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maccreadysbaby · 2 months ago

Text

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: violence?

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

valor -- woke up today and chose violence

ALSO THE DBH AU IS OUT I KINDA AM OBSESSED WITH IT, HERES THE LINK :)

part twenty-two

❝ VULTURE ❞

MONDAY — JULY 23 — 4:34PM

BENTLEY AND BELLAMY MADE IT BACK TO THE DORM UNSCATHED AND UNSEEN BY ANY WANDERING TYLERS.

When they went through the door, they were greeted by Asten splayed out on one of the couches, dead asleep (figures, since his sleep schedule basically didn’t exist before they moved into Redwood) and Koa was sitting on the bench at the dining table, tying on what looked like a pair of green and gold metal cleats. He was out of his uniform and in a bright orange shirt and shorts. (He seemed to like orange.)

Bentley stole a glance to the bedroom doors, and when he realized they were all open, furrowed his brow. “Where did everybody go?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Koa replied, glancing up at them quickly before looking down at his shoes again. Bentley closed the door behind them and Bellamy made for his bedroom without a word, quickly shutting himself in without a glance back.

Koa glanced at him, then back at Bentley. “Valor said something about the library, but they never actually go to the library, so…”

Bentley hummed in acknowledgment. The library seemed to be their go-to lie for vanishing into places they shouldn’t have been.

“Varian went to some kind of meeting. I’m pretty sure he’s on the decathlon team this year,” Koa continued with another shrug, pointing to Bellamy’s door. “Is he okay? I thought I heard him ask to go to the nurse earlier.”

Bentley glanced back at Bellamy’s bedroom door. “Yeah, he’s fine. The nurse just had to empty those little machines on his arms.”

“Ah,”

Bentley glanced back at Koa, then went toward the kitchen counter and leaned against it. “Where are you going?”

“I have a little over a month before soccer tryouts,” He replied, tightening his cleats until they looked like they hurt. “And I am absolutely hellbent on becoming the first striker this year. I was second in JV year before last, and second in Varsity last year. Because I’m too small.”

That sort of shocked Bentley, because Koa was at least a few inches taller than him. Did students need to be tall for soccer? “What does a striker do?”

Koa shrugged. “Their only real job is to score goals. Which they’d see I’m good at, if they could look over the fact that I’m short.”

“I think they’re already looking over you, dude,” Asten half-consciously muttered from the couch, and Koa replied by grabbing a rolled up bag of chips off the dining table and lobbing them across the room at him. The bag landed on Asten’s face, who groaned: “Ow.”

“Anyways,” Koa started, glancing back at Bentley. “Tryout practice doesn’t start until the week before September, and the field is fair game until then. So I’m going to practice.”

Bentley didn’t know much about soccer, no, but he was pretty sure it was a team sport. “You’re going to practice alone?”

Koa shrugged. “Yeah. Running drills, shooting goals, that kind of thing. You don’t necessarily need a team for it.”

Bentley didn’t say anything to that, but glanced around the living area. He didn’t really like watching sports, he thought they were boring. He guessed they weren’t very boring for the players, though.

“Are you interested in playing?” Koa questioned suddenly, glancing up at him and finishing up a fancy knot on his cleat, jerking and pulling on it to make sure it didn’t come undone.

“Oh, uh… I’ve… never played anything before,” Bentley replied sheepishly, shrugging and glancing down at his feet. “I doubt I’d be any good.”

“But you didn’t say no,” Koa grinned up at him. “You can come with me, if you want. I think Varian has some old cleats that’ll fit you. What size are you?”

Bentley blinked. “Oh, uh… seven.”

“Nice. Rumor has it I’m a pretty okay teacher -- I taught Varian how to play, and he’s made the team for the last two years,” Koa explained, rising and heading toward his bedroom. “And if you end up not liking it, you don’t have to tryout.”

Bentley said nothing as Koa disappeared from the room. A few moments later, he stuck his head and arm back through the doorway, swinging a pair of smaller green and gold cleats back and forth on his fingertips. There was a gold seven printed on the sole. “You wanna?”

Bentley glanced at Koa, then across the room at Asten, who (seemed) asleep enough to offer him no guidance. Bentley looked back at Koa and blinked. He was pretty sure Duke played soccer for a short time in highschool. Pretty much everyone at Redwood had, like, a thing -- like Asten and music, or Layla and theater.

How was he supposed to find his thing if he didn’t try stuff?

With a sigh and a shrug, Bentley relented. “Sure. But I don’t want to waste your time if I’m no good.”

“Nah. Teaching is a really good way for me to fine-tune my skills,” He replied, tossing the cleats to Bentley, who only barely caught them. “I might suggest changing out of your uniform, though.”

Bentley smiled lightly. “I can’t imagine soccer would be much fun in a tie and blazer.”

“It’s not, trust me,”

With a snicker, Bentley made for his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

(He sort of hoped soccer was really easy.)

There were twelve soccer fields at Redwood Academy. Twelve, all a vibrant green sod with pinpoint straight white lines, varying in size for… the ages of the players, Bentley assumed? He knew Redwood had younger kids, too, even if he didn’t cross paths with them on campus. What else would the little fields be for?

Much to his disdain, Koa was leading him to the biggest ones of the bunch. There were only two other students out there, practicing together, but they were on a field opposite to the one Koa was heading toward -- thankfully. Above them, the sky was a happy blue with white, fluffy clouds, the sun beating down on them like a spotlight.

Koa was now carrying a blue duffle bag that Bentley could probably lay inside of without bending his knees, so full the zipper looked to be on its last leg. He’d grabbed it out of an equally struggling locker in one of the, like, twenty-seven locker rooms that were stationed near the fields. Around them, which Koa had explained while pointing in various directions, were lacrosse fields (Rockie played that, he’d said. Bentley was pretty sure that's where kids beat each other with sticks.), tennis courts (Summer played that.), football fields (Valor got banned from playing that after he knocked players out with his wings. Four times. It wasn’t an accident.), baseball fields, softball fields, and golf courses in the distance. He also said that the cross country and track courses weaved around the entire area, but mainly looped around the football fields. (There were three. Bentley didn’t know why.)

The walk, which had to be at least ten minutes long, also included conversation about the indoor courts, like basketball, and hockey, (which Koa also played. He explained to Bentley how he had to manage his time because soccer season and hockey season overlapped. Bentley didn’t understand it. He was also salty about some of the figure skating girls using their rink when their own was locked. Vera was a figure skater, he said.) There was also volleyball, wrestling, fencing, and a whole bunch of other sports Bentley sort of zoned out for. Koa also did fencing, which was apparently sword-fighting? Fencing season was at the same time as hockey season and also overlapped with soccer, which Koa said was the most stressful time of the year for him. Bentley was pretty sure he would’ve literally died if he tried to play that many sports at once.

Finally, they arrived, though, and Koa dropped the massive duffle bag on the grass on the edge of the field with a thunk. “Okay, first things first -- we need to stretch so we don’t hurt ourselves. Just do what I do.”

Bentley nodded in quiet agreement, matching Koa’s funky leg stretches the best he could.

“Would you say you’re pretty fast?” Koa questioned, glancing up at Bentley as they did this weird thing where they pulled their foot up toward their back and twisted. Bentley shrugged. He supposed he had experience running for his life, but that was about it.

“Maybe. I’m not sure,” He replied. Koa did the same stretch on his other leg, and Bentley copied him.

“Hm. You’re small. If you're fast, they’ll probably put you on offense, which will be more dribbling, passing, scoring. That's what I do. The… slower kids are usually defending the goal. That would be more focused on, like… one v. one footwork and such. But it's good to be good at everything,” Koa explained with a shrug, his seafoam green eyes flicking across the field, looking greener amidst all the vibrant sod. “The only position I’d say I'm particularly horrendous at is goalkeeper. That's where being small sucks.”

Bentley nodded in agreement, sending a glance to the massive white goal near the corner they were in. “Yeah, I’d say I take up, like, one sixteenth of that.”

“Yeah. My advice would be… not to go out for goalie,” Koa replied with a snicker. “Hockey, though -- the goals are small, so it’s way easier to be one there.”

Bentley smiled lightly. This was just about the most he’d heard Koa talk since he met him — he found it sort of interesting that he seemed to light up the same way talking about sports as he lit up when he saw Summer coming into class.

He took Bentley through a few more warm ups, including impossible looking stretches and drills, one of which was Bentley having to run backwards. (Thankfully, he didn’t bust his butt, which would’ve been vaguely humiliating.)

Right after they finished warming up, someone else joined them on the other end of the field.

He was wearing a dark green shirt with a number nine on the back, and above that nine was the last name Abbott.

Koa rolled his eyes as soon as he saw him approach with his solid white soccer ball, his ocean-y irises staying trained on Tyler as he began to kick it into the goal opposite from where they were.

“I swear, he stalks me or something,” Koa grumbled, moving for the massive duffle bag and unzipping it. “You wouldn’t believe who I’ve been fighting for first striker for the last two years. I’ll give you one guess.”

Bentley glanced across the field at Tyler, who kicked a really long, sort of sideways shot into the goal.

“His dad’s the coach, believe it or not,” Koa shook his head. “I’m pretty sure it’s rigged.”

“I hope the apple falls far from the tree,” Bentley murmured, and Koa shrugged, pulling out two black and green soccer balls from the bag.

“Besides the obvious favoritism, I think he’s pretty nice,” Koa said, tossing a ball over toward Bentley. “Let's start with some passing and dribbling.”

Bentley wasn’t sure what dribbling was outside of basketball, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to touch a soccer ball with his hands.

“Dribbling is just you moving the ball across the field,” Koa continued, answering his unspoken question. “For the most part, you’re not going to kick from your toe, which is what a lot of people automatically do. It’s sort of hard to control the ball that way. What you’re going to do is kick from here-“ He reached down and tapped the forward left side of Bentley’s cleat. “-and here.” He tapped on the laces. “I’m going to back up, and I want you to pass it to me. So you can get a feel for power and direction. Start with the inside of your foot.”

“Okay…” Bentley replied. Koa moved a little ways across the field, turning to face him.

“I shoot better when I’m looking where I want the ball to go, but it’s fine if you wanna watch it, since you just started,” He explained. “Go ahead.”

Bentley glanced down at the soccer ball, then at his foot, then at Koa.

Well, he guessed he should kick it, then.

He glanced across the field at Tyler, who shot another ball into the goal and attempted to copy his technique, taking a running step before kicking the ball in Koa’s direction.

Much to his surprise, it went almost perfectly to him.

“Nice!” Koa called as he stopped the ball under his cleat. “Get ready to stop it!”

Bentley kept his eye on the ball when Koa kicked it back to him, stopping it under his foot just like he did.

For the next two hours, until the sun was low in the sky, Koa used Bentley as a human target to unleash every ounce of soccer knowledge onto like some kind of rapid fire grenade launcher, and Bentley followed and listened along carefully. Tyler stayed on the other end of the field, and never spoke. Bentley was starting to believe maybe he really was just going to practice and leave them alone.

Until it became obvious that he wasn’t, in the most terrifyingly abrupt way possible.

Right when Bentley was getting ready to kick the ball to Koa, a solid white ball came absolutely flying across the field at what had to be, like, a thousand miles per hour. Bentley only saw it for a split second before it nailed Koa directly in the head with a wham, flattening him on the grass instantly.

Bentley’s mouth fell open, and he quickly abandoned his post to jog across the field with a quiet: “Oh my God.”

“Oops, didn’t see you there, McClaine! Maybe I would’ve if you’d grow a foot or two!”

Bentley hardly spared a glance to Tyler (though he did see the smug little look he had on his face that made Bentley kind of want to drown him.) as he jogged across the field, crouching down next to Koa, who was already working on pulling himself off the ground.

“Be careful, move slow,” Bentley said, grabbing him by the shoulders and helping him sit back on his knees. Koa glanced around, greenish eyes sort of unfocused and dazed in a way that was all too unsettling. His left brow was split and spattered with blood that was alarmingly close to his eye. “Koa?”

His gaze came to rest on Bentley, still looking dazed in a way that was sort of freaking him out. His breathing was shaky and kind of stunned. “M’ okay.”

“You’re bleeding,”

“…I’m okay,”

Bentley glanced over his shoulder at Tyler, who was watching them with a triumphant look on his face like he’d done something worthwhile. Bentley shook his head and glanced back at Koa, trying to dredge up the years worth of what Afred does when one of them gets hit really hard in the head knowledge he had somewhere in his subconscious.

“He hit you really hard,” Bentley tried, still holding onto his shoulders like he might fall over if he let go. “Do you-“

“I’m fine, Bentley,” He reassured, glancing from Bentley to the solid white ball that had settled a few yards from them. There was blood on it. “I’m okay.”

Bentley looked back at Tyler, who was watching them with one hip cocked to the side, blank faced.

Koa pushed himself off the ground, and Bentley hovered hesitantly, keeping a close eye on him as he moved and grabbed Tyler’s ball.

“Hey, what’re you doing with that?” Tyler grumbled.

Koa said nothing, but moved for his duffle bag. Bentley watched in silence as he fished out a little pack of needles (maybe for deflating his ball if he needed to?) and stabbed, like, twelve of them all around the soccer ball like a pincushion.

“Hey! What the hell, McClaine?!”

Tyler started stalking across the field like an angry boar, and Koa stood up and tossed the ball a few feet in the air, kicking it so hard it flew into the next field. He then bent down all nonchalant like and started packing up his stuff.

Bentley glanced back at Tyler, who was crossing the halfway line of the field, looking pretty much like he was about to murder someone.

Bentley looked down at the grass under them. If he listened close enough he could hear the water seeping through the earth below, and with a glance up at Tyler (who was getting pretty close now.) he started making it crawl up toward the surface.

“You think you’re the good guy, McClaine? Not acknowledging me, what? To be the bigger man?” Tyler questioned, closing in on Koa and ignoring Bentley completely. “I’ll show you what being the bigger man really means.”

When Tyler got within ten feet of Koa, water sprung up and out of the grass like a striking snake, tangling around his left leg and sending him face-first into the dirt with a thud.

“I don’t think the bigger man is the one with mud on his face,” Koa replied, grabbing his bag and standing up. “Come on, Bentley.”

With one last look at Tyler, Bentley and Koa made for the locker rooms, and Bentley didn’t let Tyler go until they were far out of his reach.

The Redwood Academy locker rooms were much like the school — with fancy wooden wainscoting, nice light fixtures. The only thing different about them was the floor. It was a perfected, polished concrete instead of hardwood; easier to clean.

Koa groaned as he stopped in front of his locker, typing in a code on the keypad. “He makes me want to commit arson. But like, on his face.”

Bentley said nothing, but watched Koa open the locker and shove the massive bag inside.

“He… seems to despise you in particular,” Bentley stated, glancing at the door they’d come through.

Koa shrugged, closing the locker door and shoving it to make sure it actually closed. “It’s because of soccer. He decided last year that he was going to channel all his energy into being my rival.”

Bentley hummed, still watching the entrance in case Tyler were to come in. “I guess he’s threatened by you.”

“I guess. I wouldn’t mind, like, if he wanted to be a rival that didn’t beat me up and stuff. But he just-”

Koa paused, and Bentley watched the door for another second before glancing over to him.

Koa was facing him now, looking… kind of at him but, like… through him? Past him? His green eyes flicked around but didn’t really focus on anything, and he held his arms out with a sort of horrified expression on his face. “Bentley.”

“Koa?” Bentley replied, stepping forward and grabbing his arms where they were outstretched. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t…” He looked around the room frantically with dull, empty eyes, blinking rapidly.

“Koa?”

“I can’t see,” He muttered, grabbing Bentley’s arms in a death grip. “Bentey, I… I can’t see. I can’t see anything.”

Bentley moved closer to look at Koa’s eyes, but they looked normal, apart from being unfocused. “You can’t see?”

“I can’t see anything! It’s just black,” He stammered, gripping his arms tighter, and Bentley heard his heartbeat skyrocketing in the back of his mind. “Bentley.”

“It’s okay,” Was what he said even though it wasn’t, even though losing your vision after getting hit in the head wasn’t okay in the slightest. “I’ve got you. I’ll take you to the-”

Suddenly Bentley’s arms weighed like a hundred pounds, and that was because Koa, who was holding onto them, was falling over.

“Koa!”

Bentley pulled on his arms in what would’ve had to have been an uncomfortable way (if he were conscious, which he wasn’t, oh my God.) in order to keep his head from hitting the concrete. Water exploded out of the nearby sinks and showers, crawling across the floor at a breakneck speed, bubbling up beneath his unconscious form and lowering him gently down onto the floor.

Lots of things went through Bentley’s head: an endless string of oh my God, then the urge to cry, the willpower it took not to cry, the thought of calling out for his dad, and then, finally, a little bit of common sense that had him kneeling down next to him.

The water crawled back to where it came from as Bentley channeled his inner Bruce-ified first aid training (He and Dick decided he needed it since he nearly died every other week.) and tugged Koa onto his side, into recovery position. Then he whipped his phone out (Geez, his hands were shaking so bad it was kinda embarrassing.) and called one of the first people to show up on his text page.

It rang. It rang.

“What’s up, Red-”

“I need Summer,” Was what he blurted, lifting Koa’s head slightly, looking at the bloody spot on it.

“Summer?” Vera questioned, sounding a little miffed. “Why are you calling me about needing Summer?”

“Koa got hit in the head really hard… he was fine for a little bit, but then he said he couldn’t see, and he just passed out. Please, tell Summer,”

“Oh, God,” He heard shuffling on the other end. “Oh, Jesus, okay. Okay, where are you?”

“We’re in one of the locker rooms near the soccer fields,” Bentley replied. “Tyler Abbott just had to show up.”

“Is he still there?” Vera questioned, and more shuffling sounds came. Her voice came again, though it was quiet, like she wasn’t talking to him: “-said Koa got hit in the head and passed out-”

“Tyler? He might still be on the fields, but he isn't in here,” Bentley replied, glancing up at the door for a split second before looking back at Koa.

He heard Vera sigh lightly. “Summer wants to talk to you. No -- just take the phone. Take it with you and go.”

There was more shuffling, and a few noises, maybe a door. “Bentley, can you hear me?” It was Summer’s voice now.

“Yes,”

“Check to see if he’s breathing, or if his heart is beating,” She started. The loud noise of wind against the microphone came from her side of the phone -- she must’ve been moving fast.

Bentley listened closely for Koa’s heartbeat, steady and strong, thankfully. His breathing was normal, too. “He is.”

“What?”

“He is!” He replied, louder. “But he isn’t waking up.”

“Put him on his side -- see if he responds to touch or sound or anything,” Summer replied, nearly drowned out by more wind sounds.

Bentley, having already put his recovery position knowledge to good use, tapped Koa on the shoulder. “Koa, can you hear me?”

He got a faint groan in response.

Summer’s voice came: “Did he respond?”

“Yeah, just a groan,”

“Okay. We’re almost there -- Valor is flying me because it's way faster than walking,” She replied. “Just keep trying to stimulate him -- keep touching him and talking to him.”

Bentley did what he was told, following all of Summer’s instructions until, finally, the locker room door came flying open, and she hurried in with Valor right on her tail. She was in the same outfit as earlier, even with the slipper-like shoes, and Valor was still in his uniform. Bentley promptly moved out of Summer’s way when she approached, sitting on her knees beside Koa and checking his breathing and such for herself.

“What did you say happened?” She questioned, glancing back at Bentley for only half a second.

“Tyler kicked a soccer ball at his head. He was fine after it happened, but when we got in here, he told me he couldn’t see. Then he passed out,”

Bentley watched quietly as Summer touched Koa in several places on his head, before she inhaled. “He has a subdural hematoma. I can heal it.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Valor questioned, settling into the space next to Bentley, crossing his arms.

Summer glanced back at them. “He was hit so hard that his brain started bleeding.”

Bentley blinked.

He was hit so hard that his brain started bleeding.

“How do you know that?” Valor continued, and Summer put both of her hands on Koa’s temples.

“I can just… tell what's wrong when I touch someone,” She replied, pushing her brownish blonde hair out of her eyes. Then she got this really focused look on her face, like she had in the hallway when she healed Bentley. “Now, stop talking to me.”

Bentley watched closely as she placed her hands in various positions along Koa’s head. He didn’t even realize how much he’d been shaking and how heavy he was breathing until Valor touched his shoulder with a quiet: “You okay?”

He glanced over at him, catching his concerned gray eyes for only a second before he looked back over at Koa and Summer. “Mhm.”

Bentley felt Valor’s gaze remain on his face for a few quiet moments, then his hand moved from Bentley’s shoulder to the top of his head and just rested there. (In a real big brother, Dick-Grayson-like-way, if Bentley were being honest. He was pretty sure Dick’s incessant need to touch his head had given him a soft spot for it. It always seemed to help him calm down quicker than anything else.)

Summer continued to move her hands around on Koa’s head gently, and one long, grueling minute later, his eyes flitted open.

He looked around to gather his bearings. His eyes rested on Summer, then traced his surroundings, moving from Valor, to Bentley, to down at himself. “What happened?”

Summer sighed in relief, sitting down with her back against the lockers. “You got hit in the head. But it's fine, I fixed it.”

Koa opened his mouth to say something else, but then a loud, familiar voice boomed from outside the locker room: “You’re going to regret what you did to my ball, McClaine!”

Bentley felt himself stiffen, and Koa looked at the door, an expression of mere disdain crossing his features. Valor’s hand left Bentley’s head and he took a few steps closer to the door, his platinum wings twitching on his back in a way that reminded Bentley of an angry bull kicking the dirt.

Tyler swung the door open so hard it slammed into the wall behind it, storming inside, obviously not expecting company. The presence of two other people threw him off just enough for Valor to get an opening -- Bentley flinched when he grabbed Tyler by the throat and shoved him into nearby lockers so hard the doors dented behind him with a massive crash. His hands flew up to his throat, but Valor’s hand couldn’t be moved.

(He had super strength, Bentley remembered.)

“Get off of me!” Tyler exclaimed, but Valor stayed still, expression almost nonchalant, blank as the bully clawed and grappled at the hand that was keeping him pinned down. “Let go of me, bird boy!”

Tyler swung for Valor’s face, but the hit was easily deflected by his other hand.

“I suggest you leave my roommates the hell alone,” Valor stated, his accent somehow becoming a lot more intimidating than it had been.

Tyler let out a strangled laugh. “What’re you gonna do, huh? Kill me? Beat me senseless?”

“You’re the one throwing out suggestions,” Valor shrugged, his massive wings batting on his back and making a loud noise. (Did he do that on purpose, or did they do it on their own? Or was it, like, a subconscious instinct kind of thing? Bentley was curious about that.) Tyler flinched at the wings’ loud noise.

“Okay, okay, fine! Get off of me!”

Bentley, Summer, and Koa watched in complete silence as Valor released Tyler’s throat, and the two stared at each other for a solid ten seconds. (Bentley noticed that Valor was taller than him.)

With a huff of frustration, Tyler threw his hands up, eyes flicking across the room at the other three before looking back at Valor. “Someone call animal control -- tell ‘em we’ve got a vulture problem.”

And with that (because apparently that statement made him feel cool.), he left the locker room and slammed the door behind him.

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

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