Hello my dears,
Well, I'm back home from visiting my family...and school is starting in two weeks! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
Hehe, actually I can't wait. I miss my babies. This will probably be the last chapter of Glass until after school starts (and of course I left you with...a cliffie! Bwahahahahahaha!), but I will be hard at work when I have the time. Also going to try and get the next few chapters of Dakota Noir out sometime soon, if anyone happens to be reading that as well.
Thanks, as always, to Cypher...'cause he's cool like that.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners and creators of Static Shock, and humbly ask that they do not sue me. It's all in good fun, no?
There were many reasons Static had chosen the TynaCorp building as his headquarters when he had taken over Dakota. City Hall might have been more luxurious; Alva Industries would have had a ring of poetic justice; the Dakota Mall would have just been fun…but the TynaCorp building had advantages that none of the other buildings in the city could match. The central location and positioning of the surrounding buildings had made it defensible. The security system was top-notch and the building's generators provided all the power they needed. The sheer number of offices and conference rooms had been a plus, too.
Over the years, the gang had gravitated to the upper levels for living quarters. The lower levels, with their more numerous conference rooms and sprawling floor plans, had come to be used for a variety of communal purposes. There was the 'entertainment lounge', into which various gang members had dragged TV's, video games, and even an air hockey table. There was the 'dining room,' where everyone tended to take their meals, finding the actual cafeteria a rather unpleasant place to be after a few of Static's….projects. Perhaps most important, though, was the 'infirmary.'
It had started life as one of the smaller conference rooms on the third floor of the building…about the size of a typical classroom. There hadn't been anything particularly distinctive about it, save its proximity to the elevators and the restrooms. It had just…become the place they congregated when there were injuries to take care of. Over time, a half a dozen army cots had been dragged in and set up along the walls. The industrial cabinets left behind had become a catch-all for the bandages, medicines, and antibiotics they had managed to scavenge. It wasn't a medical facility by any stretch of the imagination…but it served their needs.
By the time Talon made it to the infirmary, sporting a newly singed wing courtesy of a lucky shot by Hotstreak, almost their entire roster was present. She and Puff had managed to cover their retreat back into the safety of the building, but the only one who had really escaped injury was Onyx. Talon had sent him to lockdown the building and hunt out Nightingale and Deimos while she went to attend to her own wounds and get a head count of casualties. Taking in the scene before her, Talon could tell Static was going not going to be pleased.
Puff was the only one really moving about, flying from bed to bed. One by one, Talon took stock of the others present, her frown growing deeper by the moment. Mirage had gone down at AquaMaria's hands almost as soon as she and Boom had joined the fight. The girl was on the cot nearest the door, conscious, but only barely. An impressive bruise was forming across her forehead, and a large gash near her hairline was still bleeding sluggishly. Boom had dragged a chair up to the cot and was talking to his sister softly, seemingly unmindful of the fact that Puff was trying to reset his dislocated shoulder. Snake Guy One and Snake Guy Two (as Talon had taken to calling the horribly mutated reptilian bang babies, as she didn't think they actually had names) had joined the fight late and run afoul of Sharon Hawkins and Rubberband Man. Both were stretched out on beds, groaning in pain. Puff had obviously already gotten to them, as their injuries were already bandaged…but it didn't look like they'd be doing anything useful for a while.
"You need me?" Puff called suddenly, interrupting Talon's mental tally of 'the troops.' Boom's arm had been bound up in a sling and Puff was hovering between him and the Snake Guys, one eyebrow raised in query.
Talon shook her head. "Just a little singed," she said quickly. "I got it."
Puff took her at her word and drifted over to one of the supply cabinets, producing the key and opening it to reveal an assortment of painkillers. Surprisingly, Puff made a pretty decent nurse, if one didn't mind her lack of anything even remotely resembling a bedside manner. Her only training seemed to come from watching old ER episodes and surfing the WebMD sites, but short of injuries requiring major surgery, Puff usually knew how to patch her compatriots up.
Seeing that Puff had things well in hand, Talon grabbed a first aid kit and headed back out into the hallway. She needed to get a report from Onyx and find Static. She'd seen neither hide nor hair of her boss since he had led the….other Static away from the fight. She had, however, seen some major fireworks going down just as she had been forced to finally call a full retreat…someone had gotten their ass kicked.
Talon stalked down the hallway back towards the elevators, so involved with her thoughts that she nearly collided with another body before she registered she was no longer alone. Startled, she stumbled back…and then froze, gaping.
"What're you looking at?" Deimos muttered sullenly. Or at least, she thought that was what he said. The words came out somewhat garbled.
"Deimos! What…what happened?" she gasped out after a moment of shocked silence.
The lower half of the pale young man's face was streaked with dried blood, thin trickles still running out of his nose. His left eye had begun to blacken and there was an impressive bruise forming across the bridge of his nose, which looked swollen and painful. Someone had clocked him, but good. He had stripped out of his ever-present trench coat, and slung the garment over one shoulder. To Talon's further surprise, the leather had been shredded to ribbons in several places. What the hell had happened? Deimos hadn't been involved in the fight outside, and normal humans were the only ones who could usually get close enough to do that kind of damage.
"Not here," Deimos fairly growled. Without another word, he snatched the first aid kit out of Talon's hands and ducked into the men's room, hitting the swinging door with such force it slammed against the opposite wall. Silently, Talon followed.
Deimos set the first aid kit down on one of the sinks and stared into the mirror above it, wincing as he lightly probed the skin around his nose. He hissed through his teeth at the pain, and Talon saw the muscles of his jaw clench tightly. With more force than was strictly necessary, he jerked the hot water faucet on and pushed the stopper to let the sink fill. The ruined coat slid off his shoulder to land in a heap on the floor by his feet.
"Deimos?" Talon questioned softly.
"He jumped off the building."
The words threw her. Blinking, she shook her head and crossed over to stand next to him. The harsh florescent lighting of the bathroom made the blood streaking his face even more ghastly, and his eyes were dark with barely restrained fury. "What are you talking about? Are you okay?"
"He jumped off the building," Deimos repeated, reaching down to turn off the water and then crossing his arms over his chest. Talon's confusion deepened.
"Deimos…what? Who?"
"He…jumped…off…the fucking building," Deimos said slowly, drawing out each word. A vein in his temple had begun to throb visibly. Who would…
And then it clicked. Talon's eyes widened. "Foley? The kid what?"
"Jumped. He jumped off the south side…four fucking stories."
"Off the roof!"
Deimos tilted his head, asking with only his expression if she really needed him to answer that. For the second time, Talon's mouth fell open in a silent 'o' of shock. Quickly, though, she regained her speech.
"What…how…why…where is he?" she gasped. If Foley was dead, they were all in for it, regardless of how it had happened. She still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that the kid had jumped off the roof.
"That ungrateful ass is in his cell!" For a moment, Deimos's eyes flared scarlet. "And he's damned lucky I don't use Phobos to teach him another lesson! He's worse than the rats."
Talon stared around the bathroom, at a loss for what to say. Finally, she pointed vaguely at his face. "Do--do you need me to look at that?"
"It looks worse than it is," Deimos said dismissively, though he winced again. "Fucking hero," he muttered, his voice dark. At last, he turned to face her, his eyes flicking to her burned arm. With a gentleness that few would have believed him even capable of, he gripped her wrist and pulled the limb straight. Talon couldn't help hissing in pain as the burned skin was stretched. "Lemme guess….everyone's favorite firebug?" he said wryly.
"Lucky shot," she answered shortly. Deimos's mouth twisted into a brief smirk at her affronted tone.
"Hold still," he said, flipping the medical kit open. "Doesn't look too bad."
"I've had worse," she agreed. With cool efficiency, he pulled a bottle of sterilized saline and a tube of burn ointment out of the kit. Within moments, the burns had been cleaned and disinfected. They still hurt like a bitch, but the pain was manageable.
"At least tell me you killed the bastards," Deimos said as he began wrapping gauze around her arm.
Regretfully, Talon shook her head. "They got away."
Deimos sighed heavily. "Figures," he groused. "Casualties?"
"Nothing major…Mirage and the snakes are going to be down for a few days. Everything else was minor." She gestured to her own arm. Deimos nodded thoughtfully.
"How 'bout the rats?"
Talon shrugged. "I wasn't taking a survey on the way out. Hotstreak and his little girlfriend held us off long enough for help to arrive. We got a few of them, but everyone was moving on their own steam that I could see."
"The other Static?" Deimos's voice had dropped somewhat, and Talon glanced up to see him regarding her intently, before she looked away again.
"The boss had him off on a wild chase…I didn't see much. But something went down in a big way. Hell of a light show."
"Great." Deimos finished tying off the bandage.
"Static wasn't foolin' around," Talon said quietly. Deimos didn't answer, though, and after a few tense moments of silence, Talon's curiosity got the better of her. "What happened with Foley? How in the hell did he jump off the building?"
Immediately, Deimos scowled fiercely. He shook his head in disgust. "That boy's been playing us all along. He got the drop on me. I couldn't believe it. Little bastard's sneaky…I'll give him that. And he's fast. He made it to the ledge before I could catch him. I didn't think he'd have the guts when he saw the drop." Deimos dipped his head slightly, and a note of grudging respect crept into his voice. "Barely hesitated. He caught the balcony on the sixteenth floor and made it into the hallways."
She stepped back as Deimos turned back and hunched down over the sink. He began scooping handfuls of water up to his face, rinsing the dried blood away. After a few moments, he straightened, water streaming down his face. Lightly, he touched his nose again.
"Is it broken?" Talon asked. He shook his head shortly.
"Damn close…but no. Come on, we'd better find Static." He shut the medical kit and snatched his coat up off the floor, flinging it over his shoulder again. With mock gallantry, he swept an arm towards the door, gesturing for Talon to precede him.
Picking up the first aid kit, she did so. "You caught Foley, right? I mean…obviously you caught him, or you wouldn't be down here…" she trailed off as she pushed the bathroom door open. Behind her, Deimos chuckled mirthlessly.
"After a chase, yes. He almost gave me the slip a couple times, though. He even took out Shiv. Didn't kill him, of course. No, couldn't make my life easier, could he? I can't believe the little fucker actually tried to run." They stepped out into the hallway…and froze.
Standing in the hall, glaring balefully at his two subordinates, was Static.
"He did what?" Static said slowly, his voice soft and dangerous.
Talon couldn't bite back a gasp at his appearance. Clearly, the one getting his ass kicked had been Static. The youth's clothes were liberally coated in dirt and dust, torn in several places. Almost every inch of visible skin was showing bruises or cuts, and a small gash high on his forehead had dripped blood halfway down his face. Talon could read the subtle signs of Static having drained his powers nearly to their limits in the set of his mouth, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Static still carried himself straight and tall, though, and those were the only outward signs of pain or fatigue.
However tired or hurt he was, though, it was obviously going to take second place to what he'd just heard. Static's eyes had narrowed dangerously, and he stalked forward, totally ignoring Talon. He stopped directly in front of Deimos, and though Talon and Deimos had both seen such looks of fury on Static's face before…that fury had rarely, if ever, been directed at them.
"Mind repeating that, D?" Static asked in perfectly controlled, moderate tones. Talon wasn't fooled. Unconsciously, she backed away a couple of steps.
Deimos's eyes slid away from the other's, focusing on a point over Static's shoulders. If he was intimidated, it didn't show, but Talon knew Deimos. He was holding himself taut, and Talon could practically hear the gears turning in his head, trying to judge the best way to defuse the situation. Finally, he flicked his eyes over to her and shrugged.
"Foley tried to escape," Deimos said slowly. "Caught me off guard and ran." Static slammed a fist against the wall behind Deimos's head, leaning in close to the blue haired man.
"He caught you off guard? How the hell did that happen?" Static demanded harshly.
"He's a genius, Static. He wasn't as broken as we thought. He jumped off the fucking roof to get away and—" A flare of power sizzled out from Static's clenched fist, racing along the wall towards the ceiling, before it dissipated. From her vantage point, Talon saw Static's eyes widen in shock.
"He what?" Static bellowed, his voice echoing down the hall. "How the FUCK did he do that?"
"He had…" Deimos trailed off, looking into Static's face for the first time.
"Had what?" the other snarled.
Deimos's gaze darted over to her once again, and for the first time in a long time, Talon actually saw hesitation in his eyes. "He…had an inkling that his Static was nearby. Don't ask me how. It gave him the courage to try to get away."
With an inarticulate growl of rage, Static pushed off from the wall. He turned and took a few steps away, before whirling around again. Talon flinched as Static moved back to Deimos, grabbing a fistful of the man's shirt. He let go almost immediately, though, pushing Deimos harshly back into the wall. He stepped back again, and began pacing…short, frenetic bursts of motion that put Talon in mind of a large predator in a too-small cage. Electricity flared around the youth, but it was dimmer than usual, barely sputtering. Clearly Static had exhausted his powers.
Too bad the same couldn't be said about his temper.
"His Static, his Static," the youth muttered furiously. "He thinks he can just waltz in here and take what's…bastard! I don't care, he just got lucky! Won't happen again…it won't!"
"B-boss?" Talon questioned softly, her brow furrowing in confusion at the muttered ravings.
Static ignored her, still pacing and ranting under his breath. He whirled around suddenly, his fist lashing out against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, until Deimos finally broke the tense silence.
"I'll keep a better eye on Foley, Static. It won't happen again."
Static went absolutely still, the tension in his frame suddenly vanishing as if it had never been there. Slowly, he drew his fist away from the wall, flexing his fingers almost distractedly. He shook his head slightly.
"Tryin' to leave….always trying to leave. Not this time…I'm not letting go, this time," Static murmured, his voice almost too low to make out. Talon heard him, though, and a shiver of unease whispered through her.
Abruptly, Static straightened again, and turned to face them. His face was perfectly calm and serene…but his eyes were flashing fire. His fists clenched by his sides.
"No," he said slowly, quietly. "It won't happen again." Without another word, he turned around and headed back down the hall towards the elevator, brushing past Talon. She watched him for a bare instant, before focusing back on Deimos.
The other man had stepped away from the wall, and was watching Static's retreating form with all of her concern and more dancing in his gaze.
"This," he said almost conversationally, "is bad."
The trip back to the underground base was made in near silence. The only sounds were the slogging splashes of their feet as they trudged through the sewers. Hotstreak and Maria had gone ahead with the other members of Sharon's band, and Virgil was left with Carmen, Sharon, and Adam. Ostensibly, they were bringing up the rear and watching the backs of the injured resistance members, and the exhausted Hotstreak and Maria.
Virgil knew they were really just trying to spare him having to deal with any unsympathetic faces.
Some distant, vague part of him noted the consideration, and even appreciated it. It was muted, though, crushed under the overwhelming magnitude of what he had done. What he had failed to do. He'd lost his chance to rescue Richie, had abandoned his partner to a fate he could barely comprehend. The knowledge of what his double planned to do to his beloved friend….what he'd already done…swirled through Virgil's head, making him dizzy, turning his stomach.
"Virgil?" Adam's soft voice interrupted Virgil's racing thoughts, and he half-turned to find the older man had sidled up beside him. Carmen and Sharon moved ahead a few paces, giving them at least the illusion of privacy.
Like the others, Adam was fairly radiating compassion. Virgil turned away again without answering, stonily staring straight ahead. If Adam was put off by Virgil's silence, he didn't show it. He swallowed heavily a few times.
"I-I…Virgil…thank you," Adam whispered finally, his voice thick with emotion. Virgil ground to a halt and closed his eyes for a moment, sucking in a breath of air through his teeth. He felt, rather than heard, Adam stop beside him.
"It's what I do," Virgil said softly. "I couldn't let him hurt her." And it was true. Even if it had meant saving Richie, he could not have sacrificed Sharon to do it. It had been the right choice. In his heart, he knew Richie would agree with him.
He was a hero, damn it, and heroes helped the innocent.
The knowledge didn't help.
Heroes also saved the day. Heroes always triumphed over evil. Heroes didn't abandon their partners…their best friends.
Heroes didn't leave the people they loved in the hands of maniacs, to be hurt….to be…to be…
"I think I'll take him up to my room and then I'm gonna do everything you never let yourself do."
Virgil twisted away violently, stumbling a few steps away from Adam to brace his hands on the damp wall of the sewer. He hung his head, swallowing convulsively as his stomach threatened to rebel. His knees trembled, going watery, and he started to slide down the wall. His downward motion was halted, though, by a strong arm suddenly wrapping around his waist.
Startled, Virgil glanced up to find Carmen on one side, Adam on the other. It was Carmen holding him up, and Virgil leaned gratefully into the other's offered support. He didn't care what it looked like, how weak it made him seem…he couldn't take anymore. He'd had crisis after crisis after crisis heaped upon him, horror after horror brought out and paraded before his eyes. He was scraping the dregs of his energy reserves and he didn't know what he was going to do next.
He let Carmen and Adam take most of his weight, trying to resist the urge to start sucking in gulps of air against the nausea. He didn't know what to do…what steps to take next. He had no idea how he was going to get his partner away from that nightmare. He was scared sick….
And it was all nothing compared to what Richie had gone through, already.
What Richie was going through.
The realization hit him like a slap in the face. As tempting as it was, as much as he wanted to just curl up somewhere and shake, he couldn't. He couldn't afford to be weak right now…Richie couldn't afford for him to be weak. His partner needed him now, more than ever. And he was damned if he was going to fail his beloved friend again.
"We'll get Richie back. Whatever…whatever Static's done, he'll pay." Virgil was faintly surprised by the ferocity in Carmen's voice. Gritting his teeth, he slowly straightened.
"I'm not waiting," Virgil snarled, hardly recognizing his own voice. "As soon as I get my charge up, I'm going back." He whipped around, pinning each of his three companions with a hard glare. Carmen and Adam were grimly silent, but it was Sharon who voiced argument.
"Virgil…believe me, we all want to go back. But you have to think about this. Yeah, we put the hurt on some of Static's major players…but he knows you're a real threat, now. He's gonna be even more paranoid than usual. I don't know if we can put an offensive together before he trenches himself in. Running in half-cocked is not going to help anything." Sympathy gleamed in her one good eye, but her words were spoken with the hard finality of the leader she was. Virgil inclined his head faintly, acknowledging Sharon's assessment of the situation. What she said made a lot of sense.
He just didn't care.
He clenched his fists by his sides, small sparks of power dancing through his clasped fingers. He didn't care what it took, how hard he had to push himself. Yes, he would go back to the base, rest up a little, get something to eat. He wasn't foolish enough to try anything unless he was at full strength. But as soon as he was…
"I'm going," he repeated firmly. With or without their help, he was going back for Richie.
"Virgil, think about this—" Sharon began, but surprisingly, she subsided as Adam reached over and laid a hand on her shoulder. Virgil shrugged away from Adam and Carmen, stepping back towards the center of the tunnel. Carmen was regarding him quietly, an odd intensity shining in his eyes.
"Kid?" Carmen questioned softly.
Virgil drew himself straighter, pushing everything—his own fears, his despair, his soul-crushing guilt—aside for the moment. Richie needed him now. Virgil may not have been able to save his partner…but his battle with the other Static had shown him an important advantage. He had an ace up his sleeve—one he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of already.
The other Static may have been the better fighter…may have been a harder, crueler person than Virgil could ever dream of being. He was not, however, the more powerful.
Push come to shove…power to power…Virgil was the stronger. And he wasn't going to leave Richie again.
"It's all right, Carmen," he said, and where there had been desperate determination before, there was now a bone-deep confidence that rang in every word. "He's going down."
Carmen watched him steadily for a moment more, before nodding silently. Adam sighed heavily as he drew closer to Sharon, wrapping an arm around her waist. She leaned into him, pinning Virgil with a measuring stare. Finally she, too, seemed to acquiesce.
"Hotstreak and Maria'll crash for a few hours, but they'll be back on their feet by this evening. We've got your back, Virgil," she said grimly.
Virgil turned towards her, but any reply he might have made was cut off when a strange, metallic clatter sounded behind them. As one, the four whirled to face the darkness of the tunnel they had been traveling in. In one smooth motion, Sharon drew her shotgun, and Virgil leapt forward, his hands glowing.
No enemy came forward to meet them from the shadows…there was only the steady clicking of metal against stone. Virgil's brow furrowed as he sent a burst of light to the ceiling of the tunnel, illuminating the area around them. Something about the noise was familiar.
"What the hell is that!" Virgil started at Carmen's yell, and glanced behind him to see the other bang baby pointing upwards at the wall near the ceiling. Summoning still more light to his hands, Virgil followed the line of Carmen's sight, trying to figure out just what they were supposed to be looking at.
At last, the source of the noise became clear as it marched calmly into the circle of light cast by Virgil's powers, clinging to the walls of the tunnel like an overgrown spider. Virgil's knees nearly gave out again at the tidal wave of relief that swept through him as he took in the sight.
"Backpack!"
Everything hurt. The insane dive from the top of the building, the subsequent race through the hallways, the fights with Shiv and Deimos…all had left their mark, and those marks were clamoring for his attention. His chest ached, his head was pounding in time to his pulse, and his back protested every movement…he felt like one giant bruise. In another few hours, he'd probably look the part, too. Despite the myriad aches and pains that were making themselves known, though, Richie couldn't stop moving.
He paced the length of the wall under the air vent Backpack had hidden in, arms wrapped around his middle. Deimos had vanished after (literally) throwing him back in his 'room,' leaving Phobos planted solidly in front of the door. The ghost-dog had made no move towards him, and Richie ignored it as best he could. He was most emphatically not thrilled with the thing's presence after a second helping of its power, but he had bigger things to worry about.
Richie had no illusions about his situation. He was in a shitload of trouble.
He'd played a desperate gamble, and he'd lost badly. Backpack had escaped, true, and Richie was confident that his creation would be able to make it out of the building undetected. At the time, the chance of escape had far outweighed the possible consequences should he be caught again. He'd completely blown the cover he'd sacrificed so much to construct, and he knew Static would likely not be fooled again. Still, if he had it to do over, he'd have taken the same chance…it wasn't in him to do otherwise. However, now he'd have to face said consequences.
If Virgil and whatever allies he'd managed to find in this world hadn't broken through the other Static's defenses yet, they weren't going to. Whatever battle had been going on, it had to be over by now. If Virgil had been able to...he would have come already.
He fully expected someone to come storming through the door any moment, to drag him back down to the cafeteria. As nightmarish as the session had been last time, he knew this time would be infinitely worse. Static wouldn't be satisfied with any show this time…he'd be out to break Richie completely.
If not outright kill him.
A chill wracked through Richie's body at the thought, and he swallowed heavily, his pacing speeding up a fraction. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew that was a distinct possibility. Yes, Static wanted his inventing abilities…but this horrific version of his best friend was not playing with a full deck. Richie wasn't going to be able to count on him having a lot of impulse control. If it came down to a fight for his life, Richie put his chances of survival at slightly less than those of a snowball in Hell…and that was only if Static was too pissed off to remember to immobilize him.
He could only cling to the desperate belief that Virgil had been driven off…not beaten outright. Because if Virgil had merely been forced to retreat, then Richie knew he would be coming back as soon as possible. The sure knowledge that his best friend would do whatever it took to get him out of here was small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. Backpack would find Virgil, and Virgil would come for him…he just prayed he'd still be alive when his friend arrived. He honestly wasn't sure what his next move should be.
He paced, back and forth, hardly aware of it and yet unable to stop. The nervous, frantic energy that had enveloped him needed some kind of outlet. There was nothing else he could do…not with the dog watching him so intently. There was nothing to do but try to brace himself for whatever was coming.
So lost was he in the rhythm of pacing, the frenzied swirl of his thoughts, that at first he didn't register the sound of the door sliding open. He became aware, though, of someone watching him. He stopped where he was, his back to the door, and closed his eyes briefly. The door swished shut again and Richie slowly turned to face the gaze burning into the back of his neck.
Static stood beside the wavering form of Phobos. Clearly, he was fresh from the fight. The other's black tank top and jeans were torn and dirty, dust and what looked like dried blood smeared across one side of his face. His arms and face were covered with shallow scratches, and several places were starting to darken into bruises. Richie's eyes widened as a dark scowl twisted Static's face. The other youth crossed his arms over his chest, still staring hard at Richie.
"Leave," Static growled at Phobos without looking away from Richie. The ghostly dog looked up at him, and a muscle in Static's jaw began to twitch. "Get out!" he yelled harshly. Richie flinched back as the sound echoed around the room. Phobos's head ducked down slightly, and then the dog slowly dissolved. Static never once shifted his focus from Richie.
The mist of Phobos's body dissipated, leaving them alone. Silence settled over the room, deep menacing quiet. The other youth's eyes bored into Richie's, an almost palpable anger dancing in them. Gone was the teasing, superior smirk; gone was the false cheer and charming grin…Static was furious. Stubbornly, Richie forced himself not to wilt under the hostile gaze.
At last, Static broke the silence.
"You tried to run," he said softly. Richie set his jaw and refused to answer. Static stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between them. "You tried to get away again." The words were spoken in perfectly calm tones, but there was heat underneath the calm. Richie's heart sped up a little more, alarm starting to wail in his head.
Static tilted his head slightly, still drawing inexorably closer to Richie…and there was nowhere for Richie to go, to get away. Realization flashed across Static's face, and he suddenly bared his teeth in a crocodile's grin that held absolutely no humor. "You tricked me again. You were always planning on it, weren't you?"
Again?
Richie couldn't spare a moment for confusion…he had half thought to try to maintain his charade, salvage some of the plans he'd made before he'd sent Backpack away. Looking at Static, though, Richie could tell that was no longer an option, if it ever really had been. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, searching for something to say…anything to defuse the situation. With each passing second, he could feel the danger escalating. Nothing came to mind.
Static crossed the final few feet between them, stopping just in front of Richie. With a fatalistic mental shrug, Richie braced himself for a blow. Surprisingly, none came. Static merely stood there, still radiating fury…but making no move. Richie narrowed his eyes slightly. What was the other waiting for?
Abruptly, the other youth's entire demeanor changed. Static's faced smoothed over into an expression of thoughtfulness…though the anger still bubbled beneath the veneer. There was a flash of animal cunning in his eyes, there and gone so quickly Richie thought he might have imagined it. "You were trying to get to him. The other me." His lips quirked into the barest shade of the mocking smirk Richie had come to know so well. "Did you really think he'd be able to help you?"
"He's never let me down before…he's not gonna start now," Richie snapped, almost before he realized he'd opened his mouth. The smirk vanished and Richie winced inwardly. "Note to self: internal censor on the fritz. Fix immediately, if not sooner."
"Sure of that, huh?" Something dark and ugly in the deceptively simple question sent a chill ripping through Richie's body. Static's face was still blank. Richie swallowed heavily, his mouth suddenly dry.
"Yes. I am," he said, nary a tremor in his voice to betray the shivery fear that had suddenly unfurled within him.
Static smiled again, faintly, and the hardness grew in his eyes. "Well…guess you're just gonna have to deal with the disappointment," he said, quiet menace dripping from every word. Unconsciously, Richie clenched one fist, the nails of his fingers digging painfully into his skin.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, even as some part of him began puzzling out exactly what the other was hinting at.
The faint smile widened, turning mocking and spiteful. "Been a while since I had a challenge, I gotta say. Guy was good." He gestured carelessly to his own battered appearance. Richie felt the cold spreading through him, numbing his entire body.
"No. No, no, no, no, no!" The silent mantra marched through his head, trying to deny the obvious conclusion this conversation was marching towards.
"But you forgot something, Rich…I always win." Static leaned in close, until his lips nearly brushed Richie's ear. "So sorry…but he's not gonna be saving you. Or anybody…ever again," Static whispered silkily. He rocked back on his heels before Richie could react to the words, bouncing slightly, the strange, sick smile still plastered on his face.
Richie stood where he was for a moment, frozen, his mind refusing to comprehend what Static had just said. Inevitably, though, he processed the words, understood their meaning…and could have sworn he felt his heart stutter to a stop. His breath caught in his throat, even as a strange roaring rose in his ears. He was dimly aware of the sensation of ice crawling through his veins, sapping his energy, his strength.
Dead.
Virgil was dead.
He fell to his knees, his legs suddenly unable to support him, and then collapsed into a sitting position, his hands falling limply into his lap. A harsh gasp tore its way out of him, and an odd haze seemed to drift across his vision. As though from very far away, he saw Static crouch down in front of him, felt the other lay a falsely gentle hand on the side of his face. Dead…Virgil was dead.
His partner…his best friend…his brother. The one person he'd always felt free and safe around…the one person who had always understood him, cared about him just for himself. The person who in many ways meant more to him than anyone else in the world.
Oh God, Virgil was dead.
He drew in another shuddering gasp, this one tinged with tears. His whole body shivered and shook, the unwanted weight of Static's palm against his cheek the only point of warmth he could feel. The other was speaking now, his voice soft and reasonable, but Richie couldn't quite make out the words above the roaring in his ears. He wanted to rage against the monster that had taken his dearest friend for him…wanted to rise up and rend and hurt…to avenge his partner. He couldn't make himself move, though. His muscles refused to obey him.
Through the miasma of grief and anger that gripped him, Static's words gradually became clearer. The other's voice had dropped into the soft, soothing tones one might use on a frightened, wounded animal—gentle, inviting. It was sickening. He grit his teeth, gratefully latching onto the anger, using it to force the crushing sorrow away.
The roaring in his ears subsided and the ice enveloping him loosened slightly, as his thoughts became clearer. Something ticked at the back of his mind, calling for his attention.
"It'll be okay, Rich…it will. I can let this go, too. We'll start over. It doesn't have to be like it was before. You'll see."
Everything he knew, had observed about this nightmare version of Virgil began sifting through his thoughts at near-light speed.
Static's thumb lightly stroked his cheekbone, and Richie dragged his focus to the other's face. A supremely self-satisfied smile was teasing the edges of his lips, even as he spun more pretty, gentle words. Richie's fists clenched into a white-knuckled grip that skirted the edge of pain.
The ticking at the back of his mind ceased, leaving him teetering on a precipice of logic, instinct, and a sudden, soul-deep intuition. He hovered there for a bare instant, his mind screaming at him that he might be wrong even as his heart told him to take the leap of faith. He took it.
"You're lying," he whispered.
Static seemed to freeze, his hand falling away from Richie's face. "What?"
"You're lying," Richie spat again, his voice surer this time. "You didn't k-kill Virgil. You're lying!"
Static rocked back on his heels, the controlled blankness of his features melting into anger again. "You think so, huh?"
"I know!" Richie countered. He was right, he could feel it. "You couldn't kill Virgil…you're nothing next to him!" Richie's voice rose into a shout, and Static's expression twisted into something dark and ugly.
"So what? He's still not gonna be able to get to you. Maybe I didn't kill him, yet. It's only a matter of time," he hissed.
Some small, remaining part of Richie nearly broke in relief…and threw caution to the wind. He'd had enough. "Yeah, right," he growled scornfully. "You won't beat Virgil…you can't. Maybe you held him off this time, but Virgil won't give up. You got lucky. Admit it! V kicked…your…ass."
This time, Static moved. He lashed out at Richie with blinding speed, catching him across the face with a hard backhand. Richie went sprawling with the force of it, the back of is head cracking against the wall. He managed to roll with the momentum, though, coming to rest on his knees a foot or two away from Static. Pain rocketed through his head, and he felt warm wetness dripping down his nose.
Static leapt easily to his feet and stalked forward, reaching down to grip the front of Richie's shirt. He hauled the smaller boy to his feet and slammed him up against the wall, pinning him against it. "It doesn't matter!" Static snarled. "It doesn't matter how many times he tries….what he fucking throws at me. He's not taking you away! I'm not losing you again!" He shook Richie with each word, and Richie reached up to grasp futilely at Static's wrists, trying to still the motion that was pounding his head back into the wall over and over again.
"You're not gonna stop him!" Richie hissed defiantly, ignoring the pain flaring through him with each strike.
Finally, more out of desperation than any plan, he simply surged against Static as Static pulled him forward again. Surprised by the move, Static fell backwards, dragging Richie down with him. They crashed the floor and Richie immediately tried to scramble away, hampered by Static's iron grip on his already torn sweatshirt. They rolled a few times, neither gaining the upper hand, before Richie finally managed to yank himself away.
He lurched back to his feet even as Static gained his own. The other was panting lightly, but as yet he'd not ignited his powers. Richie could only hope that the fight with Virgil had exhausted him. He staggered backwards a few steps when Static moved towards him.
"Damn it, why do you have to be like this?" Static's voice had turned almost petulant. "Why don't you understand? You never understood! You're always trying to leave…you never gave me a chance!"
"A chance to what, kill me?" Richie tossed out, far more flippantly than he felt. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but he couldn't bring himself to play the prisoner. It may cost him later, but he couldn't resist the chance to get some small bit of his own back.
To his surprise, Static actually froze, the dark skin of his face going ashy. "N-No…no, you don't understand," Static whispered, and there was an edge of desperation to the words. The youth shook his head violently. Confused and more than a little disturbed by the behavior, Richie reacted too late when Static suddenly lunged forward, tackling him around the waist.
For the second time, the two crashed to the floor, Static landing on top of Richie this time. The other straddled Richie's waist and quickly pinned his wrists to the floor above his head. Dazed by the impact, Richie lay still for a few precious seconds, allowing Static to secure his position.
"I just wanted you to listen! To see! But you never did! You tried to leave! Why? You came back…you came back! Why do you want to leave again? He's not me…I'm better than him! I have things he'll never have! Why do you keep trying to leave!" Static's grip tightened on is wrists, until Richie thought he could feel bones grinding together. The pain jolted him back into full awareness, and he began struggling, trying to toss the weight that held him down off.
Growling inarticulately, Static let go of his wrists, only to grab the tattered remains of his sweatshirt. Richie gasped as he was jerked upwards, and then slammed back down against the floor. His head hit with a resounding crack, and white light seemed to explode across his vision. The light faded away almost instantly, but something was wrong…things were darker than they should have been. Static loomed over him, but it was as if he was viewing the other boy from the end of a long, dark tunnel. He knew he should be moving, trying to get away…but he felt disconnected from his body.
Suddenly, Static leaned down over him, close despite the weird tunnel-trick his eyes were playing on him. "Why do you keep fighting me? I love you, Richie…you know that. I always loved you."
Then, Static kissed him.
Harsh, wet heat plundered his mouth, with not even the pretense of gentleness or caring. Stunned by the blow to his head, only half conscious, Richie thought he was imagining it for one brief moment. Then realization set in, pushing some of the muzziness aside, and Richie began struggling anew. A whimper worked its way out of his throat as Static ravaged his mouth, and he desperately tried to buck the other off. Static held him pinned though, his grip returning to Richie's wrists. Finally, desperately, Richie did the only thing he could think of. He bit down. Hard.
Static reared back with a roar of pain, blood dribbling out of his mouth. However, Richie had no chance to savor his brief triumph, or to try anything else. Static let go of one wrist and his fist snapped forward, striking Richie yet another glancing blow across his face.
"Stop fighting me!" Static shouted. "You're always fighting me!"
His eyes tearing from the pain of the strike, and the strike itself, Richie could only shake his head vaguely. He thrashed under the other boy weakly, spots starting to swim across his vision. Static snarled aloud and punched him again, this time aiming for his ribs, just above where Static straddled his waist. The breath left Richie's lungs in a violent whoosh, and the spots grew larger.
Dimly, Richie saw Static raise his fist again, and this time a halo of blue light sputtered into existence around his hand. Gasping for breath, pain pounding through every nerve, and his vision already going dark, Richie felt a last, fatalistic smile stretch his mouth. He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow that would finally kill him.
"Sorry, V…God, so sorry."
He felt power thrumming along his skin as Static's electrical field flared. Despite himself, he winced at the sting of it...silently bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming.
The blow didn't land. There was a harsh gasp from above him…and abruptly, the weight pinning him to the floor was gone. His breathing eased almost instantly, and he forced his eyes open to find Static standing over him. The spots were still wavering across his sight…but for a moment he thought he saw an expression of pure horror on Static's face. It passed quickly, though…and Static backed away from him, leaving him lying on the floor.
Confusion bloomed in Richie as Static turned on his heel, striding out of the room without even a backward glance. The door slid shut behind him…and Richie was left alone. He lay where he was, waiting for the other to come back, to finish him off. Minutes passed, though, and Static did not return. Slowly, it dawned on Richie that he wasn't going to.
He hitched himself over onto his side, pain scorching through him. Even that simple movement left him dizzy and lightheaded, the spots threatening to totally black out his vision for a few heartbeats. He curled in on himself, what felt like every muscle in his body trembling. Blood still leaked sluggishly from his nose, and the dizziness wouldn't abate fully. He lay there, staring at the floor under his cheek without really seeing it. With an effort, he lifted one hand to his mouth, and suddenly squeezed his eyes shut, nausea rushing through him. He sucked in a harsh breath through his clenched teeth, and exhaled shakily.
"Virg is coming…he is. Just gotta hang on. Come up with a new plan and hang on, Foley. Just hang on."
He just had to hang on.