A wild, dark mane, smeared gray and white paint, a massive hand, and a set of crazed eyes straight out of a nightmare that had been set into a frightfully handsome face. Simon groaned, eyes closing heavily as he sank back into the blurry blackness, feeling as if he needed to be sick. Staying under the surface helped for a while, but he was roused by a familiar shriek. He peeled his eyes open, swearing at the pounding in his head. Something hot and thick dripped into his eye and he blinked hard, trying to clear the red from his vision. Blood was pooling in the hallow of his neck. Looking up he saw a hulking figure. "Fuck," He muttered, but before he could say anything else, or even remember what was going on, he received a swift kick to the head and was forced back into the dark. The last thing he was aware of was a deep chortling.

Reality blurring in and out of focus, Simon heard the same low, rumbling laughter, but from father away and when another shriek sounded in response, his eyes snapped open wide and he screamed. "Molly!"

Brown eyes met large, bright blues and Simon sucked in a breath, struggling to stand, run, anything, but he was bound by his wrists to a rusty old street light, just like she was. But unlike her, Simon wasn't being approached by an damn near eight foot tall, three hundred pound monster with a club. "Molly, look out!"

"Simon!" Molly cried. "Simon, I-mmph!"

Before she could finish, she was grabbed by her chin and a cloth was pressed to her face until she finally stopped struggling. He screamed in desperate protest, strength formerly unknown to his in each jerk and pull of the ropes that bound him. Suddenly, they snapped and he tumbled forward into the dirt. Quickly he scraped himself off of the ground and stood, dizzy as he tried to reach her. Before he could, he saw a flash of a club, then felt a blow to his head knock him right back down. He felt fresh blood oozing from the split skin. A sickening rumbled, thunderous laughter seemed to shake the very ground as the giant approached. Simon looked first at massive shoes, then up long legs like tree trunks, clad in dirty, polka dotted pajama pants. The Capricorn sign was printed boldly on his pelvis. Upon looking up, he glared at the striking face cackling above him, that wild hair casting terrifying shadows across that paint smeared face. "Well look at this motherfucking butterfly I've all up and caught in my net," The Grand Highblood drawled, voice gravelly and deep. "I thought the particular mother fuck had up and shed his wings! Guess I was wrong! Wasn't I, bro?"

"How long have you had her?" Simon demanded, voice a ferocious growl. "I thought she was dead! How long have you had her?"

"A mothering fucking while, flutterby. Ain't no more dead than my little bro, The Summoner, is she?" He looked down at molly, nudging her with his boot. She groaned and turned her head, drugged sleep a troubled on, but too strong to overcome. "Kinda cute, like a motherfucking pet."

"What have you done to her?"

"Not a thing my brother, not a motherfucking thing but keep her company while we all up and waited for you to fly my way." His dark expression of amusement suddenly went stone cold. "Got tired of waiting, my brother."

The thought of Molly held prisoner, kept as bait by the likes of him for so long made Simon sick, and he snarled viciously. "Why fake a death, then?" Simon wanted to know.

"Needed you to feel the pain," The Grand Highblood hissed. "The pain of knowing that those pretty eyes that float you to your happy zone will never motherfucking open again."

Simon could still see the fire blazing, capturing the Makara home, and Gamzee's mother, in deadly flame. He couldn't argue. "Well I felt it," Simon growled. "Every day of my life, you could have picked any of those days to kill me. Why wait all these years for me to come to you? Why not just off me while my guard was down?"

"Knew you'd be too easy to beat," The highblood sneered. "Wanted a fight, I kept the motherfucking lady Summoner around cause I wanted my bro to come to me, but…" He leaned close, eyes cold. "Got motherfucking tired, you never figured it out."

Simon pulled himself to his feet, jaw set, eyes narrowed. "So you want to fight," He repeated, cracking his knuckles. "Just a fight. Then you'll let her go? Then you leave my family alone?"

Cackling once more, insanity in his eyes, The Grand Highblood spread his arms wide, motioning to the junk yard around them until he faced a set of steep, concrete stairs. "Too motherfucking easy flutter by!"

Gaze following The Grand Highblood's, Simon's stomach twisted into knots. Tavros, all alone, was parked at the very top of the stairs, exit blocked off by dozens of burly highbloods. "No," He breathed.

"Oh yes," Sneered the clown. "If you win, you get one, the other is mine. If you lose…" He lifted up his club and struck the ground as if it weighed nothing. "You're all mine!"

Like a gunshot signaling the start of a race, thunder cracked, lightning illuminating the face of a monster. Simon reached back and drew his lance from where he kept it strapped to his back, just as the sky opened up and poured rain down, soaking the dirt into mud. Blind anger had Simon charging, lance held stiff and strong. He spun his weapon and went in for a slice, but was blocked by the smack of a giant club. A wicked smirk flashed across The Grand Highblood's face and Simon drew back, only to charge again, that time getting a solid hit to the other's side.

Blood oozed from the fresh wound and a roar of fury shook poor Simon's skull. The battle raged on, club against lance, old rivals, old friends, fighting to the death against the pounding rain. What seemed like hours flew by and Simon gradually started losing ground. The Grand Highblood had gotten stronger while he had remained idle, and he stumbled backward until a sudden blow to his rib hit him with a bone crushing force. He tripped over a busted up trampoline and fell hard in the mud. He groaned in pain and struggled to stand, blood running cold when he heard the unmistakable cry of his son, and a loud crash. Sadistic laughter made him see red. "You'll never win, Simon," The clown taunted him, voice soft, almost sympathetic, the way Grant would have sounded if Simon had gotten sick or hurt. "You're weak, just like your son, and just like Silas."

The scream of the Signless echoed in Simon's memory, mingling with the whistling wind as they flew through the air towards Grant and his waiting arms. He saw the Grand highblood raise his club and he got to his feet, standing on the broken trampoline and leaping into the air as high as he possibly could. He envisioned himself with wings as his feet cleared Grant's shoulders, and in midair he raised his lance, stabbing it down through the highblood's core as he fell back to earth. "You will never speak ill of Silas again," He growled, twisting his weapon deeper, feeling its tip sink through Grant's body and into the mud. "And you will never harm my family!"

A wet, strangled gurgle was heard over the thunder and blood bubbled up around his lance, and in Grant's mouth. The highblood coughed and it splattered on Simon's face. "Wrong again, motherfucker," The clown chuckled, producing a pistol from his belt and shooting Simon square in the chest without hesitation.

Simon flinched, but then he roared, adrenaline blocking out the pain as he pulled out two guns of his own, alternating between triggers, blasting whatever they happen to hit. Nothing was sacred, not head, not heart, nothing was missed. Bullet by bullet was buried in Grant's body until a metallic click caught Simon's attention. Breathing hard, he realized he was out of ammunition. He had emptied two full cases into one, hulking monster. His head rushed and he swore tiredly, The Grand Highblood's mangled corpse the last the he saw before swaying, and crumbling down, falling on his back in the mud.

When Tavros and Gamzee approached the junk yard, they saw at least a dozen malicious looking juggalo's standing, waiting to cut off their escape. Gamzee's eyes got big and he gripped Tavros by the shoulder. "Shit, bro," He whispered. "Them be my dad's men, man, I gotta hide. Their mojo be bad my brother."

"You can't leave m-me," Tavros said desperately.

"I won't," Gamzee promised. "I'll sneak the mother fuck around and surprise them, I won't leave you, bro."

Reassured, Tavros rolled forward, arriving at the gate as Gamzee hid. A whimper escaped Tavros' throat as the band of clowns closed ranks around him, leaving a steep flight of concrete stairs as his only escape. Down below, he saw Simon look towards him. The clown closest to him opened his mouth to speak once the fight below had begun, but he grumbled to the ground, having been hit swiftly in the head by an old, red bowling pin. Tavros stared in awe for a moment, and the look in Gamzee's eyes said he'd be protected no matter what. As long as Gamzee was there, he'd be safe. His heart sputtered in his chest and he smiled, but it was gone as quick as it came. On instinct, he pulled out his lance-dagger from his shirt pocket and threw it, nailing another clown in the head with its hilt. The clown had been about to hit Gamzee. Grinning, Gamzee retrieved the dagger and returned to Tavros, standing right behind him. Back to back, right there at the top of the stairs, the teens fought a battle all their own. Tavros had never been in a real fight before, not in his entire life, but Gamzee fought with natural skill, covering Tav's every weakness and encouraging him to realize his strengths.

After a long, scary, and rain soaked fight, every one of The Grand Highblood's followers lay out cold. Tavros looked down at the fight going on below and panicked, Simon was losing ground fast. "H-how are we gonna get down?" Tavros stammered. As soon as the question left his lips, he cried out, seeing Simon get beat right in the head with a massive club. The man fell into the mud. In the same second, Tavros felt weight on the back of his chair, and then he was screaming, white knuckled grip on his arm rests as Gamzee skidded down the stairs on his wheels. When they hit the ground there was a monstrous crash but Gamzee's arms locked around Tavros, ripping him free of the chair just in time and both of them tumbled forward in the soggy dirt. Tavros cracked his eye open, stinging cuts scattered along his body and across his face. Gamzee opened his mouth to speak, but then his indigo eyes went wide and he looked up, expression unreadable, and pointed. Tavros looked up as well just in time to see Simon literally soar through the air, coming down with one mighty thrust of his lance.

A tortured, honking scream had Tavros turning frantically back towards Gamzee, seeing the look of horror take over his eyes. Then, Tavros heard the gun shot. He looked back at the fight, seeing Simon flinch, eyes, for just a moment, wide with shock. As if the bullet in him somehow gave him strength, Simon pulled out his own hidden pistols and shot The Grand Highblood over and over again until finally, his guns clicked, empty all ammunition. Tavros could only watch, horrified as his father swayed, falling backwards into the mud once again. "Dad!" He cried, fighting to move, but stuck in Gamzee's iron grasp. "Gamzee, let go," He pleased. "W-we have to… get up… Dad!"

Simon didn't stir, and Gamzee's arms were hard and still like stone, but in his desperation he wriggled free, looking between his distraught friend and his fallen father with agony in his eyes. "G-Gamzee," He pleased, tears even spilled down his face but Gamzee remained unresponsive. He had no choice, he had to get to Simon on his own. Pushing off of the ground, he sat up as well as he could, screaming at himself, fighting to move, needing his legs to respond. "Get up," He choked, struggling against his own paralysis. He clawed at his legs, feeling the faint hint of a sting, slowly growing stronger. He was forcing his legs to feel. "Get up!"

Tavros got as far as his knees and attempted to crawl, but he fall face first in the sodden earth and he cursed in frustration. All he could do was reach out and drag himself forward. He simply had to move, and he continued until he heard a choked, feminine sob. "Tavros?"

His head snapped up and he met blue eyes, the prettiest eyes he's ever seen. He felt a tremble and he swallowed hard. "Mom?"

She struggled against the ropes that bound her wrists, as desperate to get to her kid as he was to get to her. "I'm right here, sweetie," She said. "Come on, I'm right here."

He forced himself a little farther and took molly in his arms, struggling into a sitting position so he could hug her properly. She laid her head on his and he felt her tears. Once he had her untied, she cupped his face in both hands, wiping away some of the mud that covered it. "My baby, oh my god," She whispered, looking into his eyes. "Tavros you're so big and so handsome I-"

"W-what did he do to you?" Tavros asked, clinging to her.

"Nothing, sweetie," She murmured, stroking his cheek. "He's held me here for years, but he's never harmed me. I promise, I'm alright."

"B-but," Tavros stuttered, turning his head. "But Dad…"

Her eyes grew wide and she sat up straighter, seeing Simon and Grant both laying still. "Oh no," She said, picking herself up. "Tavros, come on, you have to help me carry him."

Molly started to walk towards the fallen men but paused when she realized that she wasn't being followed. "Tavros?"

"M-mom I…" He looked down at his legs, beginning to sob. "Mom I c-c-can't… I can't walk."

Pain flashed in her eyes and she knelt down by Simon. "He's alive," She announced. "But he's bleeding really badly. We need to get him out of this filthy place."

"Gamzee," Tavros recalled, looking back. "Gamzee! Gamzee, I need you," He begged. "Please snap out of it, I need your help!"

As if in a trance, Gamzee stood, dragging his feet as he approached Simon. His face was blank beneath smeared face paint, his eyes were dark and emotionless, but he lifted Simon from the mud, helping to carry him to safety. Gamzee said nothing as they all loaded into the car. He and Molly both helped Tavros, half carrying and half dragging as his feet shuffled weakly along. He was unable to support his weight, but he was moving. He was so worried though that he didn't even care. The whole car ride was silent as they rushed to the hospital, and the last thing he remembered was crying, distraught, but warm in his mother's arms.