((Hello, Angel Allen here! Thank you all for reading so far into this story, I hope you're enjoying, and I hope you like this chapter. Unfortunately I will be putting this story on hold for about a month I a half, because november is National Writing Month and I have been pestered to write an original novel within that month. I'm gonna try, and for those who want it I'll provide a link to the hopefully finished product then, but for now, goodbye!))
When their eyes met Tavros felt dizzy and lost. Then Summoner was real, not just a bunch of stories, but history. His father's history. "D-Dad," Tavros breathed, feeling faint. "Dad, you're… The Summoner's been you all alone? H-he… you're real!"
"Tavros," Simon said slowly, gently, careful not to say anything to upset his son more. "The Summoner… I didn't want you to find out this way, maybe when you got older I would have…" Simon trailed off when Tavros' eyes filled with tears. "Tavros…"
"All those stories, all th-those great things you… you did for people… why wouldn't you tell me? Why would you lie about being a hero?"
Tavros' voice broke and Simon's heart did the same. "Tavros I didn't want to scare you, the mafia is a dangerous thing, all risk, when you were born I… I just wanted you to be safe from all of that. I have enemies Tavros. I quit because you were more important."
"But you went back," Tavros cried, gesturing angrily at his clothes. "You, you c-could have just… just told me then!"
"You're seventeen," Simon said firmly. "You shouldn't have to be worrying about gang activity!"
"What about the other heroes?" Tavros demanded. "The Grand Highblood and The Signless?"
"The Signless, Silas Vantas, has been dead for twenty four years now."
There was pain in Simon's voice, so Tavros lowered his. "How did he die?"
"The Grand Highblood… Changed, he took a turn for the worst, and Silas paid for it." Simon looked down. "The highblood and I broke apart after that, the lower ranked gang members picked sides, and we've been fighting ever since. Even after I left, the kept fighting."
Tavros paused, feeling a frightened chill settle in his core. "Who is The Grand Highblood, Dad?"
Simon's voice was thick with emotion. "Grant Makara."
"Makara?" Tavros screamed, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Gamzee's father is an evil mafia boss?"
"I'm a mafia boss too, Tavros, now calm down. He-"
"Is that why Gamzee's been abused all his life?" Tavros wanted to know, voice braking again. "Because… B-because is Dad is some demented psycho?" Tavros glared through his tears. "Dad, you knew, didn't you? Y-you're a hero, dammit! Gamzee was hurting and you could have stopped it!"
"You think I didn't try? This problem is much bigger than just pain and hurt, Tavros. It's too big for a guy like me to handle, alright? I'm not a hero anymore!"
"Yes you are!" He cried. "Look at yourself! You're the only one who could handle it!"
Simon put a hand on his shoulder but he jerked away, struggling to turn his chair around ad retreat. "Tavros," Simon begged, hating to see his kid having such trouble. "Just let me help."
"Leave me alone!"
The sting of Tavros' anger was like a blade in Simon's heart, and the pain radiated off of him in chilling waves, but Tavros had to get away. He quickly hid in his bedroom; unable to believe Simon had lied to him for so many years. He didn't truly blame Simon for Gamzee's horrific upbringing, how could he? But still, Tavros was sure that if Simon had never left the mafia, he would have been able to stop Grant from causing so much pain. He thought about the look in Gamzee's eyes when they woke so close together, and the way he had looked just hours ago, leaning in closer. Gamzee was so gentle, so affectionate, and so selfless; Tavros couldn't imagine how anyone could scrape up the will to harm him. Just as the tear he hadn't known he shed slipped down the bridge of his nose, he heard Simon calling to him from behind his door. "Tavros," He said gently. "You still have therapy today, come on. I won't even make you go, I know you hate it, I just want to talk."
But Tavros didn't want to talk, and he didn't hate his therapy. When he pressed his fingertips against his upper leg, he could feel it. He had to use bruising strength, and it hurt, but he could feel it. It was a tingle really, a very faint, whisper of a feeling, but after having nothing for so long, it was a thing he treasured. Tavros waited until Simon had given up on talking for the time being, and he snuck out the back door, rolling down the side walk and towards the nearest bus stop. He wanted so badly to have another fruitful appointment, he was dying for some exercise or trick that would stimulate his nerves like that again. He missed it, he couldn't stop squeezing his knee. Unfortunately when the bus arrived, Tavros realized that because of the stairs leading up, he was completely unable to board. Stammering out an apology, Tavros prepared to just turn back when suddenly, he and his whole chair was lifted onto the bus by a frightfully muscular, tall, and dark skinned stranger. The man had stringy black hair that hung loosely around his shoulders, a pair of cracked shades, and a black muscle shirt with no jacket, despite it being the middle of winter. He held a box of robot parts under one arm, and had a My Little Pony valentine in his hand. It was signed by a drawing of a cat, and an olive green lipstick mark. He dropped it into the box when he caught Tavros looking.
"Equius Zahhak," He said, reaching to shake Tavros' hand. "If you alert me when the bus reaches your stop, I will assist you in exiting ."
"Y-you're really strong," Tavros said breathlessly.
"Yes, I am."
Out of necessity, Tavros wound up sitting by Equius, he being the only one willing to help Tavros not roll all over the place. His muscular build frightened Tavros a lot, he had even more muscle than Simon did, but he tried not to think too much of that. He seemed gentle enough though, at least in his current mood. He seemed the type that would anger easily, so Tavros tried to make some small talk to defuse the tension a little. "S-so," He began awkwardly, peering into the box of scrap metal. "What's that?"
"It is from a young lady quite dear to me," Equius replied. If Tavros wasn't mistaken, a blush crept past his dark complexion. "She tends to be a bit overly enthusiastic with her crafts, but she insisted I carry I around with me at least for today…"
"No uh, not the valentine," Tavros laughed.
Equius seemed flustered, drops of sweat appearing on his forehead. "Of course. Those are materials for my inventions."
"Inventions?"
"I am currently studying the possibilities behind medical robotics."
Tavros blinked, impressed. "I uh, didn't know that was a thing."
Equius nodded and the rest of the ride went by silently. The bus eventually stopped and Equius helped him out, saying a polite goodbye. He didn't have too much trouble getting to Chloe's office from there, and when she questioned why he was alone he easily dodged it by reporting that he could feel his upper legs, if even just a little. She eagerly pressed the subject as they got him settled in. She told him that because of his progress, they could return to working on his strength. She strapped his calves into an exercise bike that peddled on its own. While it worked his legs out for him, he let his mind wonder back to the sweaty guy on the bus, the fond manner in which he talked about his valentine. He cared about her enough to carry around a glitter frothing color bomb, and she cared enough about him to want everyone to know about it. Love like that was special, it was the kind of love he snuck out of bed at night to see when he was little, the kind he watched his parents share as they cuddled on the couch, just talking about their days. Tavros wanted something like that, but when he had been actually faced with it, he choked, hurting Gamzee's feelings and ruining any chance of exploring his own. He may have even ruined their friendship.
Angry with himself, his face fell into a pout, staying that way until Chloe finally turned off his exercise bike, hands on her hips as she took in his sullen expression. "Not feeling it, honey?"
He just shook his head and she sighed, pushing the bike aside and instead positioning what looked like the gas pedal from a car under his foot. "What's that?" He asked.
"Just a fancy foot button," She assured him. "What I want you to do, is press it."
Tavros looked at her incredulously. "I can't do that."
"You didn't even try," She countered.
"But I can't do it, you… I mean, I'm still p-paralyzed, you know."
"Yes, I know, but we're gonna try it anyway, okay?"
Tavros frowned, focusing hard on his toes, fighting to push past the oppressive nothingness that smothered them. There was no result, nothing but resistance and he cross his arms. "I can't," He snapped, pride wounded, heart crushed.
"Yes you can," Chloe insisted. "This is very important; you need to be able to do this. Once you get past this block everything else will be cake, trust me."
"I can't do it."
"Tavros?"
"I can't!"
"Tavros."
"I said I can't!"
"Tavros!"
"What?" He cried.
She turned around her little tablet, showing him the graph that kept track of the pressure put on the pedal. The line had jumped, and was still wavering, stabilizing at about seven pounds of pressure. Not much, but something. Stunned, Tavros pushed down on the pedal over and over, watching the line jump from seven, to about twelve and back again. His toes curled in his socks. "Wait until we tell your father!" She enthused, squeezing him in a tight hug.
Tavros rushed home, wheeling the whole way down side walked and cross walks until finally making it, panting for breath. Almost the whole way he continued to curl and uncurl his toes, but when he got home and shouted for Simon, no reply came. When he peeked out the window, both Simon's car, and his new motorcycle were parked in plain sight, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. He decided that maybe Simon was napping, or in the shower, so he wheeled into the man's room, calling for him again, but suddenly his breath hitched in his throat. His blood ran cold.
Simon's room was a crime scene, the window broken, glass all over the floor. Large pieces of furniture were knocked about or even laying in in splinters, everything in the room was completely trashed save for one plain, wooden stool, and the file folder that laid neatly on top. Stomach churning, Tavros pushed his wheels forward, inching closer to the folder with his breathing shallow and faint. When he picked up the folder it wobbled audibly in his hands, and when he opened it, he nearly dropped everything. Inside were dozens of pictures, all of his mother, in a house with rainbow splattered walls. She was trapped, tied up and fighting, still just as beautiful as he remembered her to be. Under the photographs was an address and a note, scrawled messily across the back flap of the folder what Tavros just knew was Simon's fresh blood.
Come & play little bro? :o)
The world spun around him. Every picture was dated, most going back years, others just days. Some only went back hours, taken that very day. His mother was alive, Simon was somewhere bleeding, and he had to do something. It was a trap, obviously, he knew that. The Grand Highblood was reeling him in on a hook, but Tavros couldn't just do nothing when his parents were in such danger. Dizzily, he drew the folder into his lap and backed out of the wreckage, hurrying to his room where he had stashed his new Peter Pan cosplay. As he gathered things like fabric markers and scissors, Tavros dialed Gamzee's number. He knew he was rolling right into The Grand Highbloods plot, but he didn't have to do it alone.
As soon as he heard the ringing stop he spoke, before Gamzee could even say hello let alone mention what had happened in detention. "I need you," Tavros said sharply, voice strong despite his desperation. "My Mom is alive, Gamzee, and I'm pretty sure our Dads are about to kill each other. I need your help."
There was a long pause, and then Gamzee spoke in a slow, serious voice. "I'm on my way."
Tavros hung up the phone and he spread his costume out across his lap, taking a brown marker and drawing the Taurus symbol, the mark of The Summoner, on the front. Then, he tore off the sleeves, mimicking the design of his father's muscle shirt. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and on the back of that, he drew a pair of glittering orange wings. The outfit was neither truly necessary or exactly like his father's, but the clothes gave him confidence. He would fight for his Dad, his hero, until his last breath and he wanted to show it. With shaking fingers, he picked up his plucky green hat, adjusting the little feather before fitting it over his Mohawk. He was terrified, fear gripping him by the ribs, but he had to learn to stand up, grit his teeth, and be brave. Simon, The Summoner, had been right on that morning on the way to Gamzee's house, and he had been right in his youth. Some things were more important than fear, and family, was one of those things.
