Disclaimer: Sky High doesn't belong to me, I'm not making any money on this.
Author's Notes: This is part of a Dark AU for Sky High, wherein Baron Battle escapes from prison and takes over most of the world. There are four other stories that will be added to this.
085. She.
She liked to watch his hands move. They made jerky little movements that encompassed a lifetime, that spoke of how young he was in the random, unexpected patterns, and how old he was in the controlled range of motion and subtle calluses. Royal Pain watched his hands because looking into Will's eyes was disconcerting--they only spoke of the present.
When he was finished arguing with the others, the elders that were not even as old as Royal Pain could have been, he slipped into his tree-shack, pulling the curtain shut like he was wishing for a door to slam. She observed the others dispersing, sitting against a tree and wondering how many would forget her presence and say something damning. She had not political power among the rebels, but she excelled at all forms of blackmail and coercion. Once she was satisfied, she slipped away, self-made levitation boots taking her to Will's door, where few non-fliers could go.
Royal Pain sauntered in, ignored as she stripped off boots, cape, and gloves. It was rare that either of them wore less, hyperaware of the danger even their allies represented. Will glanced up from a tattered album, then stood.
He pushed her to the lumpy mattress they had scavenged from an abandoned apartment building. Will straddled her, kissed her, teeth sharp against her dry lips. They were silent as they went, fingers clawing instead of caressing, though there was never enough blood to satisfy the throbbing darkness within them.
In the morning, Layla woke them for patrol. She glared at Royal Pain, eyes shining with regret, and tried to comfort Will with ineffectual words. The time for peacemongers, she would realize with only an energy bolt through her chest and the stuttering of a previously reliable heart, had long-since past. People like Royal Pain would survive, because they were vicious, and people like Will, because even death would not bring them peace.
They went out every morning, into the dim light and chilled air, feeling as though it was dusk and they were living their lives in reverse. The colony of rebels did not want for food, not shelter, and many would prefer not to seek trouble, either. But Royal Pain knew that it was often only the reputations she and Will Stronghold gained that kept the lesser villains from overrunning their hide-out. There were too many reasons to desire heroes not to, without a deterrent.
She had taught Will to kill and found he had a talent for it. Strength was always augmented by rage and he was in possession of a never-ending pool of anger. Two loved ones had betrayed him in a handful of years and, regardless of Royal Pain's return, he would not allow the softer emotions to harm him, again.
They cleared out a nest of villains who were not smart enough to stay in the confines of the Baron's citadel. The screams and blood made her cackle with glee, slam Will against a grimy wall, and swallow him to the root. She had taught him that all passions were interchangeable, as well.
"Thank you," he said after every encounter, as though they were just doing each other a small favor.
She laughed. "You're welcome." Then she wrinkled her nose. "We'll have to clean up, before heading back."
His parents were the only ones willing to fight this dirty, but that made them among the first targets. Even the Commander and Jetstream fell under the waves of nearly released villains, to the soundtrack of Battle's speech of conquest. Royal Pain knew because she was on the sidelines, newly released herself and simply relieved to be away from Penny and the others. Will had been spirited away in the night, to protect him from the pain of watching his parents die and the torture of being "spared" by the Tyrants.
"There's a lake nearby," he murmured, pulling her from her reverie.
They bathed, quickly, partially because of the water temperature and partially because, after the first time, they never, ever wanted to have to fight naked, again. They skirted the edges of the once-great city they had lived outside of, frowning at the activity within (Battle, she guessed, about to go on the offensive against China). They would report that to the so-called elders, act as though they spent the hours out trying, and failing, to gain military intelligence. She did disable their wireless when she snuck by, while Will threw a small rock through a general's skull.
***
The day Will was captured, Royal Pain most certainly did kill the messenger (and disintegrated the body, so no one would be able to prove anything). Separated as they were by a battlefield the size of the Sky High campus, she knew she couldn't have helped him. But when she heard a shout and realized that, barely visible, Warren Peace had finally arrived, stepping into the fray meters from where Will was tearing about a particularly resilient villain, her first instinct had been to run towards them. She wasn't an idiot hero, but she knew what Peace wanted with her boy.
Will and Peace fought. It was Peace, who was augmented and desperate like a junky ages from a fix, who won, dragging his unconscious prize into a waiting ship. Royal Pain knew Will was alive, but realized that didn't matter: She was more powerless here than she had been back in that fucking cell.