Title: Tremors
Series/Disclaimer: Young Avengers, which I don't own.
Pairing: William "Billy" Kaplan (aka Wiccan)/Theodore "Teddy" Altman (aka Hulkling)
Warning: Angst, which shouldn't really need warning.

Summery: Something happened to start summer vacation off with a bang - but it wasn't the kind of enemy Billy saw coming. Now he's barely able to remember anything that happened...all he knows is that he isn't right anymore.

Author's Note: This story has been dead for a very, very long time. And I can't honestly say I'm bringing it back to life but I can promise that I'm trying. I'm re-reading some of the comics and attempting to get my motivation back. Lately I've been feeling poorly about my writing, but this chapter and the next I already have written and typed up. They just need some editing which, thankfully, I should be getting the time for.

Lately, Tremors seems to be getting a lot of attention. I guess with summer coming around people are slipping back into the comfort of their comic books and all that. Well, I'm one of them so I can't really blame them. But I've gotten a lot of positive feed-back for this story and I'd really like to pick it up again. Maybe after I buy my own copy of Secret Invasion: Young Avengers & Runaways I can read straight through all of them and be like "YEEES. BILLY AND TEDDYYYY."

So, if you like Tremors, then hope for that. And thanks to everyone that's reviewed my work and continues to encourage me to keep going. Who knows how many things would be unfinished without you guys. And I really hope I continue to meet your expectations.

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There was absolutely no feeling in the world like flying. After he learned he could fly, Billy found that having both feet on the ground was almost unbearable. He could tolerate it, sure, but there was always a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he could be up in the sky. Or, at the very least, that he could afford a few inches from the ground. More often than not he would allow himself to hover rather than simply stand; it was particularly when he was in costume, of course. But, sometimes, he would splurge and do it when in his civvies. The trick was actually rather helpful when he couldn't see over crowds.

But actual flying, up in the air above buildings and people, had no equal. It was only logical that the second he kicked off he felt a sudden breath flow through him. From the alleyway he shot straight up into the darkening sky, inhaling as deeply as he could despite the air flying by him. It was like trying to catch air with his head stuck out a window. His hair was pushed back, exposing his face to the open air and he closed his eyes when they started to tear up from the sudden rush. Though he conformed to Teddy's request of not going too high it was a lot of restraint. Still remained above a height that would make him easily visible and even that was pure freedom.

The experience didn't lose any of its thrill just because he was never one for stunts. In fact, stunts just made things less enjoyable because it required concentration and thought about what he was doing. Considering how much his powers needed that normally, not having to think about flying was bliss. The air was clean and bathed him in an entirely new definition of fresh. That purity he had been unable to reach despite all his scrubbing was once again all that he was. It felt like the entire problem had been left behind in that alleyway; that was where it belonged. There was nothing behind or beyond the open sky.

It was usual for him to lose track of time without a set time to reach a destination. Billy had easily lost himself in his flight home and it had nearly grown dark before he landed a block away. Cutting through alleyways, he eventually came upon his illuminated house but fell to the stairs before reaching the door. His lungs stretched and contracted quickly with heavy breath as a large grin overtook his face. The bag containing Cassie's gift lay less than a foot away from his outstretched hand and his eyes fixed themselves on the sky. It was impossible to see stars because of the city's lights but, having grown up with it that way, Billy wasn't really bothered. Instead, he let his mind wander until his eyes closed with relaxed focus. Sure, cold stairs weren't exactly the most optimal of resting places but he wasn't ready to leave the fresh air just yet.

Even as his eyes fell closed, he found that he couldn't focus on anything in particular. It was certainly because of this that his mind started dragging things to the surface on its own. The thoughts were hazy, like his eyes were stuck out of focus or crossed, and he felt like he was reaching for something, struggling to make the pictures clear. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him to stop, warning him. Its foreboding tone spread through his system like venom but, for whatever reason, Billy ignored it. Maybe it was curiosity or hope that compelled him; If I confront it…it'll go away.

He pressed on, furrowing his brow as he reached for those memories and pulled them to the surface, trying to wipe the fog clean. Gradually the blurs began to take shapes, but even that wasn't enough; they were only shadows, after all. There were two, maybe three. He pieced them together like the shards of a broken window. Each one that he plucked from the floor of his mind cut open his hand and he could imagine the blood as it welled to the surface, trying to get him to stop just as the voice in the back of his mind did. But he ignored that stupid voice and he could ignore the blood too. It wasn't even real and it didn't hurt him. What point was there to worry?

And yet he couldn't help but notice that the more pieces he put together, the louder the voice got. He realized that he vaguely recognized it; he was pretty sure it was his own. But it was distant and it was like hearing his own voice on a message left on the answering machine. He knew it was his, acknowledged it as such and still couldn't believe he sounded that way. It seemed logical, after all what better place for his voice to be than in his own head? But the fact it sounded like he was listening to it from the outside concerned him but he didn't bother to think about it as he picked up the last piece.

Inside the blankness of his mind he stood holding it and, as stupid as it was, that illusionary figment of a shard felt very real. It was jagged with a particularly nasty point and its edge bared ridges that got caught in his skin even though he wasn't holding it tightly. He once again took notice of the imaginary blood but the cuts to his hand didn't hurt. They were only mental, after all, and though he considered their significance the urgency of this surpassed it. This was the last piece, if he put this into place then it would all make sense. His gaze found what he had completed and focused on the spot where the final piece belonged; all its imperfections, jagged edges and the deadly point would fit perfectly. He took a shaky breath, both in and outside of his little mental puzzle room. One step forward…two…he lifted his hands and it fell right into place.

Suddenly the soft voice in the back of his head was screaming and though its words had not changed, its message had.

"Stop! Don't do this! I don't…not this way! Stop!" It was terrified and frantic, afraid and pleading…but it was clearly him. It was him on that night; the part of him that was aware - the part of him he couldn't reach. Billy almost felt like he could have gone into shock with the sudden screaming, as though he stepped from a soundproof room into a busy, midday street. His heart stopped only to start thudding suddenly; he was filled with the urge to run but he couldn't move.

"Stop! Stop!" His shouting abruptly turned to chanting. No, not chanting. Chanting implied a spell, something he wanted that could be achieved. Something that he could control. This wasn't chanting, this was begging. Knowing their intent and what was happening yet being helpless to stop it…he had begun to beg. This he remembered. This caused him pain.

"Help, please. Don't leave me like this…" His voice echoed something that was nothing short of broken, then wrapped in a blanket of fear and repeatedly kicked. They didn't care but he hadn't expected them to. They didn't have a reason to - maybe they didn't need one. That little bit of information had haunted him; their lack of reason. Why? Why him? Why at all? He didn't know them, hadn't done anything to them, and yet…

But that didn't matter. His mental cries weren't in the hopes of reaching their humanity. They didn't have humanity. He couldn't have pulled them to their senses even if he could've talked. They were probably drunk; that was why. He hated himself for reaching the answer without even meaning to - how ironic that they had done so much to him and here he was stumbling on their defense within his own mind. A wave of sickness came over him and he almost felt like throwing up; No. There is no defense for them. It didn't matter to them whose life they ruined that night. To them he wasn't Wiccan of the Young Avengers, he wasn't the boyfriend of Hulkling nor was he the boyfriend of Teddy Altman. He wasn't Billy Kaplan…he wasn't even William Kaplan to them. He was nothing. Less than nothing.

Nothing, he thought, feeling moisture burn at his eyes, That's all I was. Someone they found at a party to mess with. Just the words made him want to throw up even more and he wasn't sure what was stopping him.

But he was far more than that to someone else. To someone else he was all of those former things; all of the things that mattered. To someone that wasn't them he wasBilly Kaplan and much more. In a million years with a million chances he could never reach them but he should've been able to reach someone that mattered. If the people that had done it were beyond his pleas then someone should've been able to hear him. Wasn't that the promise they made? That they would never be alone? Someone should have been listening, should have been able to - "Help!"

Billy's eyes flew open at the sound of his mother's scream from inside the house. Scooping up Cassie's gift from the step beside him and rolling over, he sprinted up the steps. Throwing open the door, he briefly met the eyes of Jason and his father before they were all drawn to the living room. It seemed vacant without the television but the mess was cleaned away and the room had mostly returned to its normal equilibrium. Aside, of course, from the broken wall.

"Mom, are you okay?" Billy headed towards her but was unable to tear his gaze away from the plaster. Whatever hit it hadn't gone completely through, but it'd left a decent hole near the large crack Teddy's body had created when he caught the television. Subconsciously, he supposed it was good the damage had all been inflicted on the same wall, it would be easier to deal with this way. Still, he was sure his dad would appreciate it more if it stopped happening all together.

"What happened?" Jason asked, stopping with his arms crossed uncomfortably. His dad was making his way towards the new hole as Billy wrapped his mom in a hug.

"I'm fine," she said, despite her shaking. She tucked her arms around her eldest son, resting her chin on his shoulder even though her eyes were focused on the wall. Billy couldn't help but look at it either, watching as his dad brushed some of the chipped paint away from a deep indent. It looked like something had stuck into the wall rather than simply slammed against it. "I was in the kitchen when I heard something hit the wall."

"What-?" But Billy was cut off by his father's more than slightly troubled voice.

"It's a picture frame. The glass is pretty cracked," he said, holding it up with his gaze landing on Billy. Something about the look in his father's eyes made him suddenly cold. In that chill, however, he was also very aware and it compelled him to step forward. He squinted at the web of cracks obscuring the image, walking closer to get a better view and yet feeling something telling him to stop trying. Once again he ignored it, though promised that he'd consider listening to the voices and intuition that seemed to want nothing more than to spare him pain. When he reached out his hand, Mr. Kaplan passed the frame to his son who swallowed and paled instantly at the sight of him and Teddy smiling on the picture beneath.