Fandom: The 39 Clues
Title: Out of the Darkness
Rating: K
Summary: In which an unnamed Cahill begins to find his way back, with a bit of help from someone more easily recognizable.
Characters: Dan Cahill, unnamed/OC
Pairings: none
Author's Note: Not sure where this came from. The idea just popped into my head as I began to write, and for the past hour I just wrote what came to me, and ended up with this - so apologies if it seems somewhat disjointed. The idea is that this takes place either later in C vs. V, or at the very end. In any case, our main group of Cahills has just released a big group of other Cahills from a Vesper stronghold, and this guy is getting his story told in second person present tense. I am actually implying an identity for him - see if you can catch it or not, it shouldn't be that hard - but he could just as easily be an OC. I'm fairly certain that this is a oneshot, but I have some ideas related to this piece that I might want to expand upon, so we'll see where I go with that. Oh, and there's no significance to the dialogue being italicized as opposed to "quoted" - I just felt like writing in a more unique style. Actually, I began with simple textual dialogue, just like this, with no distinction between it and the narration, but that quickly proved to be a bad idea, so italicization was added. In any case, hope you like. I'm a newbie in regards to writing 39 Clues fanfic, but don't feel as if you need to be nice. Hopefully none of you constructive criticizers object to obscene amounts of commas... ;-)
I think I know you, he says as he carefully directs the beam of the flashlight up and just to the side of your face. You look familiar.
The feeling of recognition isn't mutual, I'm afraid, you respond warily, brushing your hand roughly across your watering eyes. The light stings, but you're not about to admit that.
The stranger shifts in place. You detect this movement through your keenly developed sense of hearing more so than your eyesight - his pale face is just a blur, his body just a shifting form comprised of many different shades of dull color. You wince, turning away from the light, as he asks tentatively, You are one of us, right?
You know what he means instantly, and you don't even need to ponder whether or not it's wise to tell him, for you already know that it is. The events of the past few weeks have proved that he and his compatriots are definitely not Vespers - even if the documents you'd managed to hack your way into had been decoys, part of a more intricate security infrastructure, your being held hostage had convinced you of these strangers' good intentions. When the person who's been trying to sweet-talk you into joining up with a group of tasteless criminals for the past decade and a half of your life decides to hold a gun to your head and inform a video camera of your branch, then proceeds to fling you into this place, you know it's for real. Oh, they had indeed tried things like that before, but this time there had been an air of panic, of nerves stretched taut as rubber bands right before they split and snap.
So you nod and reach out your hand for a cordial shake. Yes, sir. Lucian.
Instead of shaking the proffered hand, he grips it tightly and tries to help you to your feet. He fails rather abysmally - the fact that you weren't even counting on him attempting that doesn't help - and you stay right on the floor. As his hand releases yours and he chuckles, half-embarrassed and half-amused, you reflect on how young that hand feels. It's soft, relatively unlined, not scarred by countless years of toil and combat. That, along with your rescuer's small stature and barely cracking voice, places him at about thirteen or fourteen by your reckoning.
Guess I'm underestimating my own strength, he says easily. Figures. I did something kinda stupid a couple of weeks ago... As he trails off for a moment, you see the faint shape of his arm gesturing, as if to by its motion tell you the story of said stupid something, but other than this he doesn't elaborate, instead launching a barrage of more cheerful words at you. To be honest, they fall glaringly loudly against your still-sensitive ears, but nothing beats the comfort a human voice provides. Lucian, huh? We've got a few of those somewhere around here - they're with...they're over somewhere here... Yeah. I think I recognize you from that hostage video montage the Vespers sent off. Last resort and all that. How long have you been in here, man? How old're you?
I've been here for sixteen years, I believe, you say quietly. But of course, I may have been deceived, although I kept time as best I could, and my captors never openly tried to hide calendars and clocks and so on from me. It is two thousand nine, is it not?
Ahh...two thousand twelve, actually. His face has been growing easier to see by the minute as the flashlight's gleam becomes less blinding in your eyes, fading slowly to a yellow glow, and now you see the shape of a grin flicker across his face. You're not that far off. So that'd be nineteen years here, then?
More or less. You slowly, almost carefully, stretch your legs out straight as far as you can, shaking your dark unruly hair out of your eyes. And that would make my age twenty-five or twenty-six. Somewhere in that range. I am not quite certain.
His eyes crease in confusion as he peers at your face from where he stands, about five feet directly in front of you. Something about your voice is familiar too. What's your name?
The familiarity isn't surprising, you tell him. You've probably met some of my family before. Anticipating his question, you add, I'm afraid that I cannot help you find that answer. Some things my memory has retained, but others - such as my surname, my parents' names - have vanished. The Vespers' destructive medical practices have devastated adults, I've heard, and I was quite young when I arrived here - it would've been child's play for them to wipe out all that they could.
But you remember your branch, the boy points out as he reaches towards you, ready to try helping you to your feet again. And speaking of here, you do know where you are, right?
You stretch out your own arm and place your hand in his, then struggle to your feet. For a moment you sway unsteadily, your legs wanting to buckle and betray you to gravity's pull, but you manage to stand firm. Yes, they did not attempt to eradicate all of my past life, for whatever reasons. And again, yes, I do know where I am. Due to the age I was at the time I first set foot in this place, my fine hosts - you wrinkle your nose and the boy snickers - did not feel that it was worthwhile to conceal many things from me. We are in South Africa at the moment, am I correct? The central region, near the Smartt Syndicate Dam.
Now your sight has improved enough to allow you to focus on his face as his eyes widen and he shoots a nervous glance at you. N-no. No, you're in the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Florida - the Bermuda Triangle.
No. No, that is not correct. You feel a flash of suspicion. The Ekaterinas maintain a base there.
Yeah - but the Vesper base was underneath theirs.
That's impossible. Personally, you find it plausible, but improbable enough that you can say this. You're trusting the child less by the second. Is he really who he says he is? The Ekats would have detected such a construction.
The young man shrugs. Apparently they didn't. We're not sure why yet. Branch infiltration of some kind, we think, but we were sort of focusing on getting all you captive Cahills out alive before we tried to figure that out, obviously. The Vespers sure are big on hostages, it looks like so far. Did you know, he asks, pausing to take a quick breath, that more than half of you guys are marked dead or MIA on your official records? And we don't even have records on a lot of you. Like you. I don't remember seeing your picture anywhere on file before coming out here.
Yes, yes. You shift from foot to foot, growing impatient. His explanation - or rather, his honest lack of one - is actually nearly believable, but despite the amusement his company's giving you, you're ready for some real answers. There are adults on this mission of yours, are there not?
Oh yeah, lots. I just got kinda overexcited, ran on ahead and stuff. We should go back to them. He takes a few steps towards the door of your holding cell, from which emanates a watery grayish light. Is there anything you need to do or anything?
I do not think so. You run a hand through your hair and rub your eyes again. You said that there were a few of those around here, in reference to Lucians. You are not a Lucian, then?
Who, me? Nah. He grins again, but his eyes are nervous, and you wonder what he's about to say. Nope, I'm a Madrigal.
Oh. This is mildly surprising news. The last report I heard said you had nearly died out.
Not really. We just went underground for a while. Then we kinda resurfaced for the Clue Hunt - did the Vespers tell you about that or anything?
Some. You step around him and make your way almost nervously towards the open door. Not much. They were becoming more upset then, though they were not afraid, as they have been these past few days.
I guess not. Your rescuer joins you in the door, and the two of you gaze out into the bleak, rigidly straight white corridor running perpendicular to your current lines of sight. So where're you from, anyways? Or did they take that out of your head too? You kind of have an accent, but just a little, and I can't tell where it's from.
Nor can I. Shrugging, you step out into the corridor, not thinking to check for traps. You scold yourself viciously even as your foot touches the slick floor, but nothing happens, and after a moment you lift the other foot and stand out under the bright white fluorescent lights. Your eyes begin to burn and sting again, and you try to blink away the tears that spring furiously into them, blurring the harsh light. It is something else just beyond reach. Perhaps I can recover the memory again.
Perhaps. Yeah, I hope so. He glances up at you, his green eyes swimming with very thinly veiled concern, and looks about to say something, but decides not to. His eyes shift to his feet again. We should probably be going. Sinead and Evan - those are our main tech guys, or girl and guy, I should say - did see some self-destruct coding built into this place's security. We were extra careful coming in, but you never know, right?
True. You're suddenly much more on edge, knowing that there's potential danger about this place. If you know where the exit is, and there is nothing else you need to do -
No, nothing -
Then we should be going. Remembering where he initially approached from, you turn right and set off quickly down the hallway, your footsteps clacking abnormally loudly against the cold floor that's made of some Vesper material you never bothered investigating.
After a few seconds, the sound of his shoes against the floor mingles with your clacking, a steady squeak-squeak-squeak of tennis shoes. He catches up with you quickly, and the two of you walk in silence for a moment - then, quite spontaneously, his hand shoots out and grips yours.
You start, and instinctively begin pivoting to deliver a damaging blow, but quickly stop yourself. His gesture doesn't seem to have been meant harmfully. He casts a partly embarrassed, partly friendly look at you, and you aren't sure whether the hand-holding is meant for your assurance or for his own. Either way, you welcome it. The memory of the last affectionate human touch you received is a golden glimmer on the edge of your mind, teetering on the brink of dark oblivion - a hug from a woman whose identity you cannot recall. Though she could have been any female relative of yours, really, you like to think that it was your mother, for in the memory her eyes are the same shade of blue as yours.
We'll be out of here soon, he says finally, shattering the silence as he drops your hand self-consciously - and sure enough, you think you can just barely hear voices up ahead. Come on - I'm ready to get out of here, aren't you?
A smile spreads across your face as you stare down the long hallway towards as yet invisible freedom. Indeed.
Yeah. I can't imagine what it must've been like, living here for nineteen years. I - oh, 'scuse me. He reaches up towards his ear and fiddles with something, and his face takes on an intently focusing look, which fades into a smile that must be as wide as the one you're wearing at the moment. His hand drops to his side again and he glances at you excitedly. They're waiting for us right up ahead! he tells you, rocking on his feet as if he's about to break into a sprint. Um, mind if I run ahead?
To be honest, you're in charge of the situation here, not me. Go on if you wish. You feel warm, warm inside, and although your eyes have been adjusted to the light for some time now, they seem to be watering again as you watch the boy sink into a momentary preparatory crouch, then bound off joyfully down the passage. You follow at a slower pace.
So much has been lost, and yet even now you feel that so much has been found anew.