up to Hiro's side with a towel draped over his arm, "Please child, tell me; why won't you accept treatment?" Upon reaching the exchange student's side he poured the cloth over his head and gently began to scrub his dripping hair.

Somewhat uncomfortable by the contact Hiro politely extracted himself, "I can't bring myself to ask anything of people who have so little and need so much," he explained simply, drying himself.

The older man tilted his head to the side, "and yet you have less."

"Well- I," Hiro struggled for a few moments, unable to determine a good response to that. It was as though the rain had flooded his brain and he couldn't think properly anymore, "I have some stuff at the dorms…"

The older man gave a good hearted chuckle and patted his shoulder reassuringly, "Son, you have saved our lives. I could not bear the thought of allowing you to wander off back into battle without offering my thanks first."

Still he hesitated.

The chapel's residents would have to move and if anyone got hurt they'd desperately need every scrap of that first aid kit.

"This is as much for us as it is for you," the pastor explained, the crow's feet around his eyes thickening in a smile, "please, child."

After a moment of deliberation Hiro unleashed a heavy sigh and hung his head in defeat, "seems I don't have much of a choice."

Gelda nodded her head and grunted approvingly before she popped open the kit. Her gnarled hands were surprisingly gentle as she worked on cleaning his wounds. The treatment stung a little and brought painful memories of Tadashi cleaning his abrasions after particularly bad beatings from local bullies so long ago. Hiro distracted himself by listening to the rain; the way it drummed against the roof and beat a rhythm through the chapel. He was quickly caught by the way it tumbled through holes in the roof and trickled into pots and buckets littered between pews. Tilting his head back he observed the dark overcast sky between the broken drywall and shattered shingles above.

It feels like late evening…

"Son," the pastor's voice caught his attention again and Hiro turned, catching sight of a few naughty children who had snuck out of bed and watched them from the foot of the stairs, "tell me, have you been baptized?"

Struck by the odd question, Hiro blinked then winced with a hiss as the nun dapped at the deepest part of his wound.

"Belt up," she murmured good-naturedly and set aside the cloth to begin wrapping his hand.

"Gelda," the pastor sighed. Then he looked at Hiro again and smiled, "so?"

Pursing his lips together the teen tried to remember if his parents had done so when he was little. Finally, after a pregnant pause, he shook his head, "No." As the nun finished tying up his bandages the pastor stood from the end of the pew with a light huff, leaning into his cane.

"Well," he said, "why don't we change that."

Smiling gratefully Hiro also stood, thanking the nun softly before gently informing the pastor, "That's kind but I am not religious."

For a moment surprise crossed the older man's face but then his features eased again and he nodded, "I will respect your stance."

Picking up his bag, Hiro looked out at the pouring rain and deliberated for a few heartbeats before relinquishing his hold on the groceries to Gelda, "take these, they won't last during my walk back to the dorms." Both looked utterly perplexed by his offer and the head sister tried to formulate a protest, "Please, I don't want to waste food and the bread will be soggy by the time I get back." One cup of awkward silence later, the nun reached forward and grabbed the bag. "Thank you for your help," Hiro told them, "but my roommates are probably throwing fits by now and I need to get back to the dorms before nightfall-"

At that moment the stocky nun threw her arms around him and pulled him close, burrowing her face in his wet jacket, "kindness knows no words!" she cried.

Utterly perplexed by the motion Hiro was unsure of what to do. Then he caught the tears in the pastor's eyes and commiseration welled up within him even as the older man smiled. He returned the nurse's gesture and let her decide when to move. Young whispers caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder to see the little ones speaking among each other. When Gelda stepped back into the comforting hands of the other sisters, soothed and given hankies, one stout little boy leapt from the gathering of youths and waddled up to Hiro.

With a determined grimace set into his face he grabbed the older boy's jacket and gave it a firm yank. Smiling softly he leant down so they were at eye level.

One of the sisters gasped, "Jeoff!"

"Goo' lug," the little boy proposed and stuck out a chubby fist.

Curious, Hiro held out his open palm and let the child drop a pebble into his hand. As his brain attempted to unravel the words he held the rock and examined it closely. It was well-rounded, almost completely cylindrical, and as white the feathers of a groomed dove.

"Quartz," he realized.

"Goo' lug!" the boy insisted, jabbing a finger against Hiro's cheek as a nun gathered him up in her arms, "Goo' lug!"

"Yes, yes," she nodded as though she understood, "Did you give the onii-sama your present?" A smile pulled at his face, somewhat startled by the praise she'd given him just by reverting to Japanese momentarily. The little one gave a furious nod, glaring at her as though he thought she might try to take it away. But she just smiled and said, "Well, that was very nice of you, Jeoff." He giggled with delight and Hiro exchanged a well-mannered smile with the older woman before she turned to usher the children away.

"When this war is done you must find us and come to visit," the pastor told him as Hiro pocketed his prize.

"I'll see what I can do if the time comes-"

Firm hands grabbed his shoulders, "when the time comes," he insisted.

Another smile came across Hiro's face and he nodded, though he still didn't believe he would make it through the violence alive by the war's end. Not with his heroic habits, at least.

"Thank you," he said and with a bow, moved to the double doors at the end of the aisle.

"Young man," the pastor called out suddenly, hobbling forward a few steps, "what is your name?"

Startled that he had never given it to him Hiro lifted his head a little higher, "Ah, sorry, it's Hiro!"

"A name of patience and tolerance," the man beamed, awe glittering in his eyes. Then he bowed so low one of the nuns almost had to steady him, "Thank you."

Smiling the sixteen-year-old nodded his head and turned. He stepped out into the rain prepared for the pelting droplets and waded to the sidewalk. He turned and observed the dark chapel for a moment just before he could turn the corner, chewing on what the child had told him. In his pocket he fiddled with the pebble of quartz.

When he finally realized what the little boy had been trying to say his smile broadened and he continued on down the street with the widest grin he'd had on his face in days.

Good luck.

AN: Please understand that I am limiting the amount of exposition in this story. As a result you will have to wait for chapter two before the pieces begin connecting and your questions are answered. I am hoping that the synopsis has helped you.

If you like it leave me an O, if you hate it leave me an X.

Cheers!