#boys youre so bad at stealth. that was so unstealthy.

[maternalcube]

@kidgeweek day 4: crush. this was supposed to stick closer to the prompt, i swear, but these things always get away from me. still my superhero au obvs. and yeah if you dont start at part 1 youre gonna be confused guys... [prev]

"Are you sure this is it?" Tinkertoy asks nervously.

"How do you know about this place?" asks Shiro. He sounds mildly suspicious, which Keith can't really blame him for. They're all standing in front of a very unassuming house in a tree-filled, green suburb--at least, as unassuming as a big old Victorian can be. The rush of cars can be heard nearby, but the street itself is quiet.

"I'm sure," Keith says, and heads up the front walk.

"Princess says the warehouse is empty," Tinkertoy continues, tapping on a device that seems to function like a phone, though it isn't. "So I guess you were right, but..."

"How are we getting in?" Shiro asks.

"The front door," says Keith. He reaches into the planter by the front steps, lifting one of the decorative rocks inside; the key is still there, just as he'd hoped, and he picks it up and shows them.

"How'd you know that was there!?" Tinkertoy's voice cracks.

And, yeah, okay, this is probably something he needs to explain. Shiro's face is darkening.

"I used to live here," Keith says quickly. "Not in a decade and a half, though. I wasn't actually sure the key would even still be here."

"How do you know The Witch lives here now?" Shiro asks slowly. Keith sighs.

"Look, I'll be happy to explain after, but it's kind of a long story so can we go rescue Cheshire already? And Permafrost?"

Tinkertoy frowns. Shiro sighs. 

"I trust you, Flame, but I hope I'm not wrong in that," he says slowly. "That said, I'm not sure marching right in the front door is the best idea. Is there a backdoor? I assume you're familiar with the layout--Tink, can you tell if anyone's inside?"

Tinkertoy points one of his gadgets towards the house and squints at it. "Well, there's at least one super inside. I can't say who, though."

"There's a bulkhead in back. If we get it open we can sneak in from the basement," says Keith. "...Assuming she hasn't already seen us standing out here."

They all look up at the dark, empty windows. Nothing moves.

"If she isn't expecting us, then she might not have. Let's assume so, for now," says Shiro. "Around the back, then, quickly."

As one they turn and hurry down the driveway, slipping around the back corner of the house to crouch in the bushes by the bulkhead. Shiro tries the door.

"Locked," he says.

"I have a bot that might be able to unlatch it, if you can find a gap for it to get in," says Tinkertoy, pulling said bot out of one of his pouches.

Shiro nods and tugs at the juncture of the two doors, at the base--they don't open, but they do lift away from the concrete slightly, and Tinkertoy slips the bot inside. He sticks his tongue out as he fiddles with the tiny remote controller.

"Aaaand... Done!" He grabs the upper door and it lifts open with a loud, rusty squeal. "Oops."

Shiro makes a face, but he slips down the stairs into the basement. Keith follows, and behind them Tinkertoy carefully lowers the bulkhead door again.

The basement is cool and dark; Keith tugs on Shiro's sleeve, pulling him towards the stairs. "This way," he whispers. They traipse across unfinished concrete, between stacks of cardboard boxes and furniture covered in sheets, until they get to the stairs; the door at the top is closed.

"Let me," Shiro whispers, lifting his faintly glowing right hand. He slips around Keith to stand on the top step and eases the door open. He peers around; after a moment, he gestures for them to follow, and the file onto the first floor.

Tinkertoy looks at one of his gadgets and points towards the living room, and so they cross the kitchen and creep past the back stairs and dining room and through the hallway. 

Keith can't resist brushing a hand against the familiar wallpaper as they go. It's bizarre and, frankly, unsettling to be back in his childhood home like this.

They turn the corner into the living room and find a disaster.

Ice coats much of the walls and ceiling, dripping steadily; the puddles on the floor indicate it's been there a while. The furniture is all tipped and strewn everywhere, as though it's been tossed aside, and much of it is broken; a massive, ornate bookshelf has fallen from its place in the corner of the room, leaving a side table and lamp thoroughly crushed and books flung nearly to the other side of the room. Another lamp is on, but its shade is gone and the bulb is flickering; a globe made of inlaid stone has been knocked free of its stand and rolled nearly into the office beyond. The sofa is in shreds. The heavy marble mantle over the fireplace is cracked. The oriental rug is marred by scorch marks where it's still visible beneath the debris.

An icicle falls heavily onto the tipped grandfather clock, causing a loud, discordant chime.

In the center of the room, within a glowing purple circle marked with lines and runes, Cheshire looks up and meets Keith's eyes. Without her usual acid green visor, they're a bright, shocking gold. Beside her, curled up on the floor, Permafrost doesn't stir.

Shit.

"Sparky," Cheshire whispers, and despite the horror in her voice he's struck with a powerful wave of relief that's she's alive.

"Cheshire..." 

Permafrost looks up at that--he looks a lot younger without his mask, huh. There's fear in his eyes but Keith doesn't think much of it; he focuses on Cheshire instead. 

"We're gonna get you out, hey." His own voice sounds foreign to him, gentle, as he steps forward to look at the circle.

"No, you have to go," she says urgently, but still quiet. "Sparky, you have to leave."

Keith blinks, confused and a little hurt. "Why?"

Then there's a gasp, and then two cries of pain behind him. He spins; Shiro and Tinkertoy both are caught, writhing, in some magical binding, held up by the outstretched hands of the woman behind them.

"And so, the prodigal son returns," says The Witch. She smiles.

"It's a trap," Cheshire whispers miserably.

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