#Alfred bowl cut special once again

[ky-landfill]

hello hello! if you are taking requests atm could we see some reverse robins tim and damian? or tim and duke? thank you vv much

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter Four

For my @dukethomasbigbang fic, we have the third prank, and fourth chapter! I hope y'all like it! Yet again a huge thanks to betas @queerbutstillhere & @theycallme-ook

Summary:

Everyone was suddenly shaken out of their stunned staring when the Cave’s sound system flared up, blasting dramatic choral music. It was the perfect track for the perfect moment, building up tension to an uproar as the lights dimmed slightly, and all attention was brought on the crackling of lightning arcing across a new figure, who was rounding the bend.

Duke grinned at his crowning achievement.

Read on Ao3

Ah, Cheerios, the best kind of breakfast cereal. Duke just didn’t get why people seemed to hate them so much. They weren’t bland, they just had a nice even subtle oat flavor which was refreshing compared to all the intensely sweet sugary crap that Dick kept attempting to sneak in past Alfred. And they were so delicious with milk! Of course, they were also fantastic when you added things to them as well, like a light drizzle of honey, or a small handful of granola. If you were feeling especially adventurous - or if Damian was the one to go shopping with Alfred and therefore got the choice in what was bought that week - you could even have it with some unsweetened vanilla oat milk.

“But does that count as a subset of cannibalism?” Duke wondered aloud between bites of cereal.

He took another bite thoughtfully and hopped down from the island in the middle of the kitchen to make his way out the door and down the hall. Alfred was away for the weekend (Tim had mentioned something about regaining his honor in a pie baking duel with Ma Kent? Duke wasn’t sure.) so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

Not that he ever got in trouble. For some reason.

Duke angrily crunched down on another spoonful when a sudden banging around came from the ceiling above him. Duke froze, suddenly terrified. What was it? Aliens? Did Alfred (The Cat) finally figure out how to phase through walls? Were some of the skeletons (which Jason had warned Duke he stored in the drywall) finally reanimate and were slowly crawling out, in a slow determined quest for revenge?

As the opening to the air vent just a few feet ahead banged open, releasing a lone figure, Duke was dismayed to find it was not, in fact, some fantastical being or occurrence.

It was just Steph.

Duke quickly finished eating the spoonful of Cheerios and chewed as he waved a greeting with his spoon.

Stephanie, who was completely covered in glitter and carrying a feather duster, glared daggers at Duke and slowly, methodically, drew the duster across her throat.

Duke swallowed heavily and cringed. Ah, it probably would be in his best interest to avoid blaming the purple clothed bandit for any of his pranks in the future.

*****

For the second time that day, Duke found himself in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. Though this time, instead of pondering the moral and psychological repercussions of eating his cereal with oat milk, the teen was having a pre workout snack with his younger brother.

“Add more whipped cream, Thomas,” Damian advised, passing Duke the can. “Dairy is protein, and protein is essential to proper nutrition.”

Duke took the can with a grin, and added a more generous than necessary squirt to the top.

“Alright Dami,” Duke said as he set aside the can, “But you need to be sure to add more than one cherry. Fruit is good for you, you know.”

Damian sniffed superiorly and delicately pulled out three maraschino cherries from the fancy jar than Alfred kept in the pantry. He then placed them precariously on top of the summet of his ice cream sundae mountain.

Duke held up his spoon in front of Damian. “Shall we dig in?”

Damian grinned - a rare occurrence which took the years off of his face, allowing him to truly look like a child. Duke quietly celebrated, ever since he first saw Damian smile at him, he had made it his mission to make his younger brother happier more often.

They clinked their spoons together, and dug into their huge deserts. It was a good thing that Alfred wasn’t home at the moment, or the old Butler would have an aneurysm at the amount of sugar they were putting into their bodies. But oh well, they deserved it for the training session that they’d be taking part in later that afternoon.

It wasn’t often that Bruce had enough time to do a full workout session with any of his kids, let alone something smaller like a one on one thing, or him and a few others. Duke had only gotten this privilege during his first year of staying with the Waynes, and at the time, when he was futilely trying to kick down trees in the yard, he hadn’t understood why such a thing was coveted by his siblings.

But now he did, so he completely understood Damian’s excitement when the thirteen year old had animatedly informed him that because all the others were gone from the city that day, only he and Duke would be present for the training session. So of course Duke suggested making a special treat in preparation.

They were at the very bottom of their large bowls of ice cream when Bruce walked into the kitchen carrying his large jug of water.

“Are you boys ready for today?” Bruce asked, and Duke and Damian grinned.

“Of course, Father. We have been preparing extensively for the past half hour.”

Bruce eyed the empty bowls in front of each of his sons, and grunted. “And sprinkles helped you do that?”

Duke scoffed. “Of course, B. Didn't you know that?”

Bruce looked skeptical, so Damian butted in. “Father, Pennyworth is always informing you to eat your colors. You americans eat such bland food, all tans and grays. Surely compact fluorescent bites are the best way to remedy such a problem.”

Bruce squinted, but didn’t seem in the mood to argue, so he turned around and began to leave the kitchen. “Just be in my study in twenty minutes.”

Behind him, Duke offered a fist bump to his partner in crime. Damian accepted with a smirk.

*****

“Please tell me I’m not late!” Duke exclaimed as he rushed into Bruce’s study.

Bruce and Damian were over by the clock, looking as if they were about to input the time. Duke heaved a sigh of relief at that. Being late to a training session was a mortal sin in the Manor. Or at least, that’s what Jason told him. He said it was the reason he had died (something about Bruce kicking him out, which made him go to Ethiopia for some money an old rich uncle of his had left him, and then the Joker catching wind and tried to rob him, which somehow ended in with him, a warehouse, and a crow bar).

Suffice it to say, Duke made it his mission to never be late to a training session. Ever.

“Tt, Thomas,” Damian remarked, turning back to the clock. “You were cutting it close.”

Bruce sighed. “You’re fine Duke.”

Duke nodded and took his place right behind Damian. The boy huffed in a satisfied manner and crossed his arms.

“Any day now, Father. Unlike you, my time is precious.”

Translation: Damian was excited, and tired of waiting.

Bruce frowned as he spun the arms of the clock again. “The clock is broken.”

Duke raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that it’s really just a door, right?”

Bruce frowned back at the face of the grandfather clock, not bothered by Duke’s incredibly funny remark.

A few seconds later, Duke tried again. “Bruce, what’s wrong?”

Bruce’s eyes were narrowed to slits by now, and his brow furrowed in concentration. “The entrance is malfunctioning. I want you boys to go around and check the others. Including Stephanie’s smuggling tunnel.”

Duke blinked. “Stephanie’s what now?”

Bruce made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Yes, I know about that. Now go.”

Duke and Damian looked at each other, shrugged, then left the room. Might as well do what Bruce says. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could work out. Plus they were sort of curious to know what was going on. Neither of them knew, they were innocent! Especially Duke.

Fifteen minutes later, and the trio reconvened in the study once more. Bruce looked angry, Duke looked confused, and Damian was positively fuming.

“This is outrageous!” He cried, as soon as he entered after Duke. “None of the entrances are working! I even attempted to use imaginative means to enter, and nothing worked!”

Bruce’s grim look receded for just a moment. “I’ll let Barbara know she did a wonderful job shoring up the security if even my children can’t get in.”

Damian scowled. “What’s the point of making security that we can’t get into?”

Bruce closed his eyes for three long, tired seconds.

“Anyway!” Duke said, “They aren’t allowing access. Any theories? Or should we just get Tim?”

Damian looked appalled at the idea. “Father!” he cried, “you can’t call Timothy! He will be unable to operate at maximum capacity if he does not complete the weekend of so-called relaxation with the clone at the Kents’ farm.”

“So second best option?” Duke asked.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t let Barbara hear that when she gets here.”

*****

“Hhmmmm.”

Duke, Bruce, and Damian cringed in unison at Barbara’s contemplative noise. The young woman was typing on a laptop plugged into some kind of control panel in Bruce’s office. She hadn’t spoken to them more than first greetings  when she had arrived, so they were left in the dark while she rifled through the Cave’s security system.

Finally, Babs closed the computer and set it to the side. Duke and the others held their collective breath.

“The Cave is registering you as already present inside,” Barbara explained, “Actually, it says that everyone is in the Cave right now.”

Bruce was still and silent, considering Barbara’s words. Damian, on the other hand, seemed to be an inch away from having a meltdown.

“This is preposterous!” He blustered, whipping about and glaring, not having any particular target. “The system is trash, I said we should have fixed it ages ago! And now look at the outcome! I must remain at peak physical capacity, and I am not able to if I miss even a single session! Father, I demand you fix this!”

“Woah, dude, chill,” Duke soothed, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Thankfully, the kid didn’t bite him. “I know you're frustrated, but we work more effectively when calm, right?”

Damian blinked, and glared at Duke for a long moment. “You are not incorrect, Thomas.” Damian finally allowed, turning away.

Barbara smiled. “Well, good news: I can get you in. It’s probably a good idea to call for back-up and wait till you have the forces to-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bruce interrupted, his eye twitching at the glare Babs threw his way. “We can handle it - right, boys?”

Damian sniffed proudly and produced some knives from who knows where. Duke nodded confidently.

Bruce grunted, and motioned for them to fall in line behind him. Barbara watched with her precise gaze as Bruce, Duke, and Damian made their way down the stairs. They didn’t turn the lights on, going for optimal stealth as were, and moved slowly downward.

“Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious,” Duke sang under his breath a little ways after the halfway point down the stairs.

“Making noise is very suspicious, Thomas.” Damian muttered.

“Quiet, Boys,” Bruce snapped before Duke could make a comeback, “We’re almost there.”

As soon as the doors to the Cave opened, they scattered and melted into the shadows. Duke just managed to see Damian crawl up the side of the cave wall, but didn’t see where Bruce went. He didn’t have much time to worry about that, though, as he was hiding himself among equipment that lined the sides of the space.

The path he had chosen gave him an easy pass to circle the main platform, and gage the situation. And boy was it a situation. Because, you see, like Barbara said, they were not the only ones in the cave. They were just the only sentient ones.

The elevator dinged, and Barbara rolled out and into the light. “Are those Manikins?” She asked, incredulous.

*****

Duke smirked proudly at the sight before him, the same sight that left the others outraged and confused

Someone, somehow (It was Duke, and through much hard labour during some time while the bats were actually asleep - he got someone to cover his patrol, this bright young girl called Maps to do it. She said she was a friend of Damian’s, and quite skilled with a grappling hook. Tim had mentioned her before, so Duke wasn’t surprised.) managed to get dozens of manikins - those hyper mobile ones that you can personalise their positions - and spread them out across the cave.  And not just that, they had managed to stylize them after each member of the family.

The manikins also seemed to be moving around at preset speeds, through some mysterious robotic means (Duke mentally thanked the stars that Bruce didn’t bat an eye at someone purchasing thirty roombas with his credit card.).

The first manikin, the one that caught everyone’s eye, was clearly meant to represent Stephanie. It was doused in complete purple, the exact shade of her suit and automated to throw the glitter bombs stored in a sack by its side at seemingly everything - though apparently mainly at the nearest authority figure.

Said authority figure was obviously Bruce, who was moving slowly in wide arcs around the chaos. It was wearing one of those ghost costumes, (you know the ones with just a sheet and cut out holes? Yeah, that’s Bruce.) except with a black sheet. And two plastic forks taped to either side of the head to imitate Bat ears. Though by this point it was also covered in purple glitter, thanks to Steph.

Somehow, the figure right next to Bruce was completely untouched by the purple sparkles, despite wearing the exact same outfit as Bruce’s manikin, plastic forks and all. (Although to be fair, this one was significantly shorter.) Though this mystery could easily be solved by the fact that it was Cass. Well, that explains pretty much everything, actually.

Nearest to Bruce and his mini-me at that point in the rotation was a toddler sized, bright green manikin that represented none other than the current Robin. And if that weren’t enough, think of Edward Scissor Hands. Now imagine those knives and blades and such taped over the whole body. Now you have an accurate picture of Damian Wayne in Manikin form. Honestly, it wasn’t that far off.

Humans weren’t the only things replaced in the Cave, as just by Damian were little dog, cat, and cow statues. And a giant bat stuffie colored red.

Bruce’s manikin had to stop it’s wide arc and jerk suddenly to the side to avoid the next member of the family. Tim Drake’s stand-in was barely visible underneath the six foot tall pile of bulk coffee bean bags stacked around it.

Right behind Tim was a large manikin painted blood red, wearing a faux pink leather jacket with sparkles and rhinestones glued it. It looked like it was meant for a six year old girl. What didn’t look like it was meant for a child, though, were the strips of ammunition draped across its shoulders like a fancy scarf. The look was completed by a large red bucket dumped haphazardly over the head of the manikin.

To the side of the Cave, just barely out of the war path that was The Red Bucket, was something different. Instead of a manikin like you would find in the clothing store, a halloween decoration was set up. And not just any decoration: A life-sized recreation of Dracula that looked so cheap, it was probably bought at Party City for ten bucks. (Hey, it was on sale! Duke wasn’t one to ignore such a spectacular bargain!). The only thing customized about it was the cheap, long, cherry red wig perched precariously on its head. Hey, everyone always said Kate looked an awful lot like a vampire!

The simplest manikin was somehow one of the most recognizable. Painted plain white, it was mostly unadorned with the exception of “007” painted across the chest in big, black, block letters. Now who could that be? It wasn’t like the Bats casually knew a british spy.

But all of that is fairly sane, compared to the … others.

In one corner of the room, a manikin was on fire. Completely on fire. The blaze was huge. Somehow, the manikin itself wasn’t on fire, though. One got the impression that it was supposed to be reminiscent of the burning bush story, or perhaps a phoenix. Ha, phoenix. Flamebird. Duke hoped he wasn’t the only one who found that funny.

Dick’s was on a complicated zip line pulley type system thingy. It was upside down and twisted into a pretzel for a bit, then it reached a checkpoint and was replaced by a new “Dick” in a different position. It looks like Dick’s doing mid air acrobatics. Oh, and he’s wearing a crop top that said “I’m A Dick.”

There was yet another all-green manikin seated on a hover chair that looked suspiciously like alien tech taken from the Watchtower. There was a face drawn on, and it was emulating the Oracle Symbol.

Hidden amongst the shadows in the corner was another manikin, barely within sight. It was resting luxuriously in a clawfoot bathtub, which was filled with jewels of all kinds. Upon its shoulders were multiple cat stuffed animals.

Everyone was suddenly shaken out of their stunned staring when the Cave’s sound system flared up, blasting dramatic choral music. It was the perfect track for the perfect moment, building up tension to an uproar as the lights dimmed slightly, and all attention was brought on the crackling of lightning arcing across a new figure, who was rounding the bend.

Duke grinned at his crowning achievement, the one that is easily the most terrifying. The one that is undoubtedly the Taser Girl herself: Harper Row.

What made this one different? Well, that’s because Harper was not, in fact, a manikin. Instead, the figure was not unlike a stick figure made completely out of metal pipes. The bottom was attached to an encased roomba which was currently going in wide, swooping arcs. The arms are raised triumphantly overhead. (Duke may or may not have spent three hours in front of the Hellmo meme, making sure that it was perfect). And, of course, it was conducting bright blue crackling electricity. (Duke had gotten the idea from one of those science experiment things that is made of lightning, and will every so often shoot a bolt and light something on fire. Minus the fire part. He didn’t have a death wish .)

It was just then that some lightning arced out and set an extra manikin that had been lying about on fire.

Duke cringed internally, but his mood wasn’t dampened for long. He took one look at the other Bats present, and muffled a snort of amusement. They were positively shocked - even Babs! That in and of itself was an utter victory for Duke. It got even better when they slowly separated and began to wander the Cave in wonder and horror. Duke split off as well, and hid behind the Dinosaur.

He almost tripped, however, on one of the babies. Yeah, Babies. Around the legs of the dinosaur, on their own roombas, were inflatable versions of the giant T-Rex. Somehow (maaaaybe with a touch of fiddling with controls), they were even faster than the moving people. They were zipping around and crashing into each other. When Duke hit one, though, it activated a system he had put in place which suddenly unleashed a gigantic roar throughout the Cave via the soundsystem.

The Dinosaurs weren’t the only extra addition to the native wildlife, though. Bats, hundreds of them, were replaced with stuffed animal versions of themselves, and painstakingly hung from string to the stalactites at the top of the cave, like a giant mobile.

Duke peaked out from the side of the wide space where he had been inspecting his own work to gage the situation with the other members of his family. The shock seemed to have worn off by that point, replaced with mixed reactions. Bruce was growing increasingly frustrated, Babs was trying not to laugh, and Damian was secretly pleased, enjoying the look on his father’s face.

Duke chuckled to himself as he went back to looking around in the nooks and crannies where smaller details - like the glow sticks representing glow worms - are set up. He had to admit, when he had set all of this up in two-days-without-sleep haze, he hadn’t actually been sure if it actually looked good. Two minutes later, and Duke was absolutely sure that this was in the top fifteen best Bat-Pranks, He’d have to petition for it to be added at the next meeting.

A sudden clamor came from the Batcomputer, and Duke grinned before practically skipping over to see what was the matter. This will be fun, he thought.

Upon his arrival, he knew it was true.

“Holy shit!” He crowed joyfully upon catching sight of the one manikin that had been missing earlier: his own.

Duke’s manikin was draped in gold curtains - clearly from the South Wing’s Music Room - to look like a toga, and sitting on a throne. Literally. (Bruce just had one lying about in the Attic) The throne rested on a huge platform covered in jewels (also taken from the treasure chest in the Attic). A light setup in the crannies of the Cave’s ceiling shot out beams of ‘disco’ light. Thin black vales hang from the ceiling to give the ominous feel of shadows. And, in case there was any confusion, a golden plaque rests at the base, and is engraved with the words “The Duke of Gotham. Bow Before Your Ruler.”

It’s beautiful, Duke thought ecstatically, so much better than I could have ever dreamed!

He promptly burst into laughter.

Bruce growled in frustration. “This is not funny, Duke.”

“I dunno, B,” Duke shrugged, “I sure think it is!”

“It is not. This is a defacement of the cave, plain and simple. And a poor use of resources to boot. This space is supposed to be efficient, a place that aids in the mission - and are those my Great Aunt Matilda’s emeralds?”

Duke shrugged again as Bruce was set off onto an even longer rant about wasting everyone’s time and abilities since they were going to have to clean it all up. Duke was mostly tuning Bruce out by that point.

“-if you are being flattered by the prankster, that is a clear sign of them trying to get you on their side.”

Duke froze and did a double take. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I didn’t train you to be so easily manipulated.”

Duke coughed. “Uh, I think you got this mixed up, B. See that? That’s me on the throne. Clearly this whole prank was organized by me.”

Bruce stared at Duke for a solid three seconds. Babs was covering her mouth to avoid a giggling fit, or maybe just out of shock. Damian was frowning at Duke.

Bruce’s right eye twitched. “Duke, no need to be sarcastic.”

Duke opened his mouth to argue some more, to explain just how wrong Bruce was, when said Dark Knight whipped around and stalked towards the elevator. He froze, though, when he stepped in front of Damian.

There wasn’t even a moment's pause before Bruce was glaring down at his youngest son with resigned, tired eyes. “Damian, how many times have I told you that more knives are not better? You gave yourself away.”

Damian screeched in indignation, and raced to follow Bruce out, demanding for Bruce to see reason.

“Father, you are being ridiculous!”

But his cries were quickly silenced by the closing of the elevator doors, leaving just Duke and Barbara in the Bat Cave.

Babs pivoted to look to Duke and shrugged. “Sorry kid, but he’s just stubborn.”

Duke blinked in confusion as she wheeled away. Had she always known? Scratch that - she was Oracle. Of course Barbara knew.

Duke collapsed at the foot of his throne, and put his head in his hands. Next time, he promised himself, no one else is gonna be there. No one else can take the credit.

*****

“He’s really trying, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this will be fun to watch.”

“Yes.”

“Should we just tell Bruce and be over with it?”

“…”

“Yes, you’re right Cass. We wait and watch.”

[writtenfan]

“I think I’ll be having more than just a taste.”

Alfred Pennyworth x FemReader

Something i’ve kept in my draft for too long, thought i was going to go further but i lost the inspiration so i’m just posting it! 

“Oi, come ‘ere.” You feel a hand gently clasp your shoulder and spin you around towards them holding back chuckles they gestured at a wooden bowl. “You see this?” of course, it was Alfred. Wearing a fine white apron with a brown border, knotted snugly around his waist. Looking at you with astonished yet tickled cute blue eyes that made you grin.

You start laughing as you craned your head to look into the bowl, you then try to turn away from him in embarrassment. But with an, “Ah ah ah!” he snatches you back up, wrapping his arm around your arm planted against the side of your shoulder holding you against his side making sure your view was back towards the bowl.

“Come on’ I’m serious. Look at it!”

You looked at him with a smile and you watch the corners of lips fight a smile with no avail. He had told you once that he often got lost looking into your (e/c) eyes and this was an instant that reflected just that because he seemed trapped in them. You felt so nervous starring at him so closely because you felt as if you could see into his soul and feared what you would see. You shifted your body a bit, darting your eyes away from his face. His grip which was, firm yet comfortable.

He blinked his eyes as he realized how possibly awkward that could have been and shifted forward towards the counter, moving his arm around your other like you two were about to do a cheery little skip and pointed at the bowl again with furrowed eyebrows that weren't coming across as the level of annoyed he wanted.

“I'm looking, I’m looking!” you then snatched the bowl up and raised it in front of his face,  turning towards Alfred’s chest  and  you watched his hand drop  slowly as you greeted him with a face to face scoff and a daring  “What’s wrong with it?!”

You hear a person clear their throat behind you, “I should have warned you (y/n). Alfred is very particular about his cooking…” Your heart jumped at Bruce’s sudden words and you crossed your arms and with a nervous laugh, turning towards him to cover up any suspicious body language you had before.

Alfred turned around slowly as he stood by your side with one hand behind is back nodded furiously and gestured over to Bruce.

“Yes Master Bruce you bet I bloody am!” he then points at you and them him  “and what did I tell you both?!”  Bruce sighed “ To stay-“ but Alfred promptly interrupted gesturing all around the kitchen  “Stay out of thiiiiiiiss area, Got it? I mean, cause clearly!” He gestures his hand towards you and lets out a distressed breath of air.

You furrow your brow and stab a finger at him with a smile.

“Come on Alfred, I don’t see what’s wrong with it!”

His eyes widened “Oh no? well that’s not the best of it!” he reaches next to him and pulls another bowl off the counter holding it in front of your face. “An’ this!..., you have got to be kidding me, t- these slices are mashed, literally!

You snorted and gestured over to Bruce who was standing against the kitchen doorway looking you both with a tiny grin. “This is all Bruce’s doing, he was doing vegetables and I starchs…” you huffed looking away from him fakely peeved “We were trying to make something before you got back!”

“Exactly-“ Bruce walked over in front of Alfred so that you all were in this mini conversation circle. his expression as sincere and frank as always.

“-a poor idea we realized as soon as you shouted, “I’m making Italian for dinner!” adding air quotes for emphasis which made you laugh.

Alfred propped his back against the counter behind him towards Bruce. His legs crossed and hands behind him against the counter's edge.

“I’m ashamed of you Master Bruce, you know I” he points at himself dramatically “who handles all the cooking in this house and ill be having it no other way.” His eyes cut towards you with a sly grin plastered on his face smiled at Bruce and threw a friendly shoulder punch his way, which sparked a boy battle right in front of your eyes. You couldn’t stop grinning as you shouted for them to watch out for the counter,

Bruce had managed to get himself into a headlock and struggled with getting out of it as Alfred held him tightly bending him towards the ground as he looks back up with you with a boy will be boys expression.

“I- I can’t blame you for this miss he’s the one who knows the r-rules” his voice grew throaty as Bruce elbowed him in the chest and managed to stagger behind the man who quickly turned around and grabbed his hands pushing him backward. “Come on Master B- you’ve got be better than that…” 

After a few more jabs between the two Alfred had grabbed Bruce by the back of his collar, holding his arms behind his back as he started pushing him out the kitchen.  “Go on you, aren’t you supposed to be doing that online class? he checked his watch “Come on now its been 15 minutes! Go on boy!” Alfred smacked Bruce right in the middle of his back with a laugh and Bruce smiled with a cough as he headed up the stairs. “I’ll be back (y/n)” he shouted as he walked up the stairs. “Yeah at dinner!” Alfred yelled after him, shaking his head with a smirk.

Alfred was visibly a “tad bit” as he would say it, out of breath and you took special attention to his as his chest as it heaved up and down The apron surprisingly still in place even if the knot was a bit loose. His winded expression left once he caught you looking at him so closely and he cleared his throat, straightened his back, stretched and tapped his chest with a closed fist hardily walking towards you with a victorious gait. “I’m top dog around here as you can see...” He chuckled as he ran his hand along the counter edge as he walked towards you, breathing heavy with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“He knew better…unlike you…” you watched him bite his lip. You straightened up and looked at him with confused eyes backing up a step as he continued walking towards you stopping midway to click on a radio on the windowsill and fiddling with it until it gently sang some smooth jazz.

“W-what do you mean?” he chuckled and moved away from the radio stops when he's a few inches away from you and he could smell how sweet you were, hand still on the counter looking down at you with a restrained focus. “you’ve been challenging my willpower all afternoon love...” You could see every line etched in his face with detail, the sweat as it rolled down his forehead and his neck. From grey hair to eyebrows, you picked up every detail and tilted you head down to be closer to him. 

Soothed by hearing his low exhales and feeling his hand slide underneath yours. Cupping gently warm and bruised fingers against the back of your hand. Slowly raising it up and flipping your hand over so that he could interlock his fingers in yours, tenderly rubbing his thumb across the side of your hand and alongside your knuckles, with a nervous expression that asked you if this was ok which you replied with placing the side your head on the crook of his neck.

His heartbeat raced against his ribs, as he tilted his head down against your face softly resting his cheek against yours as he continued to talk.

“I know we’ve known each other for a while now. But never have you been in the Manor…this long..” his voice was so low and raspy that it made you trembles as if being In the winters chill. 

You both found yourself glancing towards the doorway and were comforted that no one was there. “I find myself finding it particularly hard not to love on you every second your with me.” He takes his other hand and hesitantly and he places it against your lower back and you find yourself being gently guided through a series of slow and gentle circles finding it hard to concentrate on the environment around you and not at him. 

“And having to keep us a secret…” He stops guiding you In circle and instead pulls you back into another section of the kitchen by unlatching the door and closing it behind you both. Gently locking it with ease as you look around this spacious food pantry with light filtering through small colored panels on the top of the walls.

“Has been driving me absolutely bananas.”

[renaroo]

Super Brothers (2/12)

Disclaimer: Superman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Dysphoria, PTSD and Anxiety, Character Death Rating: T Synopsis: Jon Kent knew he pretty much had the perfect family life, but something still felt wrong with himself. At the height of feeling like an alien in his own skin, however, his world got turned upside down when his parents took in a troubled child who embodied everything he felt he lacked. However, becoming a brother ended up being the smallest of the trials brought by adopting Christopher Kent. And being best friends with Damian Wayne has not exactly helped keep a neutral perspective on the matter.

A/N: This is almost late and I apologize. I have no excuses other than my brain is turning into as much mush as everyone else’s. But I really am enjoying where the future of this story is going and am really excited to get there. But, first, we have to reach some difficult places first. 

Before we go further, I must say this: TRIGGER WARNING. There is overt child abuse and child harm in this chapter. It’s not super detailed and it gets cut off, but I do not want people to get upset from it without warning. So please take care of yourself first and foremost.

I’m blown away by the support this fic is getting so far and I appreciate you all so very much! Special thanks to the lovely comments and promotion from @secretlystephaniebrown, @spiralcass, @noartificialfruitjuice, @fred-astairs-dark-impulses, @karagordon, and elietrope on AO3 and tumblr!

Chapter Two: Pay in Full

Damian isn’t surprised when he is the lone attendant of breakfast the following morning. His wrists are still bruised up and a little painful from his restraints, but he ignores them under the cuffs of his school uniform and is the picture of polite society and manners. He eats confidently and alone.

It isn’t unusual, only disappointing.

Fortunately, Alfred is nothing if not an excellent reader of the atmosphere and does not force conversation or dullness on Damian that is unwarranted. He leaves the youngest Wayne to a peaceful meal.

The quiet makes it easier for Damian to overhear Alfred conversing just a step or so into the hall.

“Ah, Miss Cassandra, it is unusual to see you up and about at such an hour,” Alfred’s voice carries with a genuine mix of praise and surprise.

“Yeah, um,” Cass mutters, speech slurred with sleep, “can you, um, take me? Soon? He wanted to talk to me.”

“But of course. I can take you as I take Master Damian to the academy this morning.”

Starring toward the door, Damian lets his oatmeal slip off of his spoon and carelessly plop back into the bowl. He doesn’t even pay attention to the splashes of oats which end up on Alfred’s meticulously cared for table runner. He’ absorbed by the implications of the conversation happening in front of him.

After an encounter with Professor Pyg which ended as eventfully as his did, Damian anticipated some negative news getting to either his father or Grayson. And while Damian didn’t want for Dick to hear about Damian’s poor performances without him, there was at least some trust.

Grayson would be annoyingly supportive and want to use the entire event as some sort of learning experience.

Father is something else entirely.

After a few moments of subconsciously holding his breath, Damian glances down to his oatmeal and finds it suddenly subpar.

He pushes out from the table, chair legs protesting loudly, and tosses the handkerchief from his lap onto the table. Damian is on his feet and in the hall before Cassandra even has time to leave Alfred and redress herself for the day.

“Alfred, I do not need to attend the academy today,” he announces.

The butler tilts his head slightly and raises his eyebrows minutely. “I believe the education system would disagree with you entirely.”

“I have things to discuss with Father,” Damian elaborates stiffly. “Important information that outweighs any supposed social-developments I am pretending to make.”

Cassandra scratches at her jawline and frowns at Damian. She’s assessing him, her dark eyes boring into Damian’s soul and evaluating every tremor of his muscle.

Which makes it even more annoying that her choice of commentary is to say, “Bad at it. Pretending,” she jokes.

“Silence, you,” Damian hisses ferally. “The entire first year I lived here, I had to listen to everyone talk about you and never once did they mention your sass.”

She offers a half-shrug. “Forgot the best part.”

“Tt, more like the worst,” Damian teeters, hands on his hips.

For a moment, Cassandra seems to be ignoring him as she looks over Damian’s head at Alfred and rotates her shoulders. “Maybe shouldn’t go to school,” she offers, surprising Damian entirely.

Alfred seems just as taken by the suggestion and looks at her suspiciously. “Why so, Miss Cassandra?”

“Had a bad night,” she explains. “Probably does have important stuff to say.”

Heat flushes into Damian’s face. His eyes glaze into a distinct red hue and his shoulders tremble as he clutches his hands into fists by his side. There is almost certainly steam coming off of him as anger overtakes him in a way that it hasn’t for ages now.

“How dare you!” he roars.

All too casually, Cassandra glances down to Damian and raises an eyebrow at him. She doesn’t say anything with words.

“How dare you assume so much about me! You don’t even know me!” Damian continues, bringing his fists up as if ready to brawl. “Perhaps what I’m going to do is while you wish to tattle to Father, I’ll tell him the truth about how you are nothing but an interference here in Gotham! That you do not deserve to trespass on my affairs! And that absolutely everyone wishes you would bugger off again so that everyone can go back to the way things were!”

“Master Damian, that is enough!” Alfred says coolly. He never raises his voice, but he never needs to.

Despite himself, Damian snaps his jaw closed. But he doesn’t stop glaring into Cassandra’s face, her eyes. His anger is still boiling over, no matter how much he’s contained it.

Cassandra looks back at him, her face drawn and unreadable.

It makes Damian even more upset.

“That is no way to speak to anyone, certainly not family,” Alfred reminds Damian. “Considering your injuries—“

“I am not injured that gravely, Pennyworth!” Damian sputters again.

“—I can see the benefit to a day of recuperation from school, so long as we do not continue this theme habitually,” Alfred persists. “We will leave for your father’s office as soon as Miss Cassandra is ready to leave. And we will not leave a moment sooner than that.” He looks to Cassandra and pats her shoulder. It’s the only thing that gets her to pull her gaze away from Damian. “I encourage you to get ready for the day at your leisure, my dear.”

After that, the conversation is over, and Damian ends up sitting in the foyer waiting for the better part of an hour as Cass does just as Alfred insisted.

***

“There he is!”

Jon is still wiping at his eyes as he stumbles through the apartment. It’s difficult, in these early mornings, for him to focus on appropriate amounts of strength, so he shoulders into furniture a touch too hard or bangs into the doorframe with enough force to send pictures lined down the walls tumbling down.

Some things that are less natural to him since his coming into power, like flight or his special types of vision, take more effort and alertness. Not his super strength, however fortunately or unfortunately.

He stumbles his way into the kitchen, his feet padding over the shift from hardwood to tile. He can smell the scrambled eggs before his dad even set them on Jon’s prepared plate.

At the table across from Jon is his mom, already in a beautiful silk top with a gold necklace of large geometric squares. Her chin-length hair is curlier than usual which means she hasn’t straightened it. Her lashes are long, nearly swooping down to her cheeks as she looks down to her iPad as she reads. When she takes her cup away from her lips, a dark purple lip stain is left behind on it.

Jon admires her for a moment, scooting into his seat but not pulling up to the table.

“Good morning, honey,” his mom says full of affection. Her violet eyes glance up to his face.

“Good morning,” Jon says back, smiling brightly.

“Leave walking room, champ,” his dad says from behind. Before Jon can even think, two massive hands close in around the edges of Jon’s backrest, then his whole chair is lifted and scooted up until Jon’s chest nearly bumps the table.

“Sorry, Pa,” Jon says automatically, sparing a glance as his father moves over and plants himself in one of the two chairs between Jon and his mom.

Even in a collared shirt and sweater vest, Jon can see what a massive shadow his father leaves for him. He is broad-shouldered and firm, even with his softness. He has a body that exudes power and strength. It’s only with folded in shoulders and deflated presentation that Clark Kent can convince the world there is a difference between himself and Superman.

At home, among family, as Pa, Jon knows his dad is unmistakably Superman.

When Pa’s large hands reach for his cup of orange juice or poke at scrambled eggs with a fork, it makes Jon look at his own hands.

They’re thin, nimble hands. Soft.

Mom has said on more than one occasion that with fingers as long as his, Jon needs to either learn piano or practice keyboard typing. And Jon is certain he has no ear for tunes.

“I almost came to get you a second time, young man,” Pa says between bites of eggs. “I warned you before about staying up late. I know there are plenty of things an eleven-year-old boy thinks are cooler than sleep.”

Curling his nose, Jon shifts uncomfortably. “I’m almost twelve now,” he reminds them. “You said I could push curfew when I turned twelve.”

“And you’re still not twelve,” Mom says, closing out the tabs on her iPad. She looks very seriously at Jon. “And it doesn’t matter what age you are, my mother’s intuition tells me you’re watching scary movies with the Wayne kid again.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Jon squeaks. “I promise I wasn’t!”

“You had nightmares last night, Jon. We share a wall with your room,” Pa says, face the picture of sympathetic. “And it’s okay to have nightmares sometimes, but you’ve been having them a lot lately. Something like that would usually require something scaring you.”

“Like movies,” Mom adds, still eyeing Jon suspiciously. “Is it Gotham? Maybe we shouldn’t let you go to Gotham so much. Especially this time of year. I hate that stuck-up little island, Clark. No wonder he’s scared.”

“Wait, no, it’s not anything to do with Gotham or movies or Damian,” Jon argues emphatically.

Both of Jon’s parents stop and do the thing Jon has come to hate most during their meals. They look up, toward one another, and seemingly carry out an entire conversation with each other through micro expression alone.  It would be adorable if they weren’t his parents.

Jon decides to take the time to begin shoveling in his eggs. His dad’s cooking may be simple but it’s always filling.

“Do you want to talk about these nightmares you’re having, Jon?” Pa asks gently. “You and your body have been put through a lot of changes very quickly over the past year or so. You’ve gotten your own powers, you’ve moved schools twice, your mother and I both are back at full time. That’s a lot.”

He chews over his father’s words for a long moment and considers them.

For most of his young life, Jon Kent has been able to tell his parents positively everything on his mind. They are loving, supportive good people. The best people. Whether they’re superheroes or super reporters, they make Jon proud with almost every second of every day.

But his nightmares make his throat fill closed and tight in ways that are impossible to express. He likes to think they could know, but it feels like they couldn’t.

They couldn’t know how certain words or certain looks or certain things make him feel like he’s crawled into someone else’s skin. Like he’s been lying to everyone on accident this whole time. That what people see him as is undeserved.

What could he ever say to explain that?

Not to mention, explaining that he was patrolling in Gotham and got captured by some madman like Professor Pyg is probably worth far more trouble than simply admitting to scary movies with Damian.

“I don’t remember them,” Jon lies through his teeth.

“That can happen,” Pa says warmly.

When Jon looks up, it’s unsurprising to see that his mother’s face is fairly neutral. She looks at him worriedly and unconvinced.

If she plans on saying anything, however, the moment eludes her. Her iPad lights up simultaneously with the default ding of her phone. She glances at them both before getting to her feet. She’s a full inch taller in her heels and wearing Jon’s favorite skirt of hers.

“Clark, are you going to take Jon this morning?” she asks. “I can use it to excuse you from any early bellows from Perry.”

“Of course,” Pa says, leaning back and tilting his head for the optimal kissing angle.

Mom comes around the table and ducks down, holding back her hair delicately as she kisses Jon’s forehead. “Have a good day, hun, I love you.”

“Bye, Mom, you look beautiful,” Jon informs her as she leaves.

He watches her go and takes a breath. His gaze is only broken when his dad holds his glasses out in front of his vision.

“Don’t forget these,” Pa reminds him.

“Oh, thanks,” Jon mutters, taking the thick frames. His motion is stopped, though, as his father doesn’t let go. He glances back up to Pa and raises a brow.

“Jon, do you know how polygraphs work?” Pa asks, still not letting go of the glasses.

“Um, not really,” Jon admits.

“They measure your heartbeat, because if someone’s not a good liar then they will increase their heart rate, and the machine records it,” Pa explains as he finally lets go of Jon’s glasses.

Despite himself, Jon’s heart picks up its pace. He glances down to his lap. “Do you always listen to my heartbeat?”

“Since before you were born,” Pa says softly, running his broad hand over Jon’s hair. His thumb strums the locks affectionately. “And you thought I was the easy parent, huh?”

“I just don’t want to talk about my nightmares yet,” Jon explains worriedly.

“That’s okay,” Pa assures him, letting go of Jon’s hair. “But I’d appreciate you not lying to me or your mother.”

Jon frowns. “I won’t, Pa, I promise. Sorry I did.” He glances toward his mother’s seat and notices her coffee mug sitting where she left it. Her purple lipstick is still staining the side. “Do you listen to mom’s heartbeat?”

“Practically since the day I met her,” Pa laughs, picking up both of their finished plates. “I always listen out for the hearts of the people I love. It’s,” he pauses in thought before continuing his walk to the sink, “it’s comforting to know everyone’s safe.”

Humming some, Jon puts his chin on the kitchen table and focuses. His mom should be in the elevator on her way down. If he uses his x-ray vision he could even watch her. But instead, he listens. It’s hard to focus on the beat alone, to isolate it. It could give him a headache until he’s better at it. But Jon can do it.

It’s one of many things he can do, he can be because of his father — a polygraph.

But as he listens for his mother’s heart, Jon wonders if there are more things he can do and be because of his mother.

“Pa, it’s a good thing to want to be more like mom, right?” Jon asks before he can stop himself.

His pa lets out a deep laugh over the running water in the sink. “Jon, everyone wants to be more like your mother. It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

And that, Jon decides, is comforting.

***

Lor-Zod learns through the sunstones in silence. His eyes are transfixed on their histories and piloting and mathematics, but his mind is distantly occupied.

His mother has stood vigilant at the door, unmoving, the entire morning. She has not greeted him yet, has not introduced herself to him. Standing, quietly, scathingly.

The moment Lor finishes his aeronautics lesson, he feels his mother’s hand close around his wrist. He is reaching for the next lesson, but she is suddenly upon him, stopping him. Her face is mere centimeters from his own. Her nose snarls.

“You are summoned, Lor,” she tells him, as though he should already know.

“Where, mother?” he barely has air in his lungs to ask before he is jerked into the air and guided through the halls of their palace.

As they travel swiftly through their palace, Lor notices for the first time that he has not seen servants or even heard servants all morning. That is beyond unusual, and it makes their giant crystalline halls even more empty than normal.

Something sits unsettled and worrisome in Lor’s chest. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

“What are we doing, mother?” Lor attempts again, voice tight with fear.

“Is a child to speak out of turn?” she asks angrily, her brown hair whipping across her face as she looks over her shoulder.

Lor obediently shakes his head. “No,” he answers.

“Then you have no turn,” she informs him. When she looks ahead once more, her fingers tighten around his wrist. “There is a lesson to be learned today.”

Silence overtakes Lor as they reach the grand hall and entrance of their palace. There still are no servants to be seen, and there is also no sign of the general. Every hair on Lor’s body stands on end as he realizes just how wrong everything is set up to be.

But he cannot even force himself to speak. He knows better. His body knows better.

As they bound out of the giant doors to their palace, Lor realizes that they are opening up to an enormous gathering. There are purple-skinned Jekuul natives for as far as Lor’s unaided vision can see. They all face forward, toward the intimidating staircase to the palace’s entrance. And to the general.

General Zod does not even turn his shoulders toward Lor and his mother as they come to his side. He is facing forward, over the crowd.

Lor is positioned harshly, stood in front of his mother. She swiftly shifts her hand from his wrist to his shoulder, her other hand matching it. They grip him fiercely, nails clicking against the Kryptonian armor beneath.

When Lor looks up to his mother’s face, he can only see her chin as it faces the general obediently.

Then, when Lor follows her gaze, he lets out a soft gasp.

They are not the only ones standing on the stairs. There is also a familiar, tiny purple girl in his father’s grips.

“Ti’ahl? What’s she doing here?” Lor asks before his mother’s grip becomes even more constricting. He feels his chest freeze up, his heart pounding again.

“You are out of turn, child,” she hisses down at him. “Watch.”

Swallowing, Lor looks back to the General.

The General seems satisfied after Lor falls silent, and he begins speaking out in a tongue so strange but familiar. His voice booms and echoes over the silent crowds below. He’s speaking in Jakuul, Lor knows that much, but still not what his father is saying.

For a moment, Lor tries. He tries desperately to understand what is being said, but none of it makes sense. There aren’t even the familiar possibilities of understanding like he had with Ti’ahl just the day before.

Thinking of Ti’ahl, Lor glances down from his father’s face to where Ti’ahl stands trembling in the General’s grip.

She looks paler than yesterday, her purple skin lighter in the face and almost blue in her cheeks. Her big, dark eyes are tear-filled and sunken, her hair messy. It occurs to Lor that she is wearing the exact same clothes that he last saw her in.

Only at that moment does Lor realize she never made it home last night. But he can’t imagine why.

Deep down, Lor wishes to speak to her, to comfort her, to offer his cape once more, but she doesn’t even have it now. Lor wonders, idly, where it might be.

The General’s voice picks up in fervor, growing in a tempo as the crowds below become unsettled.

Lor doesn’t know what to think, what’s going on when he sees his father wrench Ti’ahl’s arm back and up into the air at a frightening angle. It makes the little girl scream in shock and begins crying, tugging.

Not sure what is going on, Lor opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

With a flick of his wrist, the General turns Ti’ahl’s arm completely upside down and a hideous snap echoes through the hot Jekuul air.

Stunned, Lor stares at his father and at the little girl he played with yesterday. The air erupts with high pitched squeals and sobs from the crowds below. Ti’ahl herself hangs limply unconscious, only held up by the General’s tremendous grip on her arm.

His mother holds him down with so much force, Lor feels as though he will sink through the stairs. He can’t look at her, can’t hear her past the thundering pulse in his own ears. He stares only at his father who is happily soaking in the shock and awe of the crowds.

Then, Lor snaps.

All he can see is red and then his father’s shoulder is smoking, singed.

And, for the first time since the night before, General Zod looks at Lor.

“I am disappointed, Faora,” the General says angrily. “You assured me that our child was being raised in the traditions of Krypton. Are those traditions not that punishments are handled by the mother?”

“They are,” Lor’s mother says, aghast, before yanking Lor into the palace doors.

Lor hits the floor before he even sees the smack coming. And it is only the first.

He hardly feels any of it, numb to everything with the sound of that crack echoing throughout his whole body.

[fandom-writer642]

Easter Egg Hunt (YJ Team x Reader)

Summary: This is a spin off of Cursed Dead? which takes place in after part 1, season one. The team finds that the Mountain has been turned into an Easter egg hunt.

Note: I won’t be doing a part two to Cursed Dead?

Request: No but it's Easter

Pairing?: YJ Team x Fem!Reader. Robin x Fem!Reader

———

As the team entered the Mountain after a fake mission that Batman set up. They couldn’t understand why the man would play them but they only slightly understood when they got back to base. They couldn’t help but blink as a table was set out in the middle of the room. Baskets of different colors with one Easter egg inside each basket. (Y/n) sat on the table with a basket in her lap, as large smile spread along her face. Her image seemed to flicker from her translucent one to a solid one. “Happy Easter!”

The team smiled at the girl who looked at them excitedly. All their tiredness washed away as they grew curious and slightly excited. The third basket on her left was accented with orange ribbons while on the front was Aqualad’s symbol. Next to it was one wrapped in blue with a large red X on the front. The one right next to her left side was black with red Superman symbol on the front. The one farthest from her on the left was green with a lime green arrow head that was similar to the one on Artemis’s chest. Next to her on her right was a yellow one with a red flash symbol on the front. Finally, the one in her lap was red with a bat symbol on the front.

“What is this?” Aqualad asked.

“Well, it’s an Easter egg hunt! You have to follow the riddles and clues to find all of thirty of your eggs. Each person has thirty eggs with their corisponding color!”

“Where did you get the time for all of this?” Robin asked; his eyes narrowing at the girl who just smiled and approached him with his basket still in her hands.

“The League helped, mostly Batman though. I needed you guess out of the Mountain so he made a fake mission for you.” At their shocked expressions (Y/n) looked down at the basket her hair fell in front of her face. She had thought their shock was anger rather than actual shock. “Sorry! I knew it was a stupid idea but Batman said you wouldn’t be mad and that you’d enjoy it! I’m sorry.”

Robin put a hand on her shoulder, well more like above it since it would go through her. “We’re not mad just shocked. Really it’s a wonderful gesture.”

She looked up at him and he gave a kind smile to the ghost.

“Indeed, I think it would be fun.” Aqualad agreed.

Artemis and M’gnn nodded with wide smiles while Connor looked curious and slightly confused but nodded as well. Wally however looked thoughtful, the way she had put it made the hunt seem more like a challenge and a lot of challenges come with a prize.

“Is there a prize?”

“Yup! Agent A’s specially made cookies!”

“How much did B help you?” Robin said in shock.

“A lot! I went over to the Batcave and explained though I scared one kid-”

“Jay?” Robin cut in.

“Jay,” (Y/n) agreed. “And B told him off for throwing a bowl at me. But I told them my plan a few weeks ago and they all agreed to help me. Jay and B helped me paint the eggs and make the riddles and clues while Agent A made cookies.”

“So, when do we start?” Artemis asked. From the looks on Wally’s and Robin’s faces the cookies had to be something to die for.

“Well rules, no powers and,” she handed Robin his basket with a single egg and a riddle or clue inside. “Now.”

The team ran toward their baskets and looked at their hints while (Y/n) chased after Robin. The whole afternoon was spent Easter egg hunting and they had to admit it was fun.

•••

“Why would you plan this for us?” Robin asked her as he looked around his room.

“Why not?” (Y/n) shrugged. She sat on his bed and looked around the bare room. “Honestly Dick, you’re all my friends and I couldn’t have anyone better to hang out with.”

Dick turned to the girl who was now in front of him, “You’re amazing (Y/n).”

“Thank you. You’re fantastic, Dick, and don’t you ever forget it.”

Dick smiled at her, he wanted to hug her but he couldn’t, he would just go through her.

•••

Two hours later Robin found himself in the living area eating Alfred’s cookies while (Y/n) smiled and talked next to him. She took one and as a test to see if she could eat food from the land of the living she bit into it. To both hers and Robin’s surprise the cookie was actually bit into. They looked at each other in confusion before smiling at each other, having a small mental conversation with their eyes. They didn’t notice how close they were but they were just smiling and talking without saying a word.

Wally rushed in with Artemis not so far away but out of sight to the pair. They watched the two with sad eyes, not because of their defeat —though it was disappointing— but because Robin could never be with someone who was dead. Artemis saw how close the two were and saw (Y/n) whole body go from her translucent one to a solid one. Wally and Artemis shared a sad look as the rest of the team came behind them and joined in on watching. M’gnn gave a quiet gasp that barely reached the ears of the rest of the team.

Aqualad sighed and shared a look with Connor who looked a mix between sad and uncomfortable. Kaldur had similar thoughts to Wally and Artemis, that Robin could never be with (Y/n) because she was dead and Robin was not. That he would age and she would forever be the age she appeared. The relationship could never work. Yet, as he looked at the pair as they grew closer, making their gap close quicker he couldn’t help but hope it was some sort of trick and the they could be together.

“Happy Easter Robin.”

“Happy Easter (Y/n).”

Once again (Y/n)’s image turned solid and Robin took his chance. He pressed his lips to hers gaining a soft squeak for her before she returned it. She willed herself to stay solid knowing it was draining her energy but knowing it was worth it. Her lips were cold against his own from her ghostly state but he couldn’t care less, they were soft and molded well with his own. (Y/n) smiled against his lips as she felt more alive than she had when she was alive. Robin was well aware that she was willing herself to stay solid for as long as possible and couldn’t be happier about it because it proved something. If she didn’t like him she would have gone back to her ghost state and left but instead she was trying to stay solid and was kissing him back.

M’gnn cooed through the mindlink that was set up between the team, minus Robin.

They’re adorable, she spoke.

Artemis sighed as she looked at M’gnn, They could never be together though.

Artemis is right, Wally said through the link. Even if those two are making out right now it wouldn’t work, (Y/n) is dead and there is nothing we can do about it.

How come no one ever found her body then? Connor asked.

What do you mean Connor? Aqualad inquired. What do you mean (Y/n)’s body was never found?

It was never found, I asked Batman if I could visit her grave sight because we know her spirit but could never meet her person. He told me that she didn’t have one because no one found the body.

The team shared a look of confusion before turning back to the couple as Robin parted away from (Y/n) and her appearance flickered back to her ghost state. She was panting but smiling at him with happiness in her eyes. “Thank you Robin. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he smiled. "I don't mind doing that again.”

“Oh, I know. But thank you, while I’m slightly drained I haven’t felt more alive.”

“Glad to hear.”

•••

The mentors watched the monitors with sad expressions also annoyed ones too. Batman wins every bet.

“They could never be together,” Barry spoke up sadly. “She’s a ghost and Dick’s still alive.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce said as he replayed the footage of the living area where the team was hiding and where Dick and (Y/n) were. “For now I think the two will manage.”

“Let’s hope so,” Oliver said. They all had watched (Y/n) and the team grow close and honestly it wasn’t far that her life had been taken away at such an age. “They both need each other.”

———

Note: This is bad but I liked it well enough.

[anotheruserwithnoname]

Thoughts on Victoria Series 3

Some general thoughts on the just-concluded (well, in North America, anyway) Season 3 of Victoria. Obviously spoilers ahead - and I will be talking about some of the season’s major moments, so read on only if you’ve seen the show or don’t care about spoilage!

To start at the very end, the cliffhanger finale appears to have answered two questions: will there be a fourth series and will Jenna Coleman and Tom Hughes be a part of it. Of course we won’t know officially for maybe months to come, but I think it’s relatively rare for British seasons to end on a cliffhanger if there isn’t a follow-up season already in the bag. Maybe some examples can be given of cliffhanger cancellations - The Omega Factor, maybe? Red Dwarf went off the air for four years having left things on a cliffhanger. So maybe I’m wrong, but considering S1 and S2 both had “full stops” (albeit with S2 having a Christmas special as a postscript), if nothing else it suggests confidence.

And as for Jenna continuing - well, they could change the actress on a cliffhanger, I suppose. Maybe we’re going to jump ahead closer to Albert’s death and not directly resolve the collapse. But Jenna is on record as talking about what she wants to do in Series 4. Time will tell.

Looking at the season as a whole, although I greatly enjoyed it, it did feel perhaps a bit uneven. There was perhaps a greater emphasis on supporting characters this year, but with the Francatelli/Skerett arc cruelly cut off midway through the season, and surprisingly Ernst and Harriet being absent completely - there was greater emphasis on Lord Palmerston, who I think deserves a show of his own, and Victoria’s semi-estranged sister, Feodora, who I found was played perhaps a bit too much like a costume-drama villain. Similarly, the romance between Sophie and William the footman was well handled, but at times felt like it belonged in another series - though I loved the verbal thumping that Victoria gives Sophie’s abusive husband, and the Penge-William dynamic was interesting to see. Mrs. Turner, Skerett’s successor as Victoria’s dresser, is also an interesting addition, especially as Victoria starts to use her as sort of her own Baker Street Irregular.

I was very surprised at Ernst and Harriet being absent from the season, especially as I could have sworn David Oakes and Margaret Clunie posted about filming. Were their scenes deleted? Is it possible that, as a consolation for ITV delaying broadcast of Series 3 well beyond the US airing that this time British viewers are going to see the bonus scenes? I don’t know. But we get no more of their budding romance (which might be for the best as it was rather “doomed to history”). Also totally forgotten about is the marriage of Lord Alfred and Wilhelmina Coke that was expected to follow the Christmas season (though Paget is still present). Diana Rigg was also nowhere to be found. We still had  Penge and Brodie, and Lady Portman provided some interesting dynamics with Lord Palmerston. Peter Bowles (who I’ll always remember from his appearance in Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner) gets some great moments before bowing out as the Duke of Wellington. As for Francatelli and Skerrett, things seem to be going well ... then they suddenly get cut off in their prime.

I know there are people really angry about what happened to them, but I actually didn’t mind it because, realistically, once they left the palace, there really was no further value to the characters in terms of helping tell Victoria’s story. Plus, it gave real stakes and consequences to the deadly disease that afflicted Londoners at the time. It was a brave choice, and I think a good one. they couldn’t exactly kill off Albert 20 years early, right? There was also a line of dialogue implying that Lord M is no longer with us. Robert Peel’s death isn’t mentioned; instead we have John Sessions as rather undynamic Prime Minister Russell, though he’s undynamic mainly because of Lord Palmerston taking all the attention.

Also new this year were the Prince and Princess of Foreshadowing - otherwise known as Vicky and the future King Edward VII. I thought the storyline involving Bertie’s learning disability was well handled, but I did find myself eye-rolling a little bit when Bertie professes his love for his cousin Heidi. And in Vicky I could sense Daisy Goodwin giving a bit of a wink to today’s audiences; after all, it wasn’t until William and Kate’s first child was nearly born that Parliament finally did away with the “first male is the heir” rule. Had it been in place in the mid-1800s, we might have had Queen Victoria II come to the throne in 1901 (albeit only for a short while as Vicky only outlived her mother by about 7 months). The tension between Bertie and his father - which Victoria later blamed for contributing to Prince Albert’s early death - is foreshadowed pretty heavily.

What kept me truly engaged, once again, were the performances by Jenna Coleman and Tom Hughes. Both approached their roles with renewed confidence. Jenna clearly was still working on the momentum of The Cry, and Tom had himself been busy filming between seasons, and it shows. Tom’s Albert has a drive to him I haven’t seen since the Series 1 episodes about the trains and his speech about slavery; he successfully manages to overshadow Victoria several times. Jenna’s Victoria exhibits the type of maturity expected of someone who has worn the crown for more than a decade and has had 7 children (and the season doesn’t sugarcoat the impact that has on both Victoria and Albert). The show comes back to a recurring theme that Victoria doesn’t like change - in particular when people leave her. Her upset at Skerett’s resignation, her sadness at Wellington’s retirement, and her rather pointed words that may or may not have changed Sophie’s plan to elope. It’s pretty consistent. The relationship between Victoria and Albert is strained this season, less romantic at times - Victoria even comes to the conclusion Albert doesn’t love her anymore - but in the end, their relationship is more mature than ever. They aren’t teenagers anymore; to have them acting as such is perhaps unrealistic. And the result being two people still deeply in love and bonding like never before. In an odd way I could almost compare it to the Eleventh Doctor and Clara Oswald vs. the Twelfth Doctor and Clara. The first relationship was giddy and first-date like; the second was the deep bond of love (that goes “beyond romance” to quote Peter Capaldi) of the type you get when two people mature together and have life experiences together. Still in love, but differently, as Series 3 establishes.

If there is one disappointment, it’s that Series 3 didn’t - for me - produce any standout single episode, the way Series 1 had the train episode and Series 2 the Scottish episode. Perhaps the closest was the dysentery episode, though more because of its tragedy than the heartwarming feelings generated by the first two. The finale was good but it had to deal with resolving several plot thread (or at least setting them up for cliffhangers).

I know Victoria is not to everyone’s liking. I’ve seen people criticizing it for violating history in much the same way that I’ve seen Trekkies going after Star Trek Discovery for violating Trek canon. It even has a bit of Discovery vs The Orville-style rivalry happening as there are those who prefer the harder edge and Netflix trappings of The Crown. But Victoria is, above all, a generally light-hearted romantic drama. It’s not a documentary. And it certainly hews to history closer than, say, the Reign TV series about Mary Queen of Scots or, for that matter, the recent movie about Mary Queen of Scots. (That said, in casting Laurence Fox as the dynamic Lord Palmerston they did try the same thing they did with Rufus Sewell’s Lord M; Palmerston was considerably older than Fox in real life.)

Victoria Series 3 did its job - it was entertaining, it transported me out of a rather unpleasant period of my life for an hour or so, and it was good. Even if I wasn’t a Jenna Coleman fan, I’d still have watched it. I loved it.

So is Victoria done? Well, leaving the series on a cliffhanger (a couple of them) would suggest they hope to come back. Will Jenna come back? They certainly seems to have set things up that she has to return. But then in the new Harper’s UK interview out just today (March 3) she talks about going to LA after her play is finished to look for movie roles. That doesn’t sound like someone expecting to spend 8 months filming Victoria starting in the summer. She could be just covering her bases like any good actor and not assuming that a renewal is guaranteed (there are videos out there of the casts of Magnum PI and Brooklyn Nine Nine being told about their renewals and the sense of relief of continued employment is palpable). Maybe my guess is right and we’re being set up for the most depressing Christmas special ever? Time will tell, the saying goes.

Regardless, I will miss Victoria and if she is indeed finished in the role, I can’t wait to see what Jenna does next (starting with the play which is to have a National Theatre Live cinema showing).

[nish-s-random-writing]

*looks around* Could I get some fluffy FRUKUS on Christmas morning??? Please?? If not, then I'm perfectly fine with getting UKUS

a/n: I’ve had so much fun writing this! Thanks for the request~

WARNINGS: France x UK x US, polyamorous relationship, implied sexual themes, overwhelming sappity-sap-sap, christmas fluff is christmas fluff

Waking Up to You (FRUKUS Christmas one-shot)

There was a certain comfortable haze to waking up in theearly morning.

No, not the type where one is blasted in the ear by ablaring alarm for work, nor the type where one crawls out of bed all lazy andsluggish on weekend mornings. No, this was the well-rested,eight-hours-of-sleep, wrapped-up-in-warmth type of waking up. It was Alfred’sabsolute favorite.

Coming to consciousness but not quite opening his eyes yet,Alfred was well aware of the cool December air around his bare legs, but at thesame time, the nice, radiating warmth that wrapped around his shoulder andpressed against his side.

He tucked his legs into the comforter he knew he was underand snuggled further into the comfortable warm mass. His hands began to slowlyroam, touching broad skin and soon, smooth, silky strands.

Ah, that would be Francis.

America smiled quietly to himself, letting out a low hum ashe let his hands explore. The Frenchman was still asleep, but he knew he couldthread his fingers through those golden curls all day long if he wanted. Aftera while of letting his hands drift around the familiar skin, his mind wasalerted to the missing presence of another warm bundle that should’ve beenbehind him.

Alfred threw his arm back and frowned at the lack of contactwith anything that wasn’t cold bed. He let his hand creep forward, past Franciswho was now slowly stirring, and was disappointed to find no one on the otherside either.

This was where he opened his eyes and lifted his head. Asexpected, he was greeted with the adorable sight of half-asleep Francis, butwith no England to be found.

“America,” Francis groaned, his voice still scratchy withsleep. “Mon amour, what is wrong?”

In the back of his mind, America felt an important thoughttingling at his consciousness. Something he knew he couldn’t forget. But England’spresence—or lack thereof—was immediately pushed to the forefront of histhoughts and he decided to make his distress evident.

“Where’s Arthur?” He asked, looking up at his Frenchman.

Francis gave him a questioning glance, which was then easilytaken-over by a soft smile. This immediately made Alfred’s nerves quell alittle. “Ah, do you not remember? It’s Christmas, Alfred. Hah, Arthur isprobably up early making preparations, no?”

Alfred sighed, relieved at the satisfactory answer, and buriedhis face into the warmth of his boyfriend’s chest once again. “Heh, yeah, you’reright. Sorry for getting paranoid.” He hummed in contentment, before thethought occurred to him.

“Hey, merry Christmas, Francis.” Alfred said, looking up.

“Merry Christmas to you too, amour.”

And they shared a kiss, quiet and content, both feelingsatisfied yet wishing for the contact of another.

“What do you think Arthur’s up to?” Alfred asked afterpulling away.

“Hmm…probably wrapping up gifts, or perhaps taking some out.Perhaps he has another special-something planned.”

“Better not interrupt him then. Remember last time?”

“Oho! Yes, that was entertaining. Ruining his surprises getshim in an awfully foul mood. Not good for Christmas.”

“Heh, just like his cooking.”

They shared a laugh, then Alfred went quiet.

“I mean… you don’t think he could be cooking, right? Orbaking or something?”

They then shared a look—a panicked one. Their eyes hadwidened in unison and they nodded in agreement, before scrambling out of bed ina naked mess to barrel out the door, into the hallway, and towards the kitchenpraying to god that things wouldn’t be on fire yet.

To their amazement, they were greeted not by a plume ofthick smoke, but by the pleasant scent of gingerbread. Granted, they smelt abit overdone, but not quite horribly burnt yet.

The two rounded the corner, coming into view of the openkitchen doorway. The Christmas tree twinkled merrily behind the sofa whichrested in front of America’s penthouse windows. Opposite the couch were thecoffee table, decorated with a Christmas-embroidered table runner, and the TV hangingon the opposite wall. On the other wall was a slow-burning fireplace, rightnext to the kitchen, and there inside was England, humming merrily to himselfwhile he fixed-up something in a tray on the countertop.

The two astonished nations watched as the smaller Englishmanflipped open the oven and pulled out a tray of what seemed to be well-cookedcookies, judging by the miraculously delectable aroma.

He startled a bit as he looked up, but then settled himselfinto a small smile. “I was wondering when you two were going to wake up.”

America was the first to rush over and examine the cookiesup-close. They were simple round gingerbread cookies, laid neatly on the tray.They looked plain and simple enough, but made up for that in their overwhelmingsmell.

“H-how… England, this smells delicious!” America beamed,plucking one out of the tray and with a small nod of affirmation from the Brit,took a tentative bite. His eyes widened, impossibly blue, then proceeded totake another bite.

Francis was in a little more disbelief. “Angleterre, I loveyou, but what sort of dark magic have you sacrificed your soul to have achievedthis?”

“Bastard! I made them for you,” England sniffed, but he hada small, pleased smile on his face. “I told you I’d learn how to do this right,and ha ha! Here you are! The only thing I’ve sacrificed was a week’s worth ofeveryday cooking lessons at Italy’s place.”

“You sir, are getting quite good at baking,” America said,self-satisfied with taking bite after bite of each cookie.

“Oi, hold your horses,” Arthur said, turning his tray to setdown on the counter. “These are for both of you, but I want to have some too,alright? Now go and set up the living room. We’re spending indoors today.”

“Cuddle on the couch all day long? Just you two and cookies?”America mused, a lazy grin on his face. “I don’t know about you, but Best.Christmas. Ever.”

Francis hummed in agreement. “Ah, yes. Sounds wonderful. Andin addition, this indoor-cuddling might not be the only thing we’ll be doing onthe couch tonight, hmm?”

America snorted at him. “We broke the last couch, and I don’twant to buy a new one. Bed or floor, Francis. No couch.”

“Ah, you broke thelast couch, mi amour. As long as you don’t top, we’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that? Me not topping? You’ll be fine?”America gave France a sly grin.

France was ready to stutter out a reply when Arthur cut himoff. “I’ll buy you a new couch. For now, both of you put on some clothes and we’llstart watching those sitcoms I’m sure Alfred has prepared.”

“Wait, you-“

“Go on or no cookies for either of you!”

Alfred laughed, then pulled in Arthur for a quick kiss. “Alright,merry Christmas, babe.”

Francis let out his own laugh as well and stole his own kissfrom the Englishman. “Oui, I look forward to your cookies.”

And thus, the other two shuffled into the living room,leaving behind a very pleased England setting his cookies neatly into a bowl.This was bound to be a very pleasant Christmas with a very promising start,even if they did end up breaking the couch later that night.

[chaiteakusuri]

It’s about Valen-time

(Obligatory Valentine’s day post. Where I live it’s only 11:40pm, so it’s still a Valentine’s day post!)

Ivan sat in his cubicle, enjoying the vestiges of his remaining lunch break for the day. Even though it was the day before Valentine's day, Ivan was still in high spirits. Although he personally was very alone and never had anyone to spend the approaching holiday with, Ivan still found ways to enjoy himself. He was especially ready for “Discount Chocolate Day”, the day immediately after Valentine’s day. Also, he liked all of the cute decorations and bright colors that came with the holiday around his normally drab workplace, so he simply came to terms with being alone.

Valentine's landed near the beginning of the workweek this year and (the only reason being that his boss was a hopeless, gushing romantic) everyone was given the 14th of February off. Because of this, that meant that everyone was doing the typical workplace ‘celebrating’ this Monday.

           Upon giving the workspace a quick look over, Ivan noticed at least three bouquets of flowers displayed around on various desks of his coworkers. There were an assortment of decorations about the office and even balloons; if Ivan didn’t know how eccentrically attached his boss was to Valentine's day, he might have been weirded out by the amount of dedication put into the decorations for such an unimportant holiday (Lord save him if his boss heard him say it was an unimportant holiday, however).            Ivan looked over his shoulder and to the right to where his chatty workplace friend’s cubicle was and was surprised to see that his cubicle had a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates on them, too. “Does Alfred have a date for Valentine's?” Ivan thought to himself while looking over the heart shaped box of chocolates that laid of his coworker’s desk. Ivan’s eyes shifted to the beautiful bouquet of sunflowers placed neatly beside the chocolates and thought for a long moment. Perhaps Alfred did have a Valentine's date this year? Lucas, in fact had said to Alfred that Alfred was going to go on a date with his hand this Valentine's day? Ivan thought again for a moment longer, attempting to mull over the phrase before admitting defeat; American’s have weird ways of saying things almost everything. Ivan turned to his office computer and began typing: “What does it meant to have a date with your hand” before abruptly stopping himself as his noticed someone walking in his direction and closed the window he had open, telling himself that if he remembered, he would have to look it up when he got home.

           When the coworker passed, offering a greeting, Ivan was surprised to see another of his coworkers, Lucas, emerge from the break room; not surprised by Lucas himself, but by the lavish bouquet of flowers and chocolate box that the man was toting. They were both so luxurious and expensive looking that Ivan couldn't help but stare; if Lucas was trying to leave a lasting impression on his Valentine, it would work, Ivan was sure. The box of chocolates was easily larger than the man’s face and the bouquet of flowers was only just small enough for Lucas to be able to hold the bouquet in one hand. It must have cost him at least 50 dollars Ivan mused.

           “Hey Ivaaaan.” Lucas said in a sing song voice as he approached, causing the Russian to quickly snap his gaze from presents to the man’s face.            “Uh... yes?” Ivan wondered

“I have something really really important to ask you on his special day, Mr. Braginskiiii~.” Lucas hummed, waving the bouquet of flowers gently with assumed purpose.

“Ask me...?” Ivan wondered aloud. He scanned the America’s face for any hint of what the question was before his eyes went wide. Was Lucas... was Lucas going to ask Ivan to be his Valentine?

           Ivan felt his heart stop in his chest; never in his whole life had anything even remotely similar to this happened to him. These gifts were for him? Someone was confessing to him the day before the most romantic holiday of the year? He felt his face preemptively begin to flush because of the sudden onslaught of lovey-dovey thoughts his brain was suddenly supplying to him all while ridiculously bubbly feelings welled up in the Russian’s chest. Now he would have someone to spend holidays with? He would have someone to do things with? Hold hands? Go on dates? Ivan felt as if he was going to cry he was so happy.

           By the time that Lucas had made it to Ivan’s desk, the Russian’s mouth had already dried itself to desert conditions and Ivan could hardly string a logical thought together in Russian let alone a logical sentence in English. Up close the flowers and candies looked even more extravagant than they had before and these were for him?

“Ivan,” The Russian heard Lucas begin, making the man snap his attentions back to the man’s face. Lucas gave him a smile once he had Ivan’s undivided attention, “Ivan will you beeeee--” Lucas added, seemingly with deliberate slowness to his question, but Ivan already knew the question and was more than happy to begin developing a reply.            “Yes please...” Ivan had began to form with his lips while slowly outstretching hands to hold the first romantically involved Valentine's day gift that he would ever receive.

“--So kind as to give these to you older sister?” Lucas asked, his grin never falling from his face. “See, I wanted to give these to her but she’s feeling sick today ain’t she?” he asked despite knowing the answer, taking Ivan’s outstretched hands as an invitation to plant the gifts into the Russian’s grasp.

Ivan let out a quiet gasp, jarred by the sudden derailing of what he thought was going to be one of the best moments of his life. Ivan was so jarred, in fact, that he missed the devilish smirk that played across Lucas’s lips upon noticing the Russian’s shocked state. “My... my sister?” Ivan muttered, barely audible, “These are...for my sister?”

Lucas let out a laugh, “What, did you think that they were for you?” Lucas let out another laugh, as if it was the most ludicrous idea that he’d ever heard.

Ivan’s breath caught in his throat, “I...” he began “Of.. of course they are for my sister...” he practically whispered. Ivan felt his heart sink in his chest and his cheeks blazed with mortified embarrassment. “...Because who else would they be for?” The crestfallen Russian asked, looking at the gifts with increasing scorn. Ivan stared at the flowers, wondering why on Earth he had gotten his hopes up so high in the first place. What was this? A Romance novel? People just don’t suddenly ask you out in such a sappy way.            How could he have even thought for a moment that these were going to be for him? Ivan knew no one thought that he was charming or entertaining; just hours ago Ivan had reminded himself that he was probably going to be alone for the rest of his life and what was the first thing he did when he saw that someone might love him? He fell head over heels almost instantly at the mere prospect of having someone that loves him. And what did that get him? It got him holding onto someone else’s gifts. Ivan felt like he was going to cry for an all too different reason.

While Ivan continued to berate himself, he neglected to hear the sudden, rushed stomping of footsteps nearing his cubicle. Ivan was only brought out of his spree of self deprecation when he heard he someone shout from right in front of him.

“Whaddaya think you’re doing, Lucas?!” Ivan heard Alfred yell. Ivan brought his eyes up from the chocolates and saw the American shove Lucas aggressively. Lucas began making a retort, but Alfred cut him off once he’d heard enough. “Don’t give me that crap, Lucas! I heard you say to your stupid buddies: ‘hey watch me go mess with the Russian guy’!” Alfred  pushed Lucas again, harder, “Fuck off, Lucas!”

Lucas sputtered, shocked at having obviously been caught by the other. But, despite the evidence that Alfred was holding against him, Lucas persisted in trying to maintain his innocence, claiming that he really had given them to him to give to his sister because they live together. This, however, was much to the extreme distaste of the blonde before him.

“You were clearly teasing and making from of him! His sister’d never even look at ya if she knew you were bullying him and trust me I would make it quite vocal.” Alfred scolded then huffed and continued as Lucas had nothing to say in response “What? Do I gotta put into poem format for you to get it on this Valentine's day holiday? Well, here ya go!” Alfred huffed angrily, before continuing.            “Ya got roses of red ‘n chocolates ta chew

The sugar is sweet, but definitely not you.

Your chocolate’s disgusting and your roses look dead.

The sugar bowl’s empty and so is your head!”

By the end of Alfred’s impromptu slam poem, the American was glaring daggers at the belligerent Lucas. Ivan looked up at the blonde American; he’d never seen him this angry before.

           “Get!” Alfred shouted after having scooped the flowers and chocolates from Ivan’s hand and shoving them into Lucas’s grasp once more, “And take you shitty gift with you!”

           Upon this, Lucas let out a hostile grunt, glared between the two of them, turned on his heel and stomped down the hall. Alfred nodded, assuring that justice had prevailed before turning towards the bullied Russian and adopting a frown.

           “Hey, man you okay?” he asked gently, looking over the poor man.

           Ivan blinked and looked to the blonde before him, “A-Ah, yes.” he replied, nodding quickly. Alfred smiled softly at him and was surprised to see that Ivan was returning his smile with a small one of his own. “Nice...” Ivan chortles softly “Nice poem you made up there.” he said softly.

           “Hah, you think? That was an Alfred Jones original!” Alfred boasted, eliciting a soft chuckle from the Russian which bolstered the American’s confidence.

           “Thank you for coming...” Ivan murmured, looking down at his lap from the American. After a moment of not getting a reply from the other, Ivan began voicing his thanks again, but was stunned into a silence when he looked up and practically got a faceful of sunflowers.

           Alfred gasped, “Oh gosh, sorry!” Alfred apologized quickly, moving the bouquet out of the Russian’s face, giving the stunned man a sheepish smile and quickly moved along as if the incident hadn’t happened. “Heeere I am!” He said, giving Ivan a huge grin and gestured with the bouquet of sunflowers and box of chocolates “Now, what are your other two wishes?” He asked, his grin only growing wider by the second.

           Ivan looked at the other for a long, confused moment before bursting into a quiet giggle, “You’re a genie?”

           “Yep!” Alfred said quickly, “Here to... uh here..” Alfred looked down, his face scrunching up momentarily; it wasn’t very hard for Ivan to put together that Alfred had planned this out and was, currently, forgetting his ‘lines’. “Aaaw shoot,” Alfred said, looking up and giving Ivan an embarrassed smile, “I, I had this planned out better this mornin’.” Alfred sighed.

           Ivan smiled softly, “Those... those are for me? This isn’t some mean.. joke?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.

           Alfred blinked “No! They’re totally for you! See see see?” Alfred asked, shifting his grasp on the gifts and displaying a tag with Ivan’s name on it “Totally for you!” he added, giving a shining smile to the Russian. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for sooooo crazy long!” Alfred began exasperatedly, “I seriously thought that you sister was your girlfriend so I was super sad that I couldn’t ask you out so I was really really excited when I found out that they was actually your sister so then I figured that I could ask you out and I thought of all that stuff and I reckoned that Valentine's day would be the easiest day to ask you out and-- Oh no, what’s wrong?” Alfred asked worriedly, cutting off his long run-on sentence as he noticed that tears were running down the Russian’s face.

           “N-No one has ever liked me before.” He whispered, wiping quickly at his eyes. “Y-You really are magic.” he blubbered slightly. At this, Alfred pulled him into a hug, the petals of the flowers brushing against Ivan’s neck.

           “Heey well I’ll like you every single day.” The blonde promised, squeezing the Russian in the continuing hug, “Soooo will you be my Valentine, Ivan? Iiiii got lots of more stuff planned.”

           “Y-Yes.” Ivan said immediately while wiping at his eyes as they ended their embrace.

“Oh yeah? That’s good. Cuz you know what’s on the menu for tomorrow? Me-‘n-u.” Alfred said, tapping his own chest before poking Ivan in the shoulder, eliciting another laugh from the Russian. “Mmm, you like those one liners?” Alfred hummed in amusement, “I gotta million of ‘em!” He announced, watching fondly as Ivan cradled the bouquet of flowers in his arms. “So I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, mmk?” He asked, “We’ll have a great time!” Alfred chirped, placing his hands triumphantly on his hips. Ivan nodded, anticipating the date he had with excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The evening of their date came in the blink of an eye and their date seemed to fly by even faster. They stood at the doorstep to Ivan’s apartment, after Alfred had insisted on walking him home

“This was really great!” Alfred sand happily, “But, I have this problem with forgetting super awesome things real quick, soooo we gotta do this again real soon so I remember how great it was!” He added with a flourish, obviously proud of himself.

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head, “It’s been one after the other with those one liners all night, Alfred.”

“Cuz you love ‘em!” Alfred chimed happily, rocking on his heels, swinging their intertwined hands together. “And you know what else I love?” Alfred continued while Ivan shook his head

“What?”

“You~.” He said, causing a blush to erupt on the other man’s face.

“I-I,” Ivan sputtered. “Y-y-you’re, you’re a silly American.” he said, removing his hand from Alfred’s to open the door to his apartment.

Alfred hummed in amusement “Ooh okay; so that’s how you say I love you in Russian?” Alfred grinned and Ivan blushed darker.

“Y-You’re a silly American.” Ivan repeated after swooping in quick to peck Alfred on the lips and moved quickly into the safety of his apartment before closing the door, leaving the blonde to stand stunned and delighted at Ivan’s doorstep.

“I love you toooooo!” Alfred sang to Ivan through the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He added happily.

Ivan leaned against the front door on the inside of his apartment, face scalding red and hand clenched over his rapidly hammering heart. “I love you too,” Ivan whispered softly, a wide smile growing and spreading along his face, “I love you too.”

[usnewsaggregator-blog]

Fantasy Football: Trends and noteworthy items for Week 12

New Post has been published on http://usnewsaggregator.com/fantasy-football-trends-and-noteworthy-items-for-week-12/

Fantasy Football: Trends and noteworthy items for Week 12

The 2017 RotoExperts Xclusive Edge In-Season Fantasy Football Packageis here! It gives you access to all of our Premium content throughout the 2017 Fantasy Football season right up to your Fantasy Super Bowl. Enter promocode nydailynews at checkout for a special discount.

This article appears courtesy of RotoExperts.com.

“Don’t Be a Turkey”

Dak Prescott, QB Dallas Cowboys

Prescott has scored fewer Fantasy points over his last four games than superstars like Jacoby Brissett, Jay Cutler and C.J. Beathard scored in three, and in Cutler’s case, he missed part of one of those games due to injury. You could theoretically reason that the dominant presence of Ezekiel Elliot in the Cowboys’ offense could limit Prescott’s opportunities to produce but it didn’t in 2016. His first game without Elliot in Week 16 last season was his worst performance of the year, suggesting that this could the beginning of a downward trend rather than an upswing. He currently ranks ninth in QB scoring for the 2017 season, but his poor recent performance indicates that he needs to be benched. If Prescott continues to struggle, you may be best served cutting him and adding an upside position player with a good matchup during the Fantasy playoffs.

Kareem Hunt, RB Kansas City Chiefs

Over the last four weeks (three games) Hunt is tied for 39th in running back scoring, and he hasn’t scored a touchdown since Week 3. He has rushed for only 156 yards over those three games, and he’s been targeted 10 times for 50 receiving yards. While he had over 100 total yards from scrimmage in each of his first seven games, he hasn’t reached that mark in his last three. Season-long owners are about to benefit from friendly matchups against the Buffalo Bills, Oakland Raiders and Los Angeles Chargers, while DFS sites are using this week’s matchup to raise the price of a big name, underperforming player. Start him in season-long leagues, but avoid the poor value and high risk in DFS.

“Tasty Low-Calorie Fixins”

Matt Ryan, QB Atlanta Falcons

Dak Prescott.

(Michael Ainsworth/AP)

Ryan isn’t piling up passing yards like he did in 2016, but he’s ranked third in quarterback scoring over the last month, and he threw two touchdowns in each of those four games. He faces the Tampa Bay Buccaneers twice (18 points per game allowed to the quarterback position), the New Orleans Saints (15.6 PPG allowed) and the Minnesota Vikings (13.7 PPG allowed) in his next four games and is priced as the eighth-most expensive quarterback this week on FantasyDraft.com.

Demaryius Thomas, WR Denver Broncos

The Broncos’ quarterback situation might be the worst in football and it is due to change once again this week with the announcement that Paxton Lynch will get the start. However, Thomas has managed to turn adversity into Fantasy production. He ranked fourth in wide receiver scoring over his last four games with Trevor Siemian and Brock Osweiler throwing the ball, and in the last three he has scored 21, 15 and 17 points respectively. This week he is priced cheaper than Mohammed Sanu and Nelson Agholor against a Raiders defense that allows 32 points per game to wide receivers, has allowed nine receiving touchdowns this season and 30 points or more in four of their last six games.

Noteworthy

Seattle Seahawks Defense

This week’s game against the Atlanta Falcons was a good snap shot of how the Seahawks defense might perform going forward without Richard Sherman and Cam Chancellor because of the Falcons’ above-average talent in both the running and passing game. It should be said that the Seahawks were playing at home, and the Falcons have not played up to expectations this season; they have been nowhere near as good as they were in 2016. That being said, the Seahawks held the Falcons to under 200 yards passing and under 100 yards rushing. Owners shouldn’t see the Seahawks on the schedule and run for cover based on one game, but it doesn’t look like the injuries have made them a cakewalk either.

Alfred Morris, RB Dallas Cowboys

Demaryius Thomas.

(Jack Dempsey/AP)

With Ezekiel Elliott suspended while the Cowboys’ offensive line is still considered one of the league’s elite, the Fantasy theory is that Alfred Morris could become an RB2 gem going forward. Elliott averaged 23.9 carries per game, scored seven touchdowns in eight games, and rushed 26 times or more in four straight games before the suspension. In Week 11, Morris rushed for 91 yards, confirming that a toddler in a Tonka truck could gain yards behind the Dallas offensive line, but with only 17 rushing attempts and no touchdown. With Prescott playing poorly there is hope for Fantasy owners that Morris’ workload could increase going forward. That being said, the Cowboys had a 12-9 lead at halftime and they decided not to go “run-heavy” with Morris and the lead.

Kenny Stills, WR Miami Dolphins

Week 11 was another big week for Stills and most of it was after his rabbit’s foot (Matt Moore) took over for a concussed Jay Cutler. Stills is only relevant when Matt Moore is under center or wearing a headset. FantasyDraft.com has him priced much too high ($10,100), but in yearly leagues I would chase the Still’s dragon if Moore gets the start, and look elsewhere if he doesn’t. This kind of trend is so rare and strange that I can’t help but mention it when I can find a relevant time to do it.

Keenan Allen, RB Los Angeles Chargers

In the pre-season draft package, I argued against the industry consensus that Keenan Allen would have a comeback campaign and was a draft day value. Aside from two games in which he had nine and 12 receptions respectively, and three games of 100 receiving yards or more, I have been right. He faced the Buffalo Bills in a Week 11 laugher that has bloated Allen’s otherwise mediocre Fantasy season. In season-long leagues, he is a must-start for Week 12 against an extremely “wide receiver friendly” Cowboys defense, and he has some friendly matchups during the Fantasy playoff weeks, however, in DFS I am looking for a lot more consistency for my roster dollars.

Davante Adams, WR Green Bay Packers

Kenny Stills.

(Wilfredo Lee/AP)

Adams ranks thirteenth in receiving yards (269) and seventeenth in targets (28) over the last four weeks (in only three games), while only being able to find the money zone once. Brett Hundley is killing Jordy Nelson’s owners while he has been able to enhance Adams value. He has some tough matchups against the Pittsburgh Steelers, Cleveland Browns (yes, the Browns), Minnesota Vikings and Carolina Panthers in the run up to your Fantasy championship. He might not be a great season-long league option and he is priced a tad bit high at the moment on FantasyDraft.com ($10,300), but he could be a good value and contrarian play in DFS tournaments if that price tag drops.

Latavius Murray, RB Minnesota Vikings

Murray isn’t a sexy play in yearly or DFS, but he shouldn’t be expensive in DFS. He has scored double-digit Fantasy points in three of his last four games, and he has had 15 touches or more in five straight games. I am not going to try and portray him as the sizzle part of your “Thanksgiving feast,” but if you’re a vegan or just enjoy vegetables, Murray may be to your liking.

Dion Lewis, RB New England Patriots

Lewis has scored 17 and 18 Fantasy points with a touchdown in each of his last two games. More importantly, Lewis has looked “pre-ACL tear” explosive and is the clear number one running back in a crowded overall Patriots offense. He has had double-digit touches in five straight games and against the Oakland Raiders, he also had four receptions in the passing game. Lewis is a flex play and is becoming an affordable DFS option as well. The Patriots don’t make it easy to be bullish on anyone, but Lewis looks really good, and the trends suggest that he’s taken over the majority of the workload.

Tags:

fantasy football

nfl

Send a Letter to the Editor

Join the Conversation:

facebook

Tweet

Original Article:

Click here

[buddyrabrahams]

15 Notable NFL players released on Friday

The NFL preseason is over, and that means it’s time for teams to start trimming their rosters. All teams need to have their final 53-man roster set by 4 p.m. ET on Saturday.

Numerous cuts around the league began on Friday and involved some big names and surprises. Here’s a look at some of the more notable players who were released.

Brock Osweiler, QB (Browns)

Osweiler endured quite the saga over the past several months. A year after signing him for $72 million, the Texans admitted their mistake and dealt Osweiler and a second-round pick to Cleveland. The deal appeared to many as if the Browns were buying a draft pick. Despite that appearance, the team gave Osweiler plenty of chances to take command of the starting job. They let him start the first two preseason games, but he failed to deliver and was surpassed by rookie DeShone Kizer. Osweiler went just 12 of 22 for a paltry 67 yards and an interception. He showed no capability of making big plays and putting up points. Some team will probably pick him up as a backup since Cleveland will be paying his $16 million salary.

Victor Cruz, WR (Bears)

It seems like forever ago that Cruz was a superstar in New York. He came out of nowhere to catch 82 passes for 1,536 yards and nine touchdowns for the Giants in 2011. The following season, he proved to doubters that he wasn’t a fluke, as he caught 10 touchdown passes. Knee and calf injuries robbed Cruz of a chance to produce in 2014 and 2015, and he hasn’t been the same since. If the Bears, who lost Cam Meredith to a turn ACL, didn’t feel he was worth of a roster spot, you have to wonder whether Cruz is done.

Chris Johnson, RB (Cardinals)

Chris Johnson still has a big name, but the days of him being a productive back are long over. The 31-year-old was beaten out by Kerwynn Williams and released by the Cardinals on Friday following a rough preseason. He averaged just 3.2 yards per carry, lost a fumble and dropped a pass in the preseason. That may have been enough for Arizona to decide Johnson’s services were no longer needed. He averaged 3.8 yards per carry in four games last season as he battled a groin injury.

Jeremy Zuttah, C (Ravens)

Zuttah’s name may overshadow his ability at this point. Zuttah made his first Pro Bowl as a center with the Ravens last season, though he had long been recognized as a solid center during his time with Tampa Bay. He was released by the Ravens early in the offseason as a cap casualty, signed by San Francisco, then released in August before the Ravens picked him back up. He also flirted with the Colts before choosing Baltimore again, so don’t be surprised if he ends up in Indy.

Matt Barkley, QB (49ers)

Barkley was one of the multiple quarterbacks brought in by the 49ers during the offseason, but he was cut on Friday after being surpassed by third-round pick C.J. Beathard. Beathard was more productive in the preseason, throwing for 401 yards, four touchdowns and an interception, while also rushing for 85 yards and a score. Barkley passed for 197 yards and no TDs. The USC product started a few games for the Bears last season and threw for eight scores and 14 interceptions, which somehow helped him get a two-year deal from San Francisco. He might end up back with the Niners if he clears waivers.

Tony McDaniel, DT (Saints)

McDaniel is a veteran who’s been in the league since 2006. He is strong on run defense, and with Nick Fairley out, he figured to earn a spot in the Saints’ rotation on the defensive line. That didn’t happen as he was released on Friday. It took McDaniel a while to get signed in the first place after Seattle let him go following last season. The end of his career is nearing.

Tim Hightower, RB (49ers)

Hightower built up his name from 2008-2010 with the Arizona Cardinals, rushing for 23 touchdowns during that span, though an ACL injury derailed his career in 2011. He finally returned to the NFL in 2015 and put in two solid seasons for the New Orleans Saints. The 49ers signed him with the expectation that he would compete with Carlos Hyde and Joe Williams for carries. Unimpressed with his lack of results in the preseason, the Niners released Hightower. The 31-year-old could catch on elsewhere.

Sio Moore, LB (Texans)

A 2013 third-round pick, Moore has bounced around a bit after putting together a few decent seasons for the Raiders. The 27-year-old had 65 tackles in eight games last season (four each with the Cardinals and Colts). One report said Moore was dealing with a hamstring injury, which may have limited him during camp with the Texans, ultimately leading to his release. We expect him to be picked up by another team — especially if his hamstring improves.

Cody Parkey, K (Browns)

Parkey had a respectable season for Cleveland last year but finds himself out of a job after being beaten out by 7th-round pick Zane Gonzalez for the placekicker job. The former Auburn kicker went 20 for 25 (80 percent) on field goals last season, converting all his kicks inside 40 yards. He’s also 5 of 5 on kicks in the 50-yard range for his career. Expect him to resurface quickly, especially if another team’s kicker begins to struggle.

Will Blackmon, S/CB (Redskins)

Blackmon was released by Washington despite having a solid season last year. He had 41 tackles, an interception and three passes defensed as a backup safety. Pro Football Focus rated him in the top 30 of 91 qualifiers at safety last year. Washington has D.J. Swearinger and Deshazor Everett on the roster at safety. DeAngelo Hall, who is recovering from a knee injury, also agreed to restructure his contract, giving Washington another option at DB. Blackmon will likely catch on elsewhere.

Moritz Bohringer, WR (Vikings)

Bohringer drew a ton of attention last year when he was drafted in the sixth round by the Vikings. At the time, Bohringer became the first European player drafted by an NFL team without playing college football. Clearly Bohringer had his work cut out for him to adjust to the NFL despite being a star in the German Football League, and he hasn’t quite gotten there yet. He finished the preseason with just one catch for six yards. Although he spent last year on the Vikings’ practice squad, reporters are saying that is unlikely to happen this year.

Keenan Reynolds, WR (Ravens)

Keenan Reynolds is especially popular in the Maryland area after enjoying a stellar career at quarterback for Navy. The Ravens drafted him in the sixth round last year, and there was some optimism that he might become a solid receiver and special teams player in the NFL. He figured heavily as a special teamer in the preseason, returning four punts for 60 yards. It looks like Michael Campanaro, who is more of a threat as a receiver, beat him out for the punt returner job.

Glenn Gronkowski, FB (Patriots)

Glenn Gronkowski is more of a name than anything else. The former Kansas State fullback signed with Buffalo last year after going undrafted, but they released him pretty quickly. The Patriots picked him up and kept him on the practice squad most of the year. It wouldn’t be surprising to see Rob’s little brother back on New England’s practice squad all season.

Ronnie Hillman, RB (Cowboys)

Hillman was starting for a Super Bowl team two years ago, and now he’s been cut by the Cowboys. Hillman had just eight yards on 12 carries in the preseason and clearly failed to impress in the running game, though he had six catches for 38 yards and a touchdown. Between Darren McFadden and Alfred Morris, there was so much competition at the running back position in Dallas, that the Cowboys feel confident letting Hillman go, even with Ezekiel Elliott’s status up in the air. Hillman will probably work out for several teams throughout the season and could catch on somewhere.

Stevan Ridley, RB (Broncos)

Once upon a time a 1,000-yard rusher for the Patriots, Stevan Ridley’s career has come to a screeching halt. Ridley had a breakout season in 2012, rushing for 1,263 yards and 12 touchdowns with the Patriots. He fell out of favor in New England due to fumbling issues, and then his career was derailed by a knee injury suffered in 2014. Ridley has found a difficult time coming back from the knee injury and will likely just bounce around from workout to workout over the next few months. He might not see another carry in an NFL game.

from Larry Brown Sports http://ift.tt/2gqI5AZ

[hindsywrites]

‘It Can’t Get Much Worse’ versus ‘No One Should Ever Feel Like...’

So maybe if it had escalated, it could have started like this. "This is Katie Couric reporting live from Washington, DC where Pete Wentz has just taken over the White House. Early reports say that the building didn't stand a chance. Wentz and his followers have barricaded themselves inside. Stayed tuned for updates as they come." Or maybe it actually did start like this. "I'd make a better president than this troglodyte." Pete threw a soda can at his television. In fact, it could've started like this. "Relax, I'll be gone for the week. I left you a map of where I'm going to be camping and I'll be back next weekend." Ryan pulled his car, packed with startlingly few supplies, out of the garage and drove away from his roommate. But in reality, it started like this. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III was not an ordinary boy. That was the easiest way to describe his existence in the world. Born into great wealth and even greater privilege, he was never denied a whim or passing fancy. And that's where the trouble really started. Absentee parents and a butler named Alfred were really a horrible mix for a child with a slight Batman fixation. Well, less Batman, more supervillains that Batman tried to destroy. An example of dialogue with young Peter might have gone something like this: Pete: Well, The Joker couldn't have been very smart if a stupid orphan was able to beat him. Alfred: Master Peter, the point is that good wins over evil. Pete: Shut up, Alfred, or I'll have you sacked as I did Alfred. Alfred: Master Peter, my name is Nicholas. Pete: Your name is whatever I say it is, you incompetent imbecile. In truth, Pete hadn't had his last butler sacked, merely deported. But he was fond of Alfred, in his own way, and he had no desire to see him thrown out of the country. Pete had been reading Batman comic books for as long as he could remember, and he was noticing a very distinctive pattern. Aside from the obvious homosexuality in the comic, there was a lot of sexual tension between Batman and the female villains. These were women who knew how to use their wiles to get what they wanted. Pete didn't have wiles, not as far as he could tell, anyway. But really, what did he know? He was seven years old and the only companions he really had were the animals in his menagerie, and they didn't really respond so well when he asked things like, "Do my wiles drive you insane with lust?" Generally the marmosets were the only ones to respond, but they didn't speak English. He had no other friends around to ask. Alfred had a solution, but it was another one that almost got him fired. "Master Peter, if you'd like, I could arrange for a gorilla that is fluently versed in American Sign Language." For a moment Pete just stared at him blankly. "Who the hell do you think you're speaking with? I'm not going to learn another language so my pet can speak with me. No, you find me a pet that speaks English or I'll make sure you're sacked and that your reference will ensure that you never find another position in any household." "Master Peter…" Alfred sighed, unsure of how to handle this situation. "Or worse, I won't let you come when I blow up the world. Then all the other children will be gone and it won't matter that they don't come to play with me." "Master Peter, I shall do my very best to find a pet for you. One which is fluent in English." Yes, that was really where it started. A week or so later, which happened to be Pete's birthday, Alfred entered the room and presented Pete with a small bundle in a blue blanket. "Happy Birthday, Master Peter." Just then the bundle gave a small, sleepy yawn. "You've made me the happiest boy today, Alfred. Thank you." Pete knew what was inside. He carefully set the bundle down on couch next to him so he could stand up and give Alfred a hug. "What shall I name him?" "He already has a name, it's Brendon." Alfred had seen all of the documentation for this baby and thought it best to pick him. And he did love when Pete smiled the way he did when he saw the baby, teeth far too big for his mouth. "That's the perfect name for my most exotic pet." Pete was already holding the baby in his arms again. "Brendon, you shall be favored among my menagerie." He touched his finger to the baby's nose and laughed when it gurgled at him. Yes, Brendon would do quite nicely. He served as Pete's constant companion, staying by his side through everything in his life. Brendon had gurgled through the news that Pete's parents had passed away in a car accident. Everyone on the compound claimed to not know anything about the cut brake lines and Alfred quietly disposed of all mechanical books in Pete's personal library. As Brendon grew up, Pete even fancied that Brendon looked a little like him. He began teaching him at a young age how to use his eyebrows. "They should never move together, two separate movements." Pete demonstrated again, smiling when Brendon was able to imitate the move. He no longer needed Brendon to answer his questions on wiles. He generally used the small boy as a sounding board for ideas. Fortunately, Brendon loved Pete's ideas almost as much as he loved the kangaroo that Pete had bought for him. He would sit and watch for hours as Pete detailed various plots in a room in the basement. There were maps and toy soldiers and Pete only tapped his wrist gently when he tried to play with them. "These are important, Brendon. We mustn't touch them until it's time." Pete never explained when it would be time, only that it was approaching. Brendon, knowing little of the outside world, happily agreed as long as it didn't interrupt with Power Puff Girls time. Brendon spent most of his time with Pete's menagerie, letting the marmosets crawl over him and the sloths curl up to his sides when they wanted a nap. He would never admit it to anyone, but he liked their company better than Pete's. Pete was always making veiled comments that seemed ominous to Brendon, even though he wasn't quite sure why. As he got closer to eighteen, or at least when Pete told him he was probably almost eighteen, Brendon was sent on special missions to further help the room in the basement. "If anyone asks, this is called a topograph." Pete pushed the hardhat further down on Brendon's hair, squishing the bowl-cut under it. "No one should ask you any questions, but if they do, what do you say?" "I'm a student practicing land surveying because my Dad wants me to work with him this summer to save money for school," Brendon said in a quiet voice. He was slightly nervous about leaving the compound, even with Alfred driving him. He'd been out on a handful of occasions, but nothing good had ever happened on them. The last time he could remember, Pete had said they were going to Best Buy to pick up The Power Puff Girls on DVD for Brendon. Pete had asked Brendon to go in and buy it without him. By the time Brendon had exited the store, Pete was slumped, unconscious against the window. Naturally, Brendon had called Alfred and he'd taken care of the entire situation. Though Pete had apologized for scaring Brendon, things hadn't been the same since. Brendon didn't understand why Pete had done it and Pete couldn't explain his fear of failure to the monkey-faced boy. So they orbited each other at a distance, occasionally passing in the hallways of the house, or meeting on the grounds of the compound. "Sir, there's a boy to see you." Alfred went into Pete's chambers and stood beside the computer desk. He caught a glimpse of the words "My name is a four letter word synonymous with failure" before Pete closed the laptop and turned. "Show him into the sitting room. I'll take a meeting with him while you drive Brendon to the location. When you two return, alert me at once." Pete waved a hand dismissively and walked over to the mirror, looking at the slight bags under his eyes. After applying another layer of kohl, he walked down a different hallway to the sitting room. He wanted a moment to compose himself before going into this meeting. It was his experience that visitors were almost never a good thing. His last visitor had been Christopher, his oldest and dearest servant, telling Pete that he was retiring and that he was going to be leaving the compound. If another one was going to be leaving, Pete was not going to be impressed. To his surprise, a boy around Brendon's age turned around as he entered the library. "Mr. Wentz?" Pete flinched at the formality and shook his head. "It's cliché to say that's my father, but he is. You can call me Pete." Pete held his hand out, indicating that the boy should take a seat in one of the tall-backed leather chairs. "Pete. I'm Ryan Ross." Ryan extended his hand to shake Pete's but didn't appear all that surprised when Pete didn't offer his in return. "It's nice to meet you, Ryan." Pete's tone was only slightly tinged with curiosity. Of course he wanted to know what this boy wanted from him, but he wasn't prepared to appear eager to get the information. Showing your cards too soon meant a lower payout. "Yes. You probably want to know why I'm here?" Ryan's own eyes were lightly lined with kohl and Pete couldn't dismiss the way they seemed infinitely larger when Ryan tilted his head and looked at him. "If you wish to share it." Pete waved his hand as if granting permission. Again, he left the decision entirely up to Ryan, who appeared only too eager to share with Pete his reasons for coming to the compound. "I want to help you." Those five words intrigued Pete. He'd heard them many times in his life, many times from lovers who had turned out to be leavers. "Help me," Pete repeated, clearly amused with the notion. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but on the southern tip of the compound, there's a lot of camo-netting. And I've done my research on what you've been buying over in Russia. Pete, I'd like to help." Ryan emphasized the word "help" slightly. "Whatever you believe you know, you don't." Pete's tone turned flat. It was a shame, really; he didn't want to have to take this one out but he had to do what was best for the plan. "I do. Just. Look, maybe I'm not enough to convince you, but maybe my friend is." Ryan opened his bag and for a moment, Pete was sure he caught sight of a bio-hazardous sign. Another bit of rooting and he pulled out a binder, handing it over to Pete. "A sign of good faith. I made a pit stop before coming to see you. It's a copy of all the information they have on you and your movements thus far." Pete immediately began leafing through it, figuring he knew what misinformation had been picked up by the military. He wasn't prepared to see pictures of Brendon dressed as a land surveyor. That was never supposed to have been picked up. The pictures were all recent, so Pete knew that they were watching with a renewed interest. "You want to help." Pete nodded, closing the binder and looking up at the young boy in front of him. An eager nod was answer enough for him. "All right." He didn't trust this boy but the time would come when he would be useful. He'd already proven himself to be useful. "You understand, then, that the compound is now your home. You're not to leave it. Anyone you knew before is just that, someone you knew, not someone you know any longer." As soon as Ryan joined Team Off Wentz His Pants (really, Pete should've known not to let Brendon name the organization. Never again would he make that mistake.), he began his training with small, close range weaponry. His favourite place to practice was the garden. The only person who was surprised when Nick Scimeca took several rounds to the back of his head was Brendon. He'd loved the gardener. Nick had always planted daisies in a small patch of the back garden for him. After Nick's shuffling loose of the mortal coil, Brendon tended to stick to the menagerie, listlessly watching his pet kangaroo, Maria, hop around. All in all, the days grew rather similar. One thing led to another, and everyone swore they had no idea how it happened, but Belgium just stopped existing one day. "But! I loved their chocolate!" Brendon was inconsolable, landing in a heap after leaping from one of the trees in the menagerie. "Pete, is this part of the plan?" "It's the start." Pete simply nodded and continued to stroke the sloth that lay curled in his lap. "Don't worry, pet, you'll be as safe as ever." "But I won't have chocolate!" He wailed for such a length of time that all the animals, save for a tiny lemur, left him alone. Even Maria wouldn't hop near him until he'd worn himself out. It was then that he decided Alfred would take him for a drive the next day. He'd pack his backpack, kiss the animals goodbye and find out what life was really like on the outside of the compound. Secretly, Brendon suspected that Belgium hadn't been blown up. Ryan just liked to complain that Brendon couldn't keep still after eating any chocolate. Ryan was turning out to be nothing like Pete. Ryan was mean. The worst part was there was no telling if he meant whatever he was saying. That darn monotone. That evening, after Pete had retired for the evening and Ryan had powered down, or whatever it was that robots like him did at night, Brendon began packing his backpack. There were all sorts of things to back. Sweatbands, just in case it got warm and he needed to keep the sweat out of his eyebrows; socks, because you really never knew; a towel, because it could get you out of any sort of situation; a Tupperware container full of cheerios, to sustain him until he found a convenience store and could pick up some real food; and Bob the stuffed lemur, because he knew Pete would miss the real one and he would need something to cuddle until he could liberate Bob the real lemur. As the final object he placed in his bag, he carefully set Eunice into her case and then in his backpack. Eunice was the 9mm Pete had bought for Brendon on the anniversary of Brendon's tenth year on the compound. He'd had Alfred and Chris teach Brendon how to shoot at targets and according to the official FBI tester that Pete had kidnapped and executed, Brendon shot better than half his men. Pete was so proud that he'd bought Maria, the kangaroo, as another present for Brendon. Maria was what Brendon had initially asked for his birthday, but Pete said there were enough animals in the menagerie. After Brendon had become so adept at the use of firearms, well, he couldn't bring himself to say no. Brendon made his way around the house silently, pilfering a few bottles of Gatorade and touching things that he'd never been allowed to touch. He even took Pete's secondary copy of The Plan. He'd leafed through the binder on many boring afternoons while Pete was in Russia, but he'd never really cared about it. It went inside his backpack, covering Eunice. That would teach Pete to go around listening to people who had no inflection. He was going to have to spend an entire day photocopying all his documents again for another secondary copy of The Plan. Shouldering his backpack, Brendon went to the servants' wing of the house and tried to walk quietly. He still knew the location of most of the squeaky floorboards from when he snuck down as a much smaller child. There was a chef, one who took care to make sure that Brendon's meals were always vegetarian, and he would help Brendon. He was sure of it. After three rapid knocks, which was the code for late night pie, Brendon waited for Tom Conrad to answer the door. The door opened cautiously and Tom poked his head out. "Master Brendon, what are you doing still up?" Apparently it had taken Brendon a little too long to choose between bringing Clarence the stuffed frog or Bob the stuffed lemur. By Tom's clock, it was quarter to four in the morning. "Master Brendon, I know you're used to the house being yours to wander but you can't do that anymore. It isn't safe." Tom said nothing more than that, quietly slipping into his robe. "What kind of pie would you like today? I think we have apple and chocolate crème in the freezer. Would you like some ice cream?" "Tom. I. I need a favor. Can you." Brendon toed the ground, chewing his lip. "I need to get out of here. I don't think Pete needs me anymore now that he has Ryan. And. I don't know. I want to see what's out there." He looked up and tried to smile at Tom but it wouldn't quite meet his eyes. Tom looked down at the ground and shook his head. "You know I can't do that. Pete would have my head for it." Both of them knew the statement wasn't an exaggeration. "I just." Brendon nudged Tom back into the room, looking down the hallway. He had no idea if Pete really had ears everywhere on the compound. "I don't trust this Ryan guy. He rubs me the wrong way. And this Plan. I don't know what it is, but Ryan said that Belgium got blown up and I really think that might be a bad thing. And I'm pretty sure it's all Ryan's fault." "I know. He isn't anyone's favourite here." Tom moved over to his bedside table and turned on the stereo so it emitted a low, steady stream of music. "All right. Here's what I can do. Every morning, Brent comes and delivers fresh produce for us. I can help you sneak into the van. You can get out of the compound and sneak off the van at the first stop after. I'll give you an address. Don't program it into your phone, I'll write it down and you go to it. Jon will be able to help you if you tell him about the Plan. And when you get there. When you get there, tell them to tell Sean I'm all right." That was how, two hours later, Brendon came to be sitting in the back of a large truck carrying vegetables and fruits. He helped himself to a nice snack, justifying that no one would notice if two mangoes and a head of cauliflower went missing. By the time Brent made his first delivery, Brendon had gorged himself on mangoes, kiwis, oranges, and blueberries. His stomach hurt but he was full in case he had to wander around looking for Jon Walker, 312 Cherrywood Lane. There was no phone number on the piece of paper that Tom provided him and Brendon really hadn't needed to pay attention when Alfred drove him into the city, so it was difficult for Brendon to know where to begin. He'd watched enough movies to know that he could simply take a taxi there. Once he was within range of one, he began waving his arms wildly. "Hi. I'm. Not really from around here. My name is Brendon and I need to get to Jon Walker's house. It's at 312 Cherrywood Lane. Apparently it's in the Evanston neighborhood?" He smiled in what he hoped was a winning fashion at the surly cab driver in the front seat. "That's in the 'burbs. I'm going to have to charge you meter and a half, are you okay with that?" His voice was ashy from years of smoking, the same as Tom's voice early in the morning when Brendon woke him to ask if he could have chocolate chips on his pancakes. "Uh. Yeah, that's fine. Do you take credit cards?" Brendon looked through his wallet. He had the credit card Pete had provided him to use in case of emergencies. He was fairly certain this constituted an emergency. "Nah, it's too early in the day. I've got no one to verify the card. I can stop at an ATM for you." The driver indicated a shop a block up. "You can take out cash. It'll be sixty, minimum." Brendon thought for a moment. It seemed reasonable enough. After all, Pete routinely took out hundreds of dollars from the ATM when they went to restaurants. Brendon nodded and the taxi was on its way. "Hey. I can take out a lot of money from the ATM, right? Like, more than just the cab fare?" "Uh. Yeah, you can probably take out five hundred dollars." The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at Brendon. "You ever used a credit card, kid?" "No, this has only been for emergencies." Brendon looked at the black American Express. He liked the way it shone in his wallet. The cab driver remained silent for the rest of the ride to 312 Cherrywood Lane. The brief stop at the ATM was made longer by Brendon's inability to remember if the pin number 5683 or 4283. Eventually he emerged with five hundred dollars in crisp twenties. "Okay, to the house!" Brendon pointed in the direction he assumed Jon Walker's house was. The cabbie drove him to the front of an apartment building. "This is the building. It'll be seventy dollars." Brendon counted out eighty dollars and handed it over. It took him a moment to figure out how to buzz up to Jon Walker's apartment. "Mmm, too early, Patrick." A sleepy voice mumbled on the other end of the intercom. "Jon Walker?" Brendon leaned close to the speaker and whispered. "Patrick?" "No. Is this Jon Walker?" Brendon asked again. "This is Brendon. Tom sent me to you. Can you buzz me up?" "Tom?" The voice sounded like it was waking up a little more. "Tom sent you and your name is Brendon." Fifteen minutes later Brendon was sitting in the kitchen of the apartment Jon Walker shared with some girl named Spencer. Jon and Spencer were both nursing cups of hot coffee. "So. You're Brendon and Tom sent you." "You've been saying that for the last ten minutes. Isn't coffee supposed to wake you up?" Brendon was staring longingly at the mugs nestled in both of their hands. He hadn't been allowed coffee at the compound since That Time Brendon Accidentally Shot Off Two Million Dollars Worth Of Explosives. It hadn't been his fault, either. Pete should've known not to leave Brendon alone after letting him down a quad-shot of espresso. "Since he's the one that's hiding you, or whatever, I wouldn't be so picky about what he says." Spencer's voice was very masculine. And she was awfully flat. Brendon cocked his head to the side and tried to determine if the two were somehow related. He shook his head and reached for his backpack. "Look. Tom helped me get off the compound so that I could see the world. But I want to see the world before it all gets blown up. And I looked at The Plan, so I'm pretty sure it's all going to get blown up." Brendon began digging through his backpack, producing the binder. It had been shifted during his adventure on the fruit truck. "He said you'd know what to do with this." He slid the binder across the table to Jon. "I. The compound. You." Jon seemed at a loss for words but Spencer perked up immediately. "Is this what I think it is?" She began looking through the binder, fingers drawing across the words as she read. "Where did you get this?" "From Pete. I kind of stole it. Hey, you aren't going to send me back and get me in trouble for this, are you?" Brendon instantly grew worried. He wanted nothing to do with the compound now that Ryan Ross had taken over. There had been a time before when he'd tried to run away. Brendon had gotten as far as the southern wing of the house before Mike Carden, the team coordinator, had found him. Pete had taken Maria away from him for a month. "No, no. I. We need to get you to Patrick's. Does anyone know you're here?" Spencer started moving around the kitchen in a hurry, dumping the last of her coffee down the drain. Brendon whimpered at the sight. All that good coffee gone to waste. "Just Tom. Alfred probably knows I'm gone by now. But stupid Pete doesn't notice anything now that stupid Ryan is at the stupid compound." Brendon kicked at the kitchen floor, thinking of the way Pete looked at Ryan. The favourite was clearly chosen. "When you snuck off the truck, how did you get here?" Spencer's questions were rapid, the gears in her brain obviously spinning wildly. "I took a cab. I hailed it and everything." Brendon looked immensely proud of himself. It took a moment before he realized that it might not be something to be proud of. Maybe people out here hailed cabs every day. "How did you pay?" Spencer slipped on a hoodie and stuck The Plan back in Brendon's backpack. "With cash." Brendon saw Spencer standing up and gasped. Spencer wasn't a girl at all! Spencer was a boy! And his hips, God! Pete had wanted hips like those forever. Brendon was made to judge Pete's various attempts at walking like that for as long as he could remember. "Okay, I'm getting you to Patrick's. He's going to want to know about this. Jon, see if you can find a way to get a hold of Tom. If you can't. Well. Just call me in an hour so I know that you're safe." Spencer leaned in and touched his lips to Jon's. Jon still looked rather tired but seemed to wake up at the brush of lips. "Who's Patrick?" Brendon finally asked. "Patrick is the motherfucking man." Jon answered. * "What do you mean he doesn't know anything? How did he know to bring the binder?" Patrick was talking about Brendon with Spencer as if Brendon wasn't even in the room. "He kept babbling about Belgium. I don't know. He knows a little, but I don't think he really knows what he knows. He took the binder to waste Pete's time with photocopying." Spencer was poring over the binder with Patrick while Brendon sat on the counter behind them. Brendon was totally down with this Patrick guy. He'd answered the door in a trucker hat and he was really awesome in general. He'd seemed excited about the binder until he'd started reading it. That was when the doubt came. "Fuck! Do you see what he bought from Korea?" Patrick practically tore a leaf from the binder. "No, this. We can't do this. There's no way we can stop him." "Don't even say that. You've worked too long, too hard for this to not amount to something. It was you that wanted to stop him in the first place. You were the one who told me that he needed to be stopped. Jon's probably lost Tom. We all heard about what happened to Nick. Pete Wentz has to be stopped or it'll happen to everyone." Brendon was impressed by the calm tone Spencer was taking with Patrick. "I know. I just. That's a fucking reactor. This isn't something we can just ask him to get rid of." Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at Spencer. "I'm aware of what it is. But at least we're not going into this blind anymore. We've got all the steps. Everything." Spencer patted the binder before nodding in Brendon's direction. "Not only that, we've got Brendon." "Are you hiding him here?" Patrick looked over his shoulder at Brendon. He just waved cheerfully in return and continued drinking his juicebox. "Because I really don't think he should be staying with you guys. Not if anyone on the compound has even the slightest idea of where he went." "Yeah, I want to hide him here. Maybe at Gabe's." Spencer turned around and looked Brendon over. "Gabe could say he's a cousin or something. He looks a little bit Latin." "Right. You really want to send him to Gabe's place? He can stay here." Patrick sighed and turned to look at Brendon. "Just don't touch anything, okay?" Brendon nodded while slurping up the last of his juicebox. "Great. This is whose shoulders humanity's fate is resting on. I hope you know what you're doing, Spencer." "Shut up. We'll meet tonight at Soma coffee shop and we'll go over everything there." Spencer raised his eyebrows significantly at the name of the coffee shop. Brendon caught the look but didn't ask any questions. "All right. We're going to just be here for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe say seven o'clock?" Patrick closed the binder and slid it into his lap. "I'll need that time to look through this, maybe give Andy a call and see what he thinks." Spencer's snort was unmistakable. "Yeah, good luck with that." * It wasn't so much that nobody liked visiting Andy. He was fascinating, and Patrick loved sitting with him and shooting the shit. Spencer loved visiting and finding new recipes for Jon to try out. There was only one drawback to visiting, and it was tiny, miniscule even. Andy liked greeting visitors with his shotgun, Denise. "Andy, it's just me, Patrick!" Patrick held his hands up in the air, smacking Brendon's chest in order to get him to do the same. "Prove it! Who is my favourite Laguna Beach character?" Andy cocked the shotgun, pointing it at Patrick's chest. He obviously didn't deem Brendon much of a threat as he hadn't even acknowledged his existence. "Laguna Beach promotes capitalism and meaningless consumer-driven lives." Patrick whimpered and turned his face from the gun. "But secretly you like Trey because you feel he thinks in a manner that shows progress given his poor upbringing." "Okay, Patrick. But next time, it'll change to Morgan because of her dedication to her own personal cause of chastity and morality. She shows strong character for that. I suggest you remember it if you don't want to take one to the chest." Andy bared his teeth for Brendon's benefit. Brendon just smiled at him and clutched his backpack tighter to his chest. All things considered, Andy lived in a fairly nice place. The things you had to consider were that the place was a bomb shelter and that it was in the middle of the Wisconsin forests. And that he'd named his bomb shelter Ms. Monroe. "I can't really stay here for long, we have to be back to Soma by seven but we need to show you something." Patrick nudged Brendon again, urging him to produce the stolen binder from the depths of his backpack. Andy kept the shotgun in his hand as he took the binder from Brendon. It sat on the table as he leafed through it. With each page turn, Andy's eyes grew wider. "Holy shit! Does he really have this stuff?" He looked up from the binder at Brendon. "Oh, the reactor? Yeah, he went on a trip to India a few years ago and came back with it. It was pretty cool." Brendon shrugged and attempted to look around the bomb shelter. Pete had never let Brendon into his bomb shelter, worried that he'd accidentally eat a year's worth of dehydrated meals or something. "Shit." Patrick hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Brendon about everything in his binder. He wasn't sure how much Brendon knew, but he realized that he'd have to find out if he wanted to stand any sort of chance against Pete. "It's motherfucking apocalypse! Just like I told you assholes. Get off my property! It's everyone for themselves!" Andy cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Patrick. In a flash of inspiration, Brendon snatched the binder from the table as they made their way out of Ms. Monroe. After hotfooting it across several hundred yards of forest to get to Patrick's parked car, they pulled out as quickly as they could. "I thought he was supposed to have some ideas!" Brendon was antsy after almost being shot. He could've totally defended himself with Eunice, but he'd accidentally forgotten to pack bullets for her. "No, not necessarily. Look, we'll head back to the city and we can wait for everyone." Patrick sighed and merged onto the main highway. "We're going to have to let everyone know that Andy's not with us anymore." Even from the corner of his eye, Brendon could see the tenseness in Patrick's wrists as he gripped the steering wheel. "Will you explain this whole thing to me? I'm a little bit confused. What exactly is going on? I know Pete has a lot of stuff on the compound and I know he's been doing a lot of stuff in other countries. And sometimes the news talks about him but I always have to leave the room while he watches it. So, I'm pretty sure it's nothing good or I'd be allowed to hear it." Brendon fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie. "I can't explain it in here, okay? We don't really entirely know where he can hear and where he can't. We'll be safe once we get to Soma." He continued on the highway, turning the music up as loud as he could. For once, Brendon remained silent through the car ride. He was taking in all the sights he'd missed when he was stuck in Brent's fruit truck. There were so many different things he'd never seen on the compound. Different trees, different views. For a few moments Brendon allowed himself to think about the menagerie, the animals he'd had to leave behind. "Patrick, are we going to rescue the animals from the compound eventually?" Brendon's voice was as soft as it ever got, which meant that it cut through the sound of the stereo completely. He couldn't just leave his animals behind. They were the only friends he had. "I. I can't tell you yes or no, Brendon. I just don't really know." He reached out and took Brendon's hand. If Patrick knew Pete at all, and he liked to think he did after years studying profiles of him, Pete had instructed the baby never be held to keep it from getting attached to anyone or anything other than the animals in the menagerie. Physical contact would be foreign, but it would bond them. Brendon stood the contact for only a moment before moving away. "If we get the chance. When the time comes, I want to rescue them. I have to rescue them." Brendon had a quiet determination about him. He would rescue the only things in the world he cared about; he wouldn't lose them. "Okay." Patrick squeezed Brendon's knee and continued the drive in silence. * "Okay, so. How do we know he's not some little spy planted by Pete?" Jon watched as Brendon stood at a videogame with Gabe, eyes wide at how cool Pac-Man really was on an actual stand up videogame console. "If he is, he's the worst one ever. His intel matches and adds onto the intel we have. And we still have an alive spy on the inside; we already know he's got nothing on ours. He doesn't know anything about us." Patrick kept his voice low, his cap lower. "Because he doesn't think we're a threat. He doesn't think we'll mobilize. And as far as he's concerned, we've got nothing." Joe stretched in his chair, taking large bites from a slice of pizza. He was paying careful attention to the conversation, despite the appearance of his attention being only on his pizza. "We've got everything. We've got Brendon, the pet, and we've got this." Patrick patted his messenger bag, the binder safely inside. "We've got a room tonight at a hotel. You guys'll follow me, and we'll meet there. This is going to be a long meeting." He stood up, indicating they were all to leave. There was no discussing as to where they would meet for directions to the hotel; everyone knew where to go. There was a parking garage in Wicker Park, ideal for the situation they found themselves in. Gabe arrived first, always taking the most obscure back roads and yet always beating everyone. He sat on the hood of his car, waiting for Patrick to arrive. Everyone tried to take different routes and to stagger their arrivals, allowing them to maintain at least a tiny bit of discretion. So far they'd been lucky when it came to not being detected but they knew it was nothing more than luck. "Our room is at the Holiday Inn, Wicker Park. You guys can see what's in the binder then. Death before dishonor, guys." Patrick spoke quietly and quickly. They dispersed, each taking a different route to the inn. Hayley, the girl at the desk, was familiar with the group and knew the protocol. There were keys issued for each guest and each guest checked in with a false identity. Once they were all gathered in the hotel room, Patrick opened the binder and sat Brendon down at the TV with reruns of Alvin and the Chipmunks playing for him. After they'd carefully leafed through it, it was Gabe who cleared his throat and looked up at the rest of them. "We're fucked." * While Brendon was getting introduced to the outside world, William Beckett, an assassin from the Midwest, was trying to talk Pete out of the pantry in the kitchen. "Pete, he was a pet. Pets run away." There was no response, just the sound of a package of food being opened. "You need to come out; you can't let this ruin your plans. There's so much left to accomplish. And you'd be throwing away everything you've worked so hard for. Everything you've done for the past seven years. You don't want that. Not over someone stupid enough to leave the compound, where it's safe." William was practically cooing as he crouched near the door. Everyone else was watching at a safe distance. One of the only things that placated Pete when he was in a mood was William. Ryan just tented his fingers in a far corner of the expansive kitchen. "It's all coming together, just as I foresaw it in the wilderness." The quirk of his lips could almost be mistaken for a sneer, but anyone close by who saw would know that was as close as he got to a smile. "What?" Greta, one of the very few females in Pete's crew, looked over at Ryan and raised one eyebrow. She, along with three friends, formed a subset of Pete's team. Though they jokingly called themselves the Viper Assassin Squad, they actually were referred to as The Hush Sound. Pete had given them the moniker because they were the best at hushing people up. "Nothing." Ryan met her eyes without wavering. She looked away first. No one had forgotten the look of Nick Scimeca laid out on the lawn he'd so lovingly cared for, and no one pretended it was an accident unless they were in the presence of Ryan and Pete. "All right." Greta tossed her hair over her shoulders and began walking away. She gave a sympathetic look at Pete before going to one of the other rooms. Chris, Darren, and Bob were due back later in the day from a mission. There had been a rival group in Florida they'd been called to dispose of and the job had required infiltration, not seduction. Greta was amazing at both, but not when the group could only be infiltrated by boys. "When's the rest of the team in? Pete will want a complete debriefing." Mike Carden hardly looked up from his Blackberry as he spoke with Greta. He was responsible for team coordination. He knew everyone's whereabouts and was constantly asking for status reports from everyone. "They're due back in at three p.m. The last transmission I got from them said they were about twenty miles outside of Joplin. They're taking the scenic route; apparently it looked like they were being tailed for awhile." Greta pulled out her own phone to see if any new information had been received. "And any chance of me debriefing you later?" Mike looked up from his phone and wriggled his eyebrows. "Not even if you paid me, Carden." Greta didn't bother looking up from her phone, choosing to leave the room instead. "One day." Mike turned to Adam Siska, Armory, and nodded confidently. Adam just shrugged in return and turned back to Pete. He looked distraught. Though Brendon had only been a pet, everyone knew how long Brendon had been with him. It wasn't impossible for them to believe that Pete had actually cared for someone other than himself. Ryan had taken a seat next to Pete on the couch, his hand wrapping around the back of his neck. He leaned into Pete, murmuring something into his ear that had Pete's head shooting up after a moment. "Really?" Pete was already standing and leading Ryan away by the hand. "I gotta say, I really don't trust him." One of the team members on general assignment watched Pete disappear into his private quarters with Ryan. It was the last thing he ever said in the company of the group. The next morning, he was found with his throat slit from ear to ear. It was Tom who announced it to the rest of the crew. "So. I." He kept running his fingers through his hair and fidgeting as he approached the dining room table. "Nate's dead, guys. Someone." Tom leaned against the walls, William sliding up to his side and pulling him close. "Don't say anything else, Tom. I saw Ryan leaving his room last night. I don't want to see that happen to you." He cradled Tom close to his chest, stroking his hair to disguise the speaking. "Just keep quiet." Tom looked up and backed away from William. "Are you. What?" Tom's heart was pounding both with fear and excitement. This team would take down itself before the team was a serious threat, especially if Ryan was killing off everyone who got in his way. Unfortunately, Tom didn't live to see how wrong he was. * Because it was Jon who Tom communicated with, it was Jon who figured out something was wrong. There hadn't been any point of contact for three weeks, not even a message relayed from Brent. At most, there was a week lapse between communications. This was unheard of. "He should've sent something. Anything. An email. Sean's about to strangle me." Jon spoke of Tom's roommate and sometimes paramour. Sean was the reason Tom had hesitated so long in going to Pete's compound. In the end, Sean had talked him into it, explaining he'd still be there when Tom got back and they wouldn't have to worry anymore. Jon paced the living room while Spencer brewed coffee for the four of them. Gabe had been assigned to be Brendon's guide that day and he needed coffee more than anyone else. "Three weeks and it's fucking radio silence. There's nothing." "Maybe we can negotiate for him. We have a pretty good bargaining chip and maybe he's just unstable enough that we can bring him out of hiding, arrange a trade, and nab the fucker. Then we bypass all this bullshit." Spencer watched the coffee drip with eerie calm. "Spencer, you know that Patrick won't even consider that. This might. This might be a situation where we. Look, we all knew what could happen. He knew what he was getting into going in there." Gabe tried to speak reason to the other two. "If he's. The fact that he even agreed to go in, that says a lot. He wouldn't want us to just give up like that. Because you've read that binder. Even agreeing to try to negotiate with him? You've already fucking lost, dude. At this point, it's recovery, not a search and rescue." "Maybe Brendon knows if Tom pissed someone off. Maybe Pete somehow found out Tom smuggled Brendon out of the compound. Brendon is his pet, his oldest and dearest pet." Spencer poured coffee into each of the four mugs. "Don't say that about him." Gabe wrapped his hands around two mugs of coffee, ready to take one into the other room for Brendon. "What?" Spencer lost his train of thought for a moment. "Don't refer to him as Pete's pet. He's a person. He was kidnapped," Gabe said. His face was firm on the point. "I don't ever want to hear that again." "Okay. Okay." Spencer held up his hands in a peace effort. "I can ask him if he knows something. About Tom, I mean. He would be completely willing to help. From what I've heard about Tom from Brendon, he was one of the only ones who genuinely cared for Brendon. Aside from Alfred." Gabe smiled as he looked off to the side. He could hear Brendon laughing at cartoons in the other room. "Just don't take him anywhere else so public, okay? Not without some sort of cover." Jon frowned at Gabe. It looked as though the expression strained his muscles. Displeasure was really out of his range as an actor. "Don't worry about it, okay? I'll make sure we're covered next time." Gabe nodded, ducking his head as he walked back into the other room. "Do you honestly think he'll know something?" Spencer spoke in a more hushed tone of voice. He didn't want Brendon hearing just yet. He was still somewhat leery of Brendon. God only knows what Pete had brainwashed him to do, had programmed him to do. "I think he's our best shot without sending another man in there. And I'm not prepared to do that, and I doubt Patrick is either. We need to get another meeting together." They'd met a few days earlier but no one discussed the lack of communication from Tom. Everyone knew what it must have meant and no one wanted to bring it up with Jon around. "I'll see what I can do about setting one up tonight. In the meantime, why don't we clear out and see if Brendon will talk to Gabe when he knows no one is listening? We'll tell Gabe where to meet us." Spencer leaned over and dropped a kiss on top of Jon's head. "We'll find whoever did this to him, and we'll make it right. I promise." * "Well. There were a lot of people who didn't like Tom. Pete, William, Mike, and the Hushies were the only ones who did seem to like him," Brendon slurped away at a frozen coffee drink from Starbucks. He was smiling widely at Gabe, who kept placing a hand on his knee as they were talking. "Hushies?" Brendon laughed at Gabe's confused face and tone. "What the fuck are the Hushies?" "The Hush Sound. They're the elite team. Like. Okay. Um, you know Bonnie Bakely? That woman they said Robert Blake offed? That was like, their audition piece. All three of them come from huge families of this stuff. Greta's grandfather was the shooter on the grassy knoll." Brendon shook his head and leaned back against the couch. "Wait. They. They're assassins?" Gabe's eyes widened considerably. "Brendon, you don't really expect me to believe this, do you?" Brendon slurped at the bottom inch of his drink before looking back up at Gabe. "Who do you think taught me how to shoot? They would never have gotten rid of Tom, though. I think Greta really liked him. Like, you know, like-liked him? Well. Him and Adam, anyway." A snicker escaped his lips before he curled up to Gabe's side and closed his eyes. "Tom's probably dead. It's happened before, to someone who opposed Pete or did something Pete didn't like. There was this guy, Mikey, he used to come and go all the time and then one day he just stopped coming." "Did you know what happened to him?" Gabe had to remember not to squeeze Brendon's side too tightly or he'd get skittish and run off. It had happened many times over the past few days as Brendon stayed with him. Brendon pulled away and nodded, his face instantly closing off. There were certain subjects he wouldn't discuss and most of them had to do with people disappearing. He pulled his hood over his head. "Why did Spencer tell me to stay out of hand-reach of you?" "He thinks I'm some sort of perverted lech. Don't worry, I'm not a lech." Gabe lowered his hat over his eyes and continued trying to move his hand up Brendon's thigh. "You should probably stop trying to touch between my legs. I'm saving myself for true love." Brendon smiled serenely and reached for Gabe's iced drink. "You're not going to finish this, are you?" "No, no, you suck away all you want." That look was back on Gabe's face, the one that said Brendon looked like a very delicious and very exotic dessert. "Uh. Right." The only sound in the apartment for the rest of the afternoon was Brendon sucking noisily on the last of the drink and walking around as he got his bearings. Later in the day, Brendon approached Gabe as he pored over take-out menus. "Gabe, when am I going back to Patrick's?" "Do you like Patrick's place better than here?" Gabe asked. He looked up, stricken. "Well, yeah, it doesn't smell like my socks do if I forget to change them for a few days and then decide to sleep in the menagerie." Brendon hoisted himself up on the counter and looked over at Gabe. "And he doesn't ask me things I don't really understand." "All I did was offer a demonstration of Hide the Cobra!" Gabe held his hands up and backed away from Brendon. The look he got in return said his comments weren't appreciated. "And that's the other thing, you keep mentioning this cobra, this Ron. I'm not really sure what this cobra told you or whatever, but I'm pretty sure you imagined him. Cobras don't talk." Brendon pulled his knees to his chest and spoke with some regret. "I mean, it's cool if you imagined him and everything but. Pete used to imagine monsters and then he went to. Look, I just think I'd rather stay with Patrick." "It's only for a short time. We're not really supposed to say anything, but we're going to be moving in a few days." Gabe walked over and rested a hand on Brendon's knee. "So. You said everything was fine until Ryan came?" "Ryan. He came and all of a sudden Pete didn't have time for me anymore. It's stupid. I mean. He didn't buy Ryan a menagerie. He didn't pick Ryan. Alfred didn't take Ryan from a supermarket for him." Brendon had no delusions about where he came from. "Did Ryan ever say where he was from? Why he came?" Since Brendon wasn't flinching away, Gabe held his position. "Sometimes he talked about it. Like, when he thought no one was listening, he'd tent his fingers and mumble something about his vision and how it was all coming together as it was revealed to him in the wilderness. I think he went into the desert and hallucinated something and was convinced it was a sign from above." Brendon rested his chin on the knee Gabe wasn't currently molesting. "He had a vision?" Gabe's eyes widened and he backed a few steps away. "No. Okay. No. Did you tell Patrick about the vision?" "No? It's a load of phooey anyway. There's no such thing as visions unless you take drugs or get sick. Besides, sometimes he'd do ridiculous things like go into the menagerie and say 'Where my bitches at?' in his stupid monotone. A vision hardly sounds out of the ordinary for someone as weird as him." Brendon dropped his feet back over this counter. "No. If he had a vision about it, it's legit and nothing we do is going to stop it. Andy was right. It's the motherfucking Armageddon! I'm out. I'm so out." Gabe turned on his heel and went to his bedroom. A few moments later, Brendon smelled the usual sweet smoke coming from Gabe's room. Rather than wait for Gabe to come back out to make his usual three boxes of Kraft Dinner, Brendon walked toward Gabe's door. "Gabe, I'm coming in." He walked in, his vision obscured by thick smoke. "You think this is the Armageddon." "Don't you? This is some seriously fucked-up shit here." Gabe brought his pipe back up to his lips and lit it again. "And if the world is ending, fuck that, I'm not staying sober." Brendon rolled his eyes. It was like dealing with a tall, more paranoid version of Pete. He knelt down and took the pipe from Gabe's hand. "The world isn't ending. Ryan's vision isn't going to come true. He probably didn't even have a vision. He probably lied about that." "Seriously, seriously. I had a vision and it led me to Patrick. And the cobra told me that I was going to be involved in the battle at the end of the world." Gabe shook his head and snatched the pipe back. "And now that I know it's fucking happening, I know that I am way too fucking sober to deal with it. So, I'll smoke and then go rescue Mama and Papa and get to an island or something." "Gabe? Listen. Okay, I want you to seriously listen. I trust Tom. I trust that he sent me to the right group of people to make sure that the world doesn't end." Brendon knelt down in front of Gabe and took his hand. "Because if you don't help, if all of us don't help and pull it together? Your mom? Your dad? Your nephews that keep calling and leaving voicemail messages about your brother? They're all going to be dead. And it'll be on your hands." "How do you know that?" "Because, I've seen what Pete and Ryan can do, what they don't even hesitate to do. And I know that I don't want that to happen because he still has the menagerie and Alfred. And I'm not letting Alfred get killed like that." Brendon hadn't told any of them much about Alfred, but Gabe had picked up enough to know that Alfred was the only one Brendon missed on the compound. "So if you just give up on this, it affects more than just you. It affects everyone." Gabe held the pipe against his lips as he considered what Brendon had to say. "All right. We'll do this. But just so you know, we're completely fucked." * "So. Do you guys just sit around all day, trying to figure out how you're going to save the world?" Brendon furrowed his brows in the mirror. He had a pair of tweezers in his fingers, plucking at every stray hair. "No, who the fuck do you think we are? The Justice League? I mean, if we were any superhero group, we'd be The X-Men. I'd be Cyclops and you'd be Marvel Girl. Maybe The Fantastic Four. Reid Richards and Susan Storm." Gabe nodded at his own reflection in the mirror, where he was also plucking his eyebrows. "I'd rather be able to be invisible than be able to move things with my mind." Brendon shook his head and wiped discreetly at his eyes. They were starting to water from all the grooming but Gabe had said that unibrow had to go. There were no ugly people allowed on the side of good. "You're already moving something in me." Gabe smiled brightly at Brendon and rejoiced inwardly when Brendon only moved six inches as opposed to the normal foot. "No, but really. What do you guys do?" Brendon insisted, gripping another hair. "We've all got day jobs. Spencer, you've heard of him. He's Spencer Smith, that kid who graduated from MIT when he was thirteen and went to work for NASA when he was sixteen?" Gabe looked over at Brendon and closed the six inches again. "How did he get in on this?" Brendon moved another six inches away, looking as though he was calculating the amount of time it would take him to get to the wall and whether or not Gabe would stop moving closer by then. "I don't really know. I guess someone he knew growing up kind of got sucked into this whole thing. He started checking his shit. He found Jon and the rest, you'd really have to ask him about." Gabe shrugged, spanning his hand over the six inches. "Patrick?" Brendon couldn't imagine Patrick doing something that wasn't incredibly awesome, like driving around, rescuing kittens from trees or something. "Patrick is actually an elementary school music teacher. Guy's incredible at mechanics and electronics but he says sometimes it's nice to work with something you didn't invent." Gabe shrugged and wiped at his eyes. They were starting to water in the same manner Brendon's were. "And Jon?" Brendon wanted to know the people he was going to be working with. He needed to know they were good people and weren't secretly the kind of people who were going to turn on the team the moment things got hard. "Jon owns a lot of real estate. He inherited a shitload of it from his parents. And now, he works with a non-profit organization that tries to council teens against violence." Gabe shifted over an inch while Brendon wasn't looking. "What about you?" Brendon looked at Gabe from the corner of his eye, watching for any sudden movements. "What about me?" "What do you do when you're not babysitting the bargaining chip." Brendon made a face at the term. "Where did you hear that?" Gabe withdrew his hand and stared hard at Brendon. "Spencer isn't exactly quiet when he talks, you know. I mean. It's cool that you think Pete's sentimental enough to give up world domination for his pet." Brendon tried to sound neutral. "I. He's not supposed to call you that. I told him not to call you that ever again." Gabe tried to reach over and wrap an arm around Brendon's shoulders. "I know. But is that what you guys think? I mean. I know it wasn't normal. It isn't the way most people grew up. Nobody on TV ever grew up like that." Brendon jerked away from Gabe, closing his eyes for a moment. "Whatever. I don't care." And just like that, Brendon's walls were up. "Hey, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. We know you're not a pet. I know you're not." Gabe kept his hands to himself, not wanting to make Brendon anymore uncomfortable than he clearly already was. "So you grew up differently. Big deal. It's like being the kid with the divorced parents." "If it wasn't for Ryan, I could still be there. I'd be on the compound and Pete and I would be testing the molecular reorganizer on the aloe plants." Brendon set his mirror down and pulled his knees to his chest. "Pete wasn't always all bad. He fired one of the butlers because he didn't think the butler was paying enough attention to me." Gabe mentally went through the list of butlers Pete had gone through. Poor Tony. There hadn't even been enough left to identify the poor son of a bitch. "But he's always been planning to take over the world, to end it." Gabe had to make Brendon realize that fact if they were ever going to get anywhere in this. "He wasn't always going to end it. I think he wanted to end a lot of what was going on. We used to watch the news sometimes and he'd see news reports about Africa and he'd tell me that he was going to change it all, to make it all better than it had ever been before." Gabe was cautious of Brendon speaking like this. It was one thing for him to miss Pete, the only family he'd ever known, but it was another thing entirely for him to start agreeing with Pete. Another entirely dangerous thing. Gabe needed to change the topic. "When I'm not out trying to save the world, one applebottom at a time? I design rooms for Ikea. Like, the showrooms that you see in the stores and catalogues. And sometimes I teach dance lessons. Mostly the salsa and tango, but sometimes the samba." Gabe set his mirror down. "What about you? What did you do at Pete's?" "I was a land surveyor. I went and took pictures for him. You know that." Brendon rolled his eyes. The pictures he took were in the binder. How could Gabe have missed them? "No, that's what you did for him. What did you do for you?" "Oh. I. Well. Sometimes I'd read the stuff that Pete had in the library. Usually I'd go read out loud to the menagerie." Brendon set down his tweezers and began to examine his groomed brows. Gabe was right, they did look much better when they were thinned and separated. "Did you have a real menagerie?" Gabe had heard Brendon mention it several times, but still couldn't figure out if it was an actual menagerie or just what Brendon liked to call the animals on the compound. "Yeah, there was this hot house. I liked to keep smaller animals, but Pete had some big ones. There was a tiger, but he was really gentle. The tiger would sometimes come in and sit down with me when I was in there reading. Pete raised it from when it was just a cub." Brendon trailed off and bit at his lip. He knew there was no way he'd be allowed to leave the side of good for the compound but he was really starting to regret his decision to leave and see the world. With the exception of Ryan Ross, Brendon had been happy on the compound. He had been taken care of and he hadn't had to worry about Pete's intentions. The outside world was severely changing his perception of his own world. Standing up, Brendon wiped at his eyes. When Gabe looked up at him questioningly, Brendon just faked a smile and said, "It stings. All the plucking? Anyway. I'm getting tired. I think I'm going to go to bed." Gabe had been told explicitly that he was not to bother Brendon if Brendon went to bed. It was his time to reflect on what was going on. He'd been made to understand that Brendon was going through a lot and he didn't need someone coming in and offering the guidance of the cobra. He needed someone to make sure he stayed there and didn't decide to leave in the middle of the night because of what he was discovering about the one person who was supposed to love him.

After a few days, Brendon got used to life with Gabe. It meant waking up to the sound of Gabe belting out the lyrics to "I Think I'm Turning Japanese" and "Birdhouse in Your Soul" and having to make a lot more ramen than one person should consume in one sitting. It continued like that until a boy Brendon knew only as Joe knocked on the door to the apartment and Gabe let him in. "Fuck, man. It's confirmed. Like. Tom's been confirmed." Joe was pacing around the room and patting down his jacket, producing a cigarette and lighting it up immediately. "They found the body. Look, Sean's a fucking mess over it. He left the dog with his parents and no one's heard from him since. He's got one of the long-range communicators but he isn't answering it. And one of the BFGs is missing from the armory." "Oh fuck. So it's on." Gabe dashed to his bedroom and pulled out a suitcase. Apparently it had been pre-packed and waiting for some time. "Brendon, there's no time for you to get clean clothes. Just pack everything into your backpack and we'll deal with clothes when we get the fuck out of here." "Oh, it's fine, I can just order more clothes off the Internet and get them delivered to wherever we're staying." Brendon pulled out his wallet and handed the black card over to Gabe without a second thought. "Brendon. Please tell me you haven't been using this card while we've been staying here." Gabe's voice was dangerously even. "I used it to get to Jon's. Well, I took cash out. And then the other day…" He trailed off when he realized both Gabe and Joe were staring at him. "What?" "Okay, we're getting out of here now. Joe. Please tell me you didn't see anyone?" Gabe immediately dropped to the ground. He tugged on Brendon's pant leg. "Get the fuck down, right now." Brendon dropped to the floor with Joe. "We're sneaking out of here, okay? Pete's probably had a trace put on the card, which means he knows you're in this neighborhood, staying here. And the best idea when your enemy is looking for you is to not be in the place where they're going to be looking for you." Cursing a few times under his breath, Gabe began to head to the door. "Joe, I want you to get to a payphone and get in touch with Patrick. We need to move the plan ahead to now. There's no time to wait. Brendon and I are heading there now, okay?" "If there are people out there?" Joe swallowed, still holding onto his cigarette. "Call me and try to get a description. We'll see if Brendon knows them." Gabe looked over at Brendon, whose face had gone blank. The carefully empty expression tugged at Gabe's heart. He knew it was a defense mechanism and it worried him. "All right. I'll go out first? If I don't call in two minutes, call Patrick, fuck the security of the lines." Joe turned to Brendon and wrapped an arm around him. "I know this is fucked up right now but it'll get better when we get to the place. You're saving all our asses so hard right now, Urie." It was the first comment someone had made about asses in Brendon's presence that hadn't ended in a not so subtle attempt to grope him. He nearly cried from relief. "Remember, Joe, good waffles." Gabe knocked fists with him before standing just out of range of any of the windows in the apartment. "Good waffles?" Brendon looked at Gabe as soon as Joe had departed. Gabe didn't answer for a moment, seeming content to stare at his phone in anticipation of Joe's call. Relief flooded his face as the phone vibrated in his hand a minute and a half after Joe left the apartment. Before thumbing it on and speaking into it, Gabe met eyes with Brendon and nodded. "Good waffles, it's what we say before shit really hits the fan. Because good waffles stick together." * At the base, Spencer paced the length of the room. "Patrick's not here yet, guys. This isn't. We can't do this without him." Brendon's eyes followed him as he stalked back and forth. This was at least something he was a little used to seeing. "Oooh, cool. You guys buy the same beakers as Shaant used to." Brendon picked up a beaker of green sludge and began swishing it around. "It was really sad when he blew himself up. I mean, he'd had a ton of accidents like it, so no one was surprised. Well. They were surprised when Shaant bits came flying up the stairs. It was kind of incredible." He set the beaker down and began to walk across the length of the room with Spencer. "So. We're waiting for Patrick?" "We are waiting for Patrick, because contrary to what some assholes think, he is the plan." Spencer shot a look at Victoria, who just scowled in return. "He's the one who knows, can just fucking guess, Pete's plans. He knew about India. He knew that Pete wanted you badly enough that we all had to move out here in the interest of the team. Look, he just knows shit and I don't know if we have another guy out there or if this is something I'm not supposed to know about and I don't know if maybe we're going to have another Tom on our hands and to be honest, I don't know if I can live with that. So, yes. Yes, we're waiting for Patrick." Spencer nodded and abruptly stopped pacing the room. As if on cue, Spencer's phone began ringing with the tone "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangster." "Do you really have that as a ring tone?" Brendon covered his mouth to muffle the laughter but it wasn't enough. His entire body shook with what he was trying to hold in. "Seriously. It's lame. Mine is 'Soulja Boy' and it's completely awesome." Gabe began to demonstrate the dance in question before realizing that he was completely alone in it. On occasion, he could convince Ryland to join in. "Shut up." Spencer, who had spent the last few seconds trying to get his phone to answer, snapped. "Patrick? Are you there?" He paused for confirmation before heaving a sigh of relief. "Yeah, we're all here." Another pause and Spencer even brightened. "Good, we'll see you in twenty minutes, then." After hanging up, Spencer nodded at the assembled group of people. "We're in it again." When Patrick showed up, he was dragging three fairly young boys behind him and trying to explain something to them. "Guys, these are Marshall, Singer, and Cash. Sean had been working with them on trying to get some sort of surveillance into Pete's place and since. Well, we can't get a hold of Sean, we're going to have to go with these three and the information they have." Brendon narrowed his eyes. These three looked familiar and he tried to recall where he had seen them. Almost without thinking about it, Brendon blurted out, "Pete knows about them." Everyone looked over at him and took in his exclamation. The other three seemed to notice him for the first time. "What do you mean Pete knows about them?" Spencer asked, voice full of caution. "I mean he has information on them." Brendon went to the table, where the binder with The Plan was sitting. After flipping through the binder for a moment, Brendon stopped on one of the pages and held it open for everyone else to see. "Look. Alex Marshall, Alex 'Singer' DeLeon, and Cash Colligan. He knows all about them. He knew they were onto something." He holds up a picture of the three of them with two other boys. The two other boys had larges Xs over their faces. "Ryan took the other two out." "That. Is that what happened to Johnson?" The color drained from Cash's face. Brendon nodded and for a moment seemed to go blank. Gabe walked up behind him and pressed a hand to the small of his back. "Hey, do you guys want to maybe talk about this later?" Joe looked down at the ground and kicked his feet before agreeing with Gabe. "We all knew the risks going in. Johnson and Ian knew. They didn't have to agree to it." "Those were our friends. Teammates." Cash clenched his fists and looked over at Joe with anger. "Do you see Tom anywhere? No, you don't. We don't know where the hell he is but we're going forward with this. He knew the risks, especially the risks of actually going in. If we can continue without him, you three can sure as hell deal without…" "Can all of you just shut up? If we don't do this, that's it. Game over. I didn't get out of there for that to happen." Brendon seemed to get strength from Gabe's hand rubbing across his back. "I'll tell you what I know if you swear that you guys are in this." "And why should we trust you? I know who you are. I know what you are." Marshall shook his head and looked over at Brendon. "You're his pet." Both Brendon and Gabe tensed but Brendon took Gabe's hand rather than let him lunge forward at Marshall. "Let me make one thing very, very clear to you. Brendon is not someone's pet. He was a child, a kidnapped child. If I ever hear you refer to him as that again, I'll turn you over to Pete. And I won't feel at all bad about it because you have no idea what you're talking about." Gabe's entire body was shaking as he tried to keep calm. "Am I understood?" The three boys exchanged a sheepish look. Finally, Singer nodded. "Brendon, will you really tell us what happened?" "In as much detail as you'd like." Brendon promised, trying not to flush when Gabe squeezed his hand. "We're in." Cash nodded and stuck out his hand to shake Patrick's. "And. I'm sorry, I didn't. I don't know what happened to you there." Brendon nodded by way of accepting the apology. After the rest of the introductions were made, The Plan was pulled out and Brendon once again went through it. "His next move is scheduled to be a terrorist action within Macy's. He plans on doing it at night, when there isn't anyone there." Brendon held up a page from the binder. "We need to be there." "It's too dangerous for you to be there," Spencer shook his head and tried to shake Jon's hands from his shoulders. "We can't have you there. If he knows we have you, we're on the move again." "It's the only way to stop him. If he's there, he won't be able to keep away from me." Brendon shrugged. "I know if he catches me, I have to go back. And. It'll mean a lot of dealing with the police. I might even have to meet my parents. But if I'm willing to do that to help, shouldn't you let me?" Brendon's calves flexed as he stood up on his tiptoes. "Brendon…" Spencer started. "No, I think we should let him." Patrick spoke up. Aside from Gabe, Patrick had the most contact with Brendon and knew the extent of the damage that Pete had done. "So. Macy's?" "Mhm. He's. He always planned on having it blown up at night, to remove a large consumerist center. I think if he had his way, he'd probably get rid of all of the locations in the Northeast. He always said he just wanted to start over." Brendon flipped a few pages further in and pointed to a schematic. "He said he'd set off charges in here. They'd blow up a pack of thermals on the main level. He consulted a few engineers to make sure that it would implode the building rather than explode it." "How kind. Do we know which one and when?" Jon bit at his lower lip and looked down at the schematic. "I mean. I don't really like the idea of having to monitor all Macy's for the rest of time." "No, it's the one in midtown Manhattan. And he said. It was going to be for his birthday. His birthday present to himself." Brendon shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a yawn. "Hey, if you're getting tired, you can probably go to sleep." Gabe looked to the others for confirmation. "Um. Do you mind if we come talk to you? You know, about Johnson and Ian?" Marshall asked Brendon quietly, not wanting another outburst from him. "I don't know if that's such a…" Gabe shook his head until Brendon cut him off. "It's fine. I'll. We'll go talk." Brendon met Gabe's eyes. Gabe nodded, trying to convey with his eyes that he'd be in after to check on Brendon. All that came through was a leer that made everyone else in the room grimace. "O-Okay. So, let's go." Marshall took Brendon's arm and guided him out of the room. The converted warehouse had several antechambers that everyone had called for bunk rooms. Patrick, Joe, Gabe, and Brendon were using one, Jon and Spencer were using another, several operatives who had yet to arrive were set up in a few of the other rooms and Marshall, Singer, and Cash had been instructed to take another. Exposed pipes lined the ceilings and the walls, letting off sounds whenever liquids passed through them. Brendon settled on his small cot and looked at the three boys who had followed him. "How much do you…" "All of it. Whatever you saw, whatever rumors you heard, anything." Cash hadn't bothered to get confirmation from his other friends so Brendon waited to hear what they had to say. "All of it," Marshall confirmed after looking at Singer. "Okay. Well. Pete was having cameras planted inside the governor's office and the White House. He dug around and found your guys' business. It didn't take much research for him to find out you were the best of the best." Brendon curled his fingers into the hem of his blanket. The story didn't end well and Brendon had always hated telling those stories. "So. He hired you guys and you sent Johnson and Ian, right? Well. Pete researched them a little more, and he found out about their connection to Sean. I didn't know who it was at the time. So. He told Ryan, and Ryan promised he would take care of it." "And you didn't think to tell someone? You knew what that meant, didn't you?" Cash had to be restrained by Singer and Marshall. "I did! But who was I supposed to tell? Everyone there is on his side! Everyone there except Alfred thinks this is okay. I did what I could by getting the hell out of there." Brendon got defensive and once Marshall had calmed Cash down, he continued. "Okay, so. I. I was on my way to the menagerie and I looked into the garage to see if Greta was in there because she actually really likes the animals, and sometimes she likes to hang out in the garage to watch Adam without his shirt on, putting away the guns." "Point, Brendon," Marshall said through clenched teeth. "Get there." "Right, right. Okay. I looked in the garage and. Ryan had Johnson and Ian on their knees and he killed them execution-style. There was so much blood everywhere. I remember watching Alfred come out from the garage and his hands were just covered in it. And then I went into the garage and I saw them. They were just laying there. I couldn't even look at their faces." Brendon stops just before saying they didn't have faces any longer. "Did they die right away?" Singer pressed. "They did. Ryan is always efficient." Brendon could feel his stomach turn and he was a short moment away from vomiting. "I. No more, please." "You said as much detail…" "He said no more. I think it's time for you guys to go to bed." Gabe appeared in the doorway and looked down at the three boys sharing his cot. "We just want to know what happened to our friends." Singer looked a little more relaxed than before. "I don't care, okay? I don't want him getting freaked out. You're already making him picture some fucked-up shit. They're dead. And Pete probably had the bodies destroyed. I didn't say anything when Brent suddenly went missing, okay? Never let him know what can hurt you." Gabe sat down next to Brendon and touched his knee. Brendon didn't flinch and Gabe counted the move as a win. "I just want to go to sleep." Brendon mumbled, trying to climb under the covers. "I'll make sure no one bothers you, okay?" Gabe stood and patted the top of Brendon's head. "Out, guys." One by one, the three boys exited the room and Gabe settled in on his cot. "If they bother you again, just let me know. I don't want you getting upset." "Why are you being so nice to me?" Brendon still hadn't grasped that occasionally people didn't just blurt out whatever was on their minds. "I guess I kind of know what you're going through." Gabe shrugged and sat up a little. "I came here from another country and it was a whole other thing to get used to. And I'm not saying that I saw what you saw or anything, but I remember what it's like to feel out of place and like your ideals don't match up with everyone else's. You probably don't think that everything Pete is doing is terrible, right?" "It isn't. He doesn't want to kill anyone. I think he just wants. Like. If you look at it, look at the log book and everything, the only people he's killed are the people trying to stop him and the people he genuinely believes are bad people. It's Ryan that kills indiscriminately. And I can't handle that. Pete even. He has an island, you know? Anyone he's kidnapped to help with the plan who actually helped? They're on that island right now. They aren't dead." Brendon rolled onto his side to look at Gabe. "He just wants people to be nicer to each other. And I think we can all get on board with that." "I guess. But. And I know this is where we lose you, but what makes it his choice? How come he gets to be the one to make these decisions for everyone in the world? The ends really don't justify the means here." Gabe was tempted to move his cot closer but he wasn't willing to push his luck. He'd already gotten to actually put his arm around Brendon without Brendon flinching or looking pale. "I think he thinks he can do it because nobody else is doing it. We're just watching all of this happen and we're watching it so passively." Brendon propped his chin on his palm and shrugged after a moment. "I don't know, I just want to rescue my menagerie and Alfred. Maybe Greta. The rest of the people, they aren't bad people, you know? Well, some of them were. Some of them really were. But by and large, they were good people with these amazing talents. Greta could shoot a nickel off Chris's head at a hundred feet. She could calculate wind and how it would affect the bullet's path. I mean, I've been trained, but even I can't do that." "Brendon, they also kidnapped you. They kept you on a compound and didn't educate you, didn't give you a chance to see anything for yourself." "I've been educated. Alfred taught me everything. I'm kind of crappy at English, but I'm really kind of awesome at calculus and physics." Brendon grins at the thought of his textbooks in his bedroom. "Did they ever give you a choice about what you were going to be doing with that education? Did you ever get to say 'Hey, I want to be a doctor and work in South America' or 'You know, it'd be kind of cool to be a kindergarten teacher?'" Gabe was getting frustrated with Brendon's inability to see his point. They'd stifled him. It was worse than kidnapping him; they'd never taught him anything about the real world. "You don't get it, Gabe. That stuff wasn't real to me. Jobs didn't exist. Until I started leaving the compound to do recon? I didn't even really think about what was out there. I saw movies and thought that the people in them were weird for working for a magazine. If you don't know about something, it doesn't occur to you to ask why you don't do it. I didn't even think about kindergarten teaching because there were no other kids as far as I knew." Brendon tugged the covers up to his chin. "So. If you're only being nice because you feel bad for me, then forget it. I don't need that." "I just. I wish you could see my point, Brendon. I'm. You get some rest, and I'll stay awake until Joe and Patrick come in here for the night." Outside of the antechamber, Spencer and Patrick were whispering furiously to each other. "No, you know what that thing is capable of. Even if it sees you, it isn't going to stop." "Shut up, Patrick. I just need to get close enough to rewire it." Spencer shook his head, linking his fingers with Jon's. "That's not going to work. It'll kill you before you even get close enough to look at the latch to the circuit panel." Patrick leaned against the wall and tugged his hat lower. "I will. I know its weaknesses. You never, ever design something without a flaw to take it down. I know what it is." Spencer cracked the knuckles on one hand and Joe winced. "I know you were trying to prove a point right there, but seriously that is going to give you so much arthritis when you're older." As usual, Joe was trying to keep the mood light for everyone else's sake. "And I probably can't kiss swollen, arthritic knuckles when we're in bed. I'd feel like I was doing my grandmother." Had Jon said that in the tone Joe had, everyone else might have been able to dismiss it. "Okay, when did you even have time to sneak off and smoke?" Spencer's irritation with Patrick was momentarily forgetten when he looked over at Jon. "When I said I was going to the bathroom. I mean, I did go to the bathroom, but I didn't do number two like I said I did. I smoked." Jon sort of laughed and leaned into Spencer's neck. "Does this mean I can't do guard duty tonight?" "Yes, Jon, that's exactly what it means. It also means you're going to bed lonely and unsatisfied, okay?" Spencer moved away from Jon and crossed his arms. "Okay, get to bed. I'm going to take first watch. If Alex and Ryland show up, I'm going to send them in to Patrick." "Why not me?" "The fuck? Seriously? Go eat Cheetos in the cot or something; I'll deal with you in the morning." Spencer rolled his eyes and went to the warehouse entrance as everyone else trudged to bed. * In the middle of the evening, Ryland and Alex showed up at the warehouse, fresh from recon in Antarctica. Spencer debriefed them and brought them up to speed on what was going on. "Do we really have the pet?" "We have Brendon; don't let Gabe hear you call him a pet." Spencer had taken Gabe's words to heart, trying to remember that it was like leaving home and going to work for NASA at sixteen. He'd been lucky enough to get away after only a few years, but he knew Brendon had been at the compound for longer. "He's. Just try to understand what he's been through. We don't need him shutting down for a week because one of you said the wrong thing. He's our best link to Pete and how Pete's mind works." "When can we meet him?" Ryland looked around as if he expected Brendon to walk out at any moment. "In the morning. Get some rest; Patrick is going to want to talk to you guys in the morning, find out everything you found out." Spencer waved them through the room toward their antechamber. "Who else is due in?" Alex looked around at the various bags and whatnot that people had left around the warehouse. "It looks like almost everyone is here." "The word is still out to get Nick and Tyson in here. Travis' team isn't coming here; they're currently monitoring Macy's." Spencer shook his head. "Macy's?" Alex's face changed to one of confusion. "We've got some information that's led us to believe Pete's targeting it for demolition within the next 48 hours. I don't want to see that happen." Spencer reached for the binder, determined to comb through it again. "Just go to bed. You're going to need your rest for tomorrow." Alex nodded to Spencer and then exchanged a look with Ryland. "All right, we'll go to bed." They stood up in unison and ducked out of the main room. Once out of sight, Alex slipped his hand into Ryland's and spoke quietly into his ear. "They know what we know now; we'll be fine." "I just want to see if Patrick's up. I don't know what to think about us having Brendon here. For all we know, he's got some sort of trigger and he's going to kill us." Ryland looked down at Alex and pecked the corner of his mouth. "I don't think that he's something to worry about. You know Patrick wouldn't do anything he didn't think was the best. You trusted him before, so just trust him again." Alex squeezed Ryland's hand and led him away from the entrance to the antechamber closest to the main room. He knew Patrick was in there and he needed to sleep. Ryland considered that for a moment and nodded. "Do you think Brendon knows about Victoria?" "If he does, we're not asking him about it. You heard what Spencer said. If he shuts down, we know that he's useless to us." Alex dropped his bags at the foot of his cot and sat down on it. "You've heard the stories, and we all heard the stories from Tom's communications. That's what Tom saw as a newly hired chef. Imagine what Brendon's seen." Ryland sat down on his cot before looking over at Alex. "You really think we have a chance in this?" "No. I really don't. But I think I'd rather go out fighting." Alex dropped back against the thin mattress. * "All right, we have word from Travis that the charges were installed last night." Spencer pulled up pictures from a server they were all trained to use. There were several shots of people only Brendon seemed to recognize, entering and exiting the building through a service entrance. Halfway through the pictures, Brendon stood up and started pacing while Spencer spoke. "As you can see, we don't have details on exactly what was put in. Brendon, do you have any idea who these people are?" It took him a moment to nod and scrub a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah, that's Michael and Butcher. Like. I don't know what to even tell you. Butcher knows everything about chemicals. We're dealing with some really, really powerful explosives right now." He looked over at Gabe, fear evident in his voice. "And they're going to be going off tonight?" Patrick spoke in a calm manner, trying to get Brendon to calm down with him. He saw the way Brendon looked over at Gabe and made a mental note to ask Gabe on the way to Macy's tonight. "Tonight, it's his birthday. His thirtieth. He always wanted it to start going down then." Brendon flexed his fingers the way Spencer did right before cracking them but chose instead to stuff them in his pockets. "And you're sure he won't do it during business hours." Gabe reached over and touched Brendon's arm, trying to ground him and remind him what they were doing, why they were doing it. "He won't. He wouldn't want to hurt all those innocent people." Brendon shook his head, knowing that he was telling the truth. "But he's willing to destroy that piece of history." Ryland spoke up. "People cling to the past and don't think enough about the future." Brendon parroted without thinking. When he realized everyone was staring at him, his cheeks went red. "Sorry. I. That's what he used to say." Everyone stayed silent for a moment before Patrick spoke up. "Okay, well, at least we have the why and the when. We can work from there. Tonight, we'll deploy. Ryland, you and Alex are going to check Grand Central. Disashi will be able to fill you in on everything they know about locations of the charges." Brendon was staring over at Patrick with something akin to hearts in his eyes. "Jon, you're going to stay here with Brendon. We're going to need to use the long-range communicators. And Brendon, we're going to get you to walk us through what you know before and then again on the communicators." Spencer was still glaring at Jon, who had the decency to look down at his information package. "No. I'm going," Brendon said. "I already told you. I'm going to be there. I want to be there when he sees that I helped with this. That I know what he did was wrong now." He looked away from Patrick with difficulty and stared at Spencer. "I need to be there." "I don't really think that's such a good idea…" Spencer began. "I won't tell you a thing, then." Brendon shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "I know you think it's a risk but remember, you only get one shot at this. I wouldn't want you to screw it up. Like you guys keep saying, this isn't just about us. Please, okay? If I didn't think that I belonged there, I wouldn't ask to go." Brendon chewed on his bottom lip. "I wouldn't. I'd stay here, but I know that I can help more by being there. I can help so much. I know how he'll react and if he's there, I'll be able to help you get him." "I think we should all be there. Or if not on site, then definitely nearby. If it goes pear-shaped and anyone is back here, they're no safer than anyone at the site." Cash spoke up from his spot. He looked over at Brendon and nodded. "It's like I keep saying, good waffles, you know?" Joe leaned over his coffee cup, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I'd feel better if Brendon were there." "Then consider him your responsibility while we're there," Spencer spoke shortly. "We're leaving in an hour. Take only what you need for tonight. If it does go to shit tonight, we won't be needing anything we're leaving behind here anyway." * Brendon was sitting on his cot, looking at his stuffed lemur, when Gabe walked in. "How are you holding up?" "I'm worried. If this goes badly, it's all my fault." Brendon wrapped himself around the stuffed animal before looking up at Gabe. "Promise me that he deserves this. Aside from kidnapping me, promise me that he has the wrong idea about everything else." "Hey, you know he's got the wrong idea. Even if he doesn't want to destroy the planet, he doesn't have the right to make these decisions for everyone else. And if he does want to blow this all up, you don't want to see the world destroyed. That's why you escaped." Gabe crouched in front of Brendon and pressed a hand to his knee. "Besides that, there's no way the cobra would allow an applebottom that fine to be taken out." Brendon rolled his eyes and collapsed on his back. "I'm still not even sure why you keep mentioning my butt, but it's so weird, Gabe." "Mostly because one day I'm going to get my hands on it. I'd like to make sure it's still around when I get to." Gabe grinned and kissed the top of Brendon's head. "Remember, pack only what you need." When Gabe exited the room, he physically ran into Spencer. "We need to talk," Spencer said. He took a hold of Gabe's arm and dragged him to a corner of the main room. "Whoa, Smith, what's going on?" Gabe rubbed his arm where Spencer's fingers had dug in. "This thing with you and Brendon. You keep your distance from him when we move out. I don't need to lose a man because they couldn't keep their head where it was supposed to be." Spencer cocked out one hip and crossed his arms. "I don't want to see anyone get hurt who doesn't have to. And Pete doesn't need to know that Brendon might have bonded with people on the outside. The more Pete believes that Brendon is on his side, the better chance we have of getting him." "He was right. You are just using him as bait." Gabe took a step back to look at Spencer. "You're planning on using him to draw Pete out of hiding." "As far as we know, this is the only person Pete has ever loved in his life. I don't think I'm being ridiculous in assuming that he'll try to rescue Brendon and take him back to the compound. As soon as we get a clear shot of Pete, we're taking it." Spencer tried to keep any inflection out of his voice. He'd gotten attached to Brendon, but their plan had always had 'By any means necessary' as a post-script. "If you think you're going to use him as bait, and that you're going to take him out if you have to take him out to get to Pete, you have another thing coming. Don't ever forget that he's a human life or you're no better than him." Gabe imitated Spencer's position and stared down at him. "The second you do start thinking that way, I want you to think of Jon getting taken out as collateral damage." "That's not the same situation at all." "Not yet. And it won't ever be if we let him die tonight. Even if you're only thinking of it in your terms, if he gets lost tonight, you lose your biggest bargaining chip and I know how much you'd hate that." Gabe sneered at the last phrase and took a step back. "We're going to be successful tonight, okay? I can feel it. We're not going to have to worry any longer." "I hope you're right." Spencer's face remained the same. He no longer allowed himself to get his hopes up, not when it came to Pete. * "I know I shouldn't get excited about this, but this is. It's kind of amazing." Brendon's eyes shone as they traveled down the highway. "I'm just. The only thing I'm nervous about is Pete. When I see him. I mean, I've never wanted him to get hurt and I've read about reactions in situations like this. Stockholm Syndrome and everything. I don't want him hurt because I've come to care about my kidnapper." "We're going to do everything we can so he doesn't get hurt, okay?" Patrick wrapped a comforting arm around Brendon's shoulder, not noticing the way Gabe was watching them carefully from the bench behind. "I know you guys think it's wrong and everything, but. He really is the only family I have." Brendon shrugged and turned only his head to look at Patrick. "I mean. He's crazy and he's trying to do something that's bad, but he's mine. Sometimes I have a lot of trouble with that." "When this is over, if you want, we can try to find your real family." Patrick leaned in and murmured straight into Brendon's ear. "We can try to find them and if you want, you can meet them again. But it's all up to you." "Can. Would it be possible to find them and maybe not meet them right away?" Brendon chewed on his lower lip. It was difficult for him to imagine meeting a mother and a father and maybe siblings. It was possible there were other children who looked like him, who had the same crooked teeth he had when he was younger. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do. Or we can go in and pre-screen them or something." Patrick nodded and squeezed Brendon's shoulder, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how Gabe was watching him. He turned around and saw the look of anger in Gabe's eyes. He saw him mouth the words 'my applebottom.' Patrick raised his eyebrows and carefully removed his arm from around Brendon's shoulders. "I think that's how I'd like to do it." Brendon nodded and played with the zipper on his hoodie before lifting his head to look at Patrick. "We're really going to do this, then, aren't we?" "It's on tonight." Gabe reached around and hugged Brendon from behind. "But you're staying with Jon." "Wait, with Jon? He. Is that going to be safe?" Brendon tried to think of a tactful way to say he thought Jon was maybe a little differently abled than everyone else on the team. Patrick fought a grin; he'd heard of their first meeting. "Trust me, that's probably going to be the safest place for you while Nick and Tyson go in and look at the charges." "We're sending in Wheeler and Ritter to look at the charges?" Joe, who was in the driver's seat, kept his eyes on the road. "Look, you and I have both seen what Nick and Tyson did to that one bomb in London. Sykes didn't have a fucking chance. If there's something and we don't know what it is, you're damn right I'm going to send them in." Patrick did his best to avoid looking at the way Gabe was nuzzling Brendon and how Brendon seemed to be of the opinion that Gabe was the type of animal who couldn't see him if he didn't move. "Okay, if you trust them with this." Joe turned into a parking lot not quite in the city. "We're taking the train from here." "Wouldn't it be faster to drive?" Brendon tried to worm from Gabe's arms. "Not that far into the city. Look, just trust us on this." Gabe kept his arms tight around Brendon. "You and Jon are going to wait until we have contact from Pete. You're the one that's actually going to be talking to him." "And we're going to be there with you. Me, Spencer, Gabe, Jon, Joe. Anyone you want in there." Patrick looked over at Brendon and slipped a hand into his. Thankfully, Gabe was too busy trying to tie Brendon's hoodie strings to his own to notice. * It wasn't quite the scene any of them had imagined, not when they really thought about it. In everyone's mind, Pete was the tyrannical force that stood taller than the Empire State Building and had the craziest eyes anyone had ever seen. Nobody really expected the short dude with bags under his eyes and a weary expression on his face. Patrick was frantically shouting orders through the communicators to Nick and Tyson while they relayed exactly what they were dealing with. Plastic explosives were nothing new to them and they were trying to keep Patrick calm as he scouted from a window in a neighboring building. Really, they weren't concerned. It was a matter of disassembling the triggers and removing the plastic explosives. Whoever built the bombs were total amateurs; they hadn't even bothered with slip triggers. When Brendon heard that over the communicators, he couldn't help but smirk. Butcher was going to be pissed if he ever found out they'd said that. The moment the row of black SUVs pulled up, Patrick knew this was really it. There was no going back. For all his nerves and anxiety, Brendon was surprisingly calm. It was as though he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment. Cracking his knuckles and earning a reproachful look from Joe, Brendon picked up the disposable cell phone they'd built and dialed Pete's cell phone number. "A1 Accountemps, Greta speaking, to whom may I deliver your call?" Greta chirped on the other end of the phone. "Greta, it's Brendon." He didn't get any further than that before she was speaking again. "Brendon? What the fuck? Where are you?" Greta hissed. "Don't draw any attention to this call. I just want to talk to Pete." Brendon watched through the window as she stepped out of her vehicle and walked to the one second from the end. "Nobody else should know who is on the phone, okay?" "Okay, okay, Jesus. Where have you been? Where are you? Pete's been a fucking basketcase without you. Even Bill hasn't been able to calm him down." The SUV door opened and Brendon saw Greta hand the phone over to the person inside. "Alfred, I don't have time for phone calls right now." Pete's voice sounded tired, even to Brendon, who had heard him immediately after he got out of the hospital. "Pete? It's…" "Brendon? Where are you? Who has you? Are you all right?" Pete's voice instantly perked up. If Brendon hadn't been aware of everything Pete had done, he might almost mistake the tone as care for him. "I'm fine. I'm not being unnecessarily harmed or frightened." Brendon began, trying to keep the tone light. "Don't Patty Hearst me, okay? If you can't talk freely, I want you to say you like Moz better than The Smiths." "I can talk freely. I just want to talk to you for a minute." Brendon sat on the window ledge and looked down at Pete's vehicle. "What happened then? Why did you go?" Pete sounded so small, so young for a moment that Brendon almost forgot who was the master and who was the pet. "I can't talk about that right now. I just want you to know it was something I had to do. I didn't have a choice." Brendon wasn't lying, per se. He didn't have a choice, but he could have told Pete he was leaving. "Where are you right now? I know you're not in that apartment you were staying in anymore. Can I come to you?" Pete stepped out of the car and Brendon watched Ryan follow him out. There was a gasp beside him and Brendon was almost shocked to hear it come from Spencer. His entire face had gone pale. "Hold on." Brendon covered the mouthpiece of the phone and turned to look at Spencer. "Are you okay?" Spencer just shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand. "Does he want to meet? Try to set up a meeting and make sure he brings Ryan." Brendon raised his eyebrows because Ryan was still too new to be in the binder; there was no way Spencer could know who he was if Tom was really dead. "You don't want Ryan here." "I do, though." Spencer nodded, still looking down at the boy standing with Pete. "No, you don't. He killed Nick, and I'm pretty sure he killed Tom, and I don't even know who else because this is out of hand. He can't. I don't think he can feel things for anyone." Brendon made sure his hand was tightly over the mouthpiece, not allowing any of the sound in. "He can feel things, trust me." Spencer crossed his arms and gave Brendon the look that Brendon had come to associate with Jon and Gabe disappearing into the bathroom right before they had an important meeting. After the important meetings, Spencer would usually join them. "Yes, we want to meet. I mean, I want to meet you. And Ryan. Can you bring Ryan?" Brendon still wasn't sure about this. Brendon had no doubt that it would lead to certain death for all of them. "Yes, I can bring Ryan. Where are we meeting? I'll go anywhere." Pete began pacing on the sidewalk. "Where?" Brendon turned and whispered to Spencer. "The pizza place on the dining concourse of Grand Central." Spencer set his jaw. "Tell him if I so much as see anyone else on his team in there, he's dead where he stands." "Okay, Pete? There's a pizza place on the dining concourse of Grand Central Station. We're going to meet there and it's going to just be you and Ryan, right?" Brendon tried to take a deep breath but he found that his chest was tight. "Are you coming with someone?" Pete began making hand signals to the rest of the convoy of vehicles. "Yes, I'll have people with me." Brendon looked around the room. He knew it was going to be time soon and he knew he was likely going to have to make some concessions. "I'll have two people with me. You can bring Ryan and anyone but a Hushie. I don't want someone getting trigger-happy." "That's all I can bring?" Pete looked around, probably trying to determine who could go with him for this. "I'm bringing two people and neither of them are sharpshooters." Brendon folded his arms. It was time for him to take his stand. "I don't want to see this end badly for anyone, Pete." "All right. I'm going to bring Bill and Ryan." Pete turned to face the building Brendon was in, momentarily worrying Brendon that he'd somehow found out their position. "I. You'll explain it to me then?" "I'll explain as much as I can. You have twenty minutes to get there." Brendon flipped the phone shut and looked back at Spencer and Patrick. "We're going in." "What about me?" Gabe piped up from his spot at the other window. "You're not going in there without me." "Yes, Gabe, we are. I don't want to break my word to Pete and I don't." Brendon stopped there, chewing his lower lip before walking over. He hesitated a moment before touching his lips to Gabe's. "I don't want you doing something stupid to try to save my applebottom." Anything anyone said after that was lost on Gabe, who was staring at Brendon, making actual fingerhearts. "Jon, you stay here with him and Joe. You let us know right away if anyone, and I mean anyone, steps out of those cars." Patrick tuned their transmitters to the same frequency as the receivers while Spencer wrapped a hand around the back of Jon's neck and pulled him in for a harsh kiss. "Patrick? Any chance of you letting me send you into battle that way?" Joe wriggled his eyebrows and Brendon couldn't do anything but laugh. Patrick joined in and Joe frowned slightly. "Man, I was just trying to give you some good luck." "They don't need luck." Jon shook his head and kissed Spencer once more. "I want to know everything from the time you enter Grand Central, to the time you meet up with Pete." He slid his fingers through Spencer's belt loops and Brendon had to look away. Private moments were private moments no matter how you dressed them up. "We've got Cash and Marshall checking out the perimeter of the building and we're getting reports back from them every five minutes. Singer is inside at the Starbucks by 37. He's going to keep an eye on the entrance to the dining concourse on that end." Joe recovered quickly from his pouting to pull out his phone and check the status. "You guys should be getting out there anyway. I don't want him getting suspicious." "All right, guys. Good waffles." It was the first time Brendon got a chance to say it and he smiled at the sound of it. "I've got a good feeling about this, too." Brendon willed the good feeling to last with him when he found out they had to take the stairs down fifteen flights. He recognized the lobby of the building and tried to figure out the best way to get into Grand Central. Avoidance of detection was key. "Okay, we're going in." Brendon went to the entrance and walked in. It wasn't as crowded as he would've liked for cover but it would have to do. He walked down the concourse and held his breath. As long as Spencer and Patrick were with him, he'd be safe. "The pizza place," Brendon mumbled, under his breath. "We have to get there." "We're not that far from it. I promise," Spencer said, leading Brendon down the hall and pulling him down a ramp. All of a sudden, Brendon found himself in front of the pizza place and he saw Pete sitting with Bill and Ryan. For a moment, Brendon wasn't sure what was going on. He saw Ryan's eyes widen and the way Spencer took a step back from the group. "Brendon?" Pete stood up and wrapped his arms around Brendon, crushing him into a hug. "I've missed you." Pete buried his face in Brendon's neck, inhaling deeply. "Pete, we." Brendon paused and took a step back. He had no idea how to tell Pete that they had to talk about how Brendon wasn't going to go back to Pete's compound. "Maria's missed you, too. She just keeps looking at the door to the hothouse like she keeps expecting you back." Pete seemed like he was about to say something else but he noticed Patrick at that point. "Who did you bring with you?" "This is Patrick and Spencer." Brendon pointed over his shoulder at them. "Spencer?" Everyone turned to look at Ryan when he spoke. "Spencer, are you really here?" "Hi, Ryan." Spencer looked as blank as Brendon had during the questioning about Pete's actual motives. "I thought it was you when Brendon started talking about you." "Wait, what?" Brendon turned to look at Spencer, managing to tear his gaze from Ryan. "Spencer, you didn't tell them?" Ryan cocked his head to the side, inflection not changing. "I didn't know what to tell them, how to tell them." Spencer shook his head and took a step toward Ryan. He reached out for his hand but Ryan moved back. "Tell them that you're not in this the way they are." Ryan arched an eyebrow. "Spence, what is he saying?" Nobody could help but notice the two of them and the way they seemed to orbit each other, but it was Patrick who chose to comment about it. "He. Guys, this is Ryan. When I was in school, my parents were concerned because I wasn't making a lot of friends because of my advanced work and everything. They wanted me to make friends." Spencer twisted his hands behind his back and tried to approach Ryan. "So you made friends with Ryan and he's the friend you had who got too deep into Pete's shit?" Patrick looked as though he was trying to wrap his head around this fact. "This is the friend I made who got too deep into Pete's shit." Spencer managed to dart a hand out and catch Ryan's wrist. From there, he managed to do something no one had realized was possible, he popped open a panel on Ryan's wrist and exposed wiring. "Holy shit. This is the friend you made who got too deep into Pete's shit." Patrick took a step back and looked at Ryan. "You're a fucking robot?" "He programmed me to care about him, you know? He programmed me as best he could." Ryan tried to pull his wrist back. "I did, Ryan. I didn't realize you would know that I was gone." Spencer touched a few of the wires before looking up at Ryan. "I didn't think I'd managed to work out the kinks with the time sensors. And I didn't really have a choice about leaving." "Spencer, you left. I was in that closet forever. And I got out and I didn't know what to do because you weren't there." Ryan continued in the same monotone. Only then did Brendon realize he'd never heard Ryan speak with any sort of emotion in his voice. "I powered you down. You weren't supposed to be able to turn back on." Spencer's voice was soft and he almost sounded ashamed of himself. "You only punched in the evening power down. I waited in that closet for years. I waited for 1825 days. When it was 1826, I waited for your parents to be gone at work and your sisters to be gone at school and I gathered my stuff and left. I wanted to look for you. You didn't tell me you were going." Ryan took his arm back and closed the wiring panel. "Ryan. I didn't know. I wouldn't have done that." Spencer reached for him again. "I really wouldn't have. You know? I did everything I could to make you real." Brendon watched the exchange in awe, as did Patrick. In actuality, Brendon wasn't surprised. It certainly explained a lot more of Ryan's behavior. "Did you really kill those people?" Spencer asked, flipping open Ryan's wiring again, studying the circuits. "I didn't know how else to handle it. Spencer, you programmed me to care and then you left." "You don't need to do this. You didn't need to try to end the world to find me." Spencer made a wiring adjustment and looked up at Ryan. "End the world?" Pete finally looked away from Patrick. "Why would we even dream of doing that now that I know this divine creature is in it?" He took a step forward and smiled widely at Patrick. "I'm Pete; I don't think we've been formally introduced. Would you like to get coffee in Portland right before we get married in the Church of Elvis? I've always wanted to get married in the church of Elvis." "Um?" Patrick looked to Brendon for a cue on how to react. Crazy Pete who wanted to destroy the world was something he could handle. Crazy Pete who suddenly wanted to take Patrick as his husband was something he could not. "You are absolutely stunning, you know. I can't help but notice you're small like I am. How do you feel about the Garbage Pail Kids?" Pete had attached himself to Patrick's side. "Um." Patrick just looked back at Bill, who was practically doubled over laughing. "Is that really all it's going to take to keep Pete from wanting to blow this shit out of the city?" Bill turned to Brendon, who contemplated this for a moment. "Patrick is kind of like that. Patrick is the motherfucking man." Brendon nodded sagely and looked over at where Ryan was following Spencer around as Spencer tried to speak through the communicator to Jon. "Is anybody else going to try to take over Pete's place?" Brendon sat down at a table and kicked out a chair for Bill. "Nah, I doubt it. Siska's been talking about maybe asking Greta to go out with him. He's got his heart set on opening a veterinarian clinic and I honestly think he wants to settle down. Mike's going to have his hands full getting rid of half the shit Pete managed to get a hold of." Bill opened his jacket and sat down as well. "It was getting kind of sad, too. I mean, the world ends, there's no more Armani." He gestured at the suit he was wearing. "Why even bother with this, then?" Brendon furrowed his brows and leaned forward. "It's better than sitting home at night. Besides, how many times do you get to say you saw the world almost end?" Bill shook hair from his face and Brendon realized he was right. Brendon nodded and looked over at Patrick trying to keep Pete from invading his personal bubble. "I guess it's time to go tell our respective teams that the shit has hit the fan and for some reason, it rained down brownies." "Hey, yeah. I guess it is. But uh, now that most of this shit is sorted out, don't be a stranger. We missed you at the compound, you know." Bill allowed his generally aloof features to soften for a moment. Brendon broke into a grin and launched himself across the table to wrap Bill in a tight, brief hug. "I promise I'll visit. I still have to get the menagerie, you know." After dusting himself off, Brendon walked over to Spencer and Ryan, one trying to speak into the communicator, the other trying to make sure there was no more than two inches of space between them. "Hey, I'm going to go back, I." "You want to see Gabe. It's fine. Go." For the first time in Brendon's memory, Spencer smiled as wide as he possibly could. Brendon felt a little lightheaded from the sheer brightness of it. Things were shaping up to be just fine. Brendon walked through the appropriate tunnels and took the elevator up to the floor they'd been observing from. Gabe was waiting for him at the door and scooped him up into his arms, holding onto him as tightly as he could. "Hey, hey, what's going on?" Brendon tried to twist and look at his captors. "Fuck, fuck, okay, the signal has been jammed since you guys got in there. What the hell is going on?" Jon approached Brendon. He tilted Brendon's face toward the light as if looking for physical evidence of trauma. "Guys, it's fine." Brendon wriggled, trying to get down from Gabe. "It's going to be totally fine." He launched into an explanation of what had happened, leaving out the parts about Pete's proposal and newfound infatuation with Patrick. Leave that for them to discover when Patrick came back with Pete attached to him. "So. No shit is actually going down?" Gabe looked equal parts delighted and disappointed. "None." Brendon grinned and again tried to slip down from Gabe's arms. He just held on tighter. "Hey, you have to let me down so we can go tell everyone else." "No, not yet. You remember how you said you really just wanted to see the whole world?" Gabe sounded uncharacteristically quiet as he spoke in Brendon's ear. "Yeah, it's why I left. And now I get to! It's not going to be blown up." Brendon looked ecstatic at the turn of events. "Okay, so I'm not like, I can't promise that it'll be fast or anything. But now that this is over, do you maybe want to go see the world with me? We can take our time and see everything." Gabe looked at the ground and Brendon could feel him shaking a little. "Oh, Gabe. You're no kangaroo, but you're a pretty awesome second choice." Brendon wrapped his arms around Gabe's neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. "We're going to get to see everything and it'll be there. I really have you guys to thank for that." Brendon gave Gabe another enthusiastic kiss and pulled back with a grin. Yeah, things were going to be perfectly fine.