(A/N): Happy Friday! Or not-so-happy Friday, considering the evil chapter we're about to hit you with... *mwahahaha*
Thanks as always to our writers who have consistently been so supportive and amazing, and thanks to TheRaspberryVigilante41 for your review (we also love sibling bonding!) and to Slim Summers2002 (we promise this chapter isn't in Four!) for rocking our review section every time!
Chapter Thirty-Seven - The Right Bait
Ophelia Sarkissian, Alfred Pennyworth, And Victor Creed
Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341
"The goal with hostages is to gradually lower expectations; in nonhostage crises, it's to lower emotions." -David Cullen, Columbine
Ophelia Sarkissian
Twentieth Victor of the Avenger Games
In the Capitol
Viper was in an excellent mood.
Things were finally falling into place the way she wanted them to. With the Red Skull gone — a victim, in her opinion, of his own failings and obsessive need for possession and vengeance — Viper had been the natural second choice to lead Hydra. She had the power necessary to see herself to the throne: the name of a victor, the fear she had long instilled in the rest of Hydra, and the simple fact that even Schmidt's most loyal recognized the authority she demanded of them.
There were, of course, a few dissenters, like the little Demon Head's daughter, who had taken a small swath of her own supporters and left the Capitol to gather their own strength as soon as Schmidt died. Viper would deal with them when the time came. They weren't nearly as powerful as she was.
And, she reflected as she ordered her men to get everything set up for her next play, she was about to become even more powerful.
She had worked diligently in the year leading up to the revolution to wind her way into the newest little victor's heart, but he'd somehow gotten swept up in SHIELD when the time came. And that was a problem for Viper, especially because she knew just how much power he held as the last official victor. She knew that there was symbolic weight behind having Logan on her side, in addition to the massive following he'd managed to create with all of the trouble he'd caused calling for unity during their time in the Capitol. Additionally, he was an excellent fighter, not to mention a much more pleasing plaything than Schmidt had ever been, even factoring in Schmidt's power and penchant for exactly the kind of sadism Viper had always enjoyed herself.
Of course, Logan's absence was easily remedied; she simply needed the right bait.
And that was why she was in such an excellent mood. Jessica's little tribute had proven himself worth the risk a hundred times over with his catch: not only little Sinthea but also both of Logan's tributes from the last Games. And while Sinthea had been a wonderfully willing instrument in forcing a regime change, Viper's attention was on the rest of the captives now.
She'd left Six with her guards and her captives — there was no point in staying in a compromised site, and besides, there was a throne with her name on it. Once she had arrived, she had her soldiers make sure her new playthings were properly restrained and left to wait for her, lined up neatly, with the Sevens in the middle and a redhead on either end. It was almost a perfectly balanced set, though the height difference with Sinthea on the end meant it wasn't quite even.
"What is it about Seven that always offers up such lovely and well-built young men?" Viper asked Jessica, who was standing ready to help, as ever, as she looked over her new playthings. "This year's girl, too.… You were much lovelier than your predecessor, of course, dear," she told Helena.
"Betcha wish you had whatever's in the water back home," Dick said with a glare, though it was obvious to Viper that he was already panicked, pulling constantly and unconsciously against the ropes holding him. "You could use it."
"I'll just enjoy the benefits of what it does to you." Viper smiled to herself before she rested her hand on Dick's chest and smirked a little wider. "And your lovely friends, of course." She stopped to give Kory an obvious once-over. "Sevens and Twelves … such an odd trend. I'm glad it's over now."
Kory narrowed her eyes at that. "You have no say in anything between us."
"No? Well … if anything, your little bird would only be a passing interest … an appetizer while I wait for the main course to arrive." Viper smiled at Sinthea. "You can't be surprised that I'm moving on, dear. Your father was past his prime before the game really began." She chuckled and then turned her attention back to Dick, sure to do her best to make him squirm with the slower, more attentive once-over.
"Try anything and you'll live just long enough to regret it," Helena cut in.
"If history is any indicator with boys from your neck of the woods? No. I probably won't regret a thing," Viper said with a smirk.
"So, what, you just brought the rest of us here to watch you drool?" Sin cut in. "You got what you wanted. The Red Skull is dead. We didn't ask to watch you rebound."
"Oh, sweet little traitorous Sinthea, no."
"At least I don't throw my lot in with useless scumbags," Sin said, her chin tipped up. "And I don't let other people do the real work. When I get revenge, it's with my own hands."
"Why do you think you weren't killed, dear?" Viper asked. "You did me a favor, ending your worthless father. But now, I need to know where you stand. Have you flipped to go with SHIELD, or will you do as you always swore and give your loyalties to Hydra? As it stands, I'm not sure if you're trustworthy either way." Viper turned on her heel and strutted back to the little alcove by the window, where she had several things laid out. "Finding out is simple enough, of course."
"No wonder Jack works for you," Kory said in a venomous tone. "You are just like him."
"No, darling, Jack … wishes to be somewhat like me," Viper said. "He's creative enough, and his knack for doling out punishment is certainly entertaining … but not nearly as memorable as what I like to do." As she was talking, she was drawing up a measure of some clear fluid into a syringe. "You've spent time with SHIELD, Sinthea. And either you've been collecting information for me or you've been turned. I don't have the patience to ferret out which one it is." She stalked right by the other captives, her expression cold and businesslike before she simply pushed up Sin's sleeve and injected her with the contents of the syringe. "Now … give it a few moments to start to work, and then you can tell me which side you're on." Viper brought the syringe back to where she'd started and pulled up a chair, crossing her long legs as she leaned back to watch, reclining in the seat as if it were a throne.
The other three watched as Sin took a few shallow breaths, her eyes closed tight, before she simply started to shake her head. "You have it wrong," she said. "I don't pick sides."
"Come now," Viper said. "Are you with Hydra or SHIELD?" Her tone was patient, even if her eyes were flashing. "Be quick about telling me, or I'll be forced to mix injections, and that will be much more unpleasant for you."
"I already answered you!" Sin shot back. "I'm not on anyone's side. I'm on my side. My side and my sisters'. That's it."
Viper hummed to herself as she tipped her head up, her long, black hair falling over part of her face. "And which side are your sisters on? I haven't seen Natasha or Katherine in quite some time."
Sin narrowed her eyes. "Only because I found someone in SHIELD willing to get rid of Kilgrave's stupid conditioning," she said. "He was a monster, and you know it."
"I didn't sanction his methods," Viper said gently.
"Then you know why I had to fix what he did to my sister," Sin said. "SHIELD is just a way to get that addressed. I don't owe them anything."
"And Miss Romanoff?" Viper asked.
Sin shook her head slowly. "She's not loyal to SHIELD. She's only loyal to her partner and to our team."
"That I can believe," Viper breathed out. "Fine then, Miss Schmidt — after all your time in SHIELD, perhaps you can enlighten me.… Who has taken Fury's place?" She wasn't pleased at all by how Sin was answering the questions, but if she could at least get something useful from her.…
"Actually," Dick cut in when Sinthea opened her mouth, "it's Alfred. My butler. It was time we all recognized his superior organizational skills."
Viper smirked when she saw what was so plainly an attempt to quiet down Sin. "Be patient, darling; you'll get your turn. Let the lady speak now." Her attention turned to Sinthea again. "Sinthea, dear, who is in charge of SHIELD these days?"
Sin shook her head, but the truth serum was impossible to fight. "Logan," she said. "Fury turned it over to him."
Viper froze, though the expression on her face was hard to misinterpret as she transitioned from shock to utter delight. "Did he now?" She was almost breathless and grinning by the time she'd managed to get that much out.
"Forget it," Helena snapped out sharply. "You won't get him to join this madness. The most you can hope for is that he doesn't kill you when you try."
"Oh, I have ways to keep him calm and complacent," Viper said. "Once I get a hold of him, of course. Don't worry your pretty little head about that, Miss Wayne."
Helena's eyes narrowed. "I know what you've gotten away with in the past, but things are different now." She took a deep breath, controlling her anger. "You won't get past me."
Viper turned her way with a grin. "Oh? And how do you think you can stop me? Logan couldn't stop me, but you think that simply being his little ex-tribute can? Is this a little crush, Miss Wayne?"
Helena's jaw tightened, and she responded through nearly gritted teeth. "I don't get by just on Logan's name or any title the Games gave me."
"No, you think being a Wayne is enough," Viper said. "But that means nothing now. How's Daddy Dearest, by the way? As I understand it, the old house isn't what it used to be."
"Leave her alone," Dick said angrily.
"And you're not even a Wayne," Viper said, smirking Dick's way. "Close … but … you fall short."
"He knows who his family is, you snake," Helena said with her eyes blazing.
"It's hard to be a family with no home to go back to, Miss Wayne," Viper said before she signalled to her guards, smiling to herself. This was one of her favorite parts — before her victims had fully grasped the helplessness of their situation, when they were still full of fire. If she didn't have other things to do, she would have liked to spend more time truly relishing the moment. Perhaps after she was done...
"A house isn't what makes a family. Things aren't what make a family." Helena jerked against her bonds. "You think you can break us? Guess again." She spat at Viper, who only laughed, ignoring her outburst as she gave orders.
"Separate cells, same block. I'll see to each of them one by one." She paused and snapped her fingers. "Leave the boy with me. No reason to pussyfoot around. It's time to send the director a little message."
"Do not touch him," Kory practically snarled, redoubling her efforts to get loose.
Viper ignored her as she turned back to her little tray and carefully applied a new coat of lipstick while the girls were dragged out — literally kicking and screaming the whole way.
"Now," Viper said as she turned on her heel and then strutted back to Dick and rested her hands on his chest, sliding them up to his shoulders. "Time to get camera-ready, handsome."
Dick was almost holding his breath and shaking his head. "I'm a performer, not a trained monkey."
"You don't have to do anything," Viper said, smiling crookedly. "Just sit there. I'll take care of everything."
"Oh, well, if this is a solo act, I'll just leave, then," Dick said, tipping his head toward the door.
"I don't think so," she replied, then sat down on his knee, resting her arm around his shoulders. "You need to be in the shot, darling." She motioned for Jessica to bring the tray with her various little injections over to her, smiling more when she saw how he couldn't take his eyes off of them. "Let's send your mentor a message, shall we? Do you have a favorite color, Dick?" She was looking over the rainbow of different vials laid out and ready to go, though she was sure to watch him out of the corner of her eye as well.
It was obvious the young man was starting to panic, because the quick wit he'd shown before the Games was gone as he silently shook his head, and she could feel his quickening heartbeat underneath her fingertips. "Not… really partial to green right now," he said at last.
"We can change that," Viper said in a low tone, trailing her fingers across his shoulder and then turning his head her way. She was closer than he'd have liked, obviously, but that was part of the fun. He was trembling slightly now, and the timing couldn't have been better as Viper saw out of the corner of her eye when the red light for the camera went on. She held Dick steady as she leaned close enough to kiss him — and then started talking.
"I have three operatives that belong to you," Viper said in a commanding tone. "I'm willing to give them back — for a price, of course. Act quickly, and they won't be any worse for wear. Take too long …" She paused here to look over at the tray and then picked up a vial filled with an almost glowing, ice-blue liquid. She let her tone drop so that, really, only Dick could hear her. "Silly me can't recall what this one does — but it does match your eyes." She was grinning as she slipped the needle into his arm, and only after she'd depressed the plunger did she go for a somewhat innocent expression and a not-at-all believable 'oops'.
Once more, Dick couldn't seem to find anything to say as he shook his head, though anyone watching could see he was having a fully-realized panic attack. He was hyperventilating, and he couldn't seem to stop trying to pull his hands free.
"There, there," Viper said, running her hand through Dick's hair until he started to unconsciously lean into her touch. "You're safe with me." After a few long moments, Dick finally started to relax and stopped rubbing the skin on his wrists raw. His breathing evened out, and he looked drunk — very drunk — as Viper played with showing exactly how automatic Dick's responses were to her. "I'm sure that Logan knows what this does — and how long it lasts. Even if he was never injected," she said almost directly into the camera. "But little Dicky is safe. For now."
She took a moment longer to let the message — and the drugs — really sink in, until she finally took Dick's head in both hands and pulled him into a long kiss. And to her delight, Dick was relaxed and unfocused enough that he really started to participate as well, getting far more involved until the kiss broke when he needed a breath and she turned back to the camera with a broad grin, delightedly laughing to herself.
"I'll only speak to your new director," Viper said as she started unbuttoning Dick's shirt. "Alone. No weapons, no guards." When the light for the camera went off again, Viper smiled to herself and pulled Dick into one more long and lingering kiss before she got to her feet and signalled for her guards.
She would enjoy watching the little Wayne brat and the Twelve girl when they saw the state of Dick, with lipstick on his face, his hair a mess, his clothes ruffled, and his shirt undone and untucked.
After all, Viper had been doing this for a long time. She knew how to take advantage of an opportunity to destroy three birds with one stone. And she knew that message would get Logan running to her.
Now, all she had to do was wait for SHIELD's new little director to turn himself over to her, and she'd have her prize — and take over SHIELD with him at her command.
Alfred Pennyworth
Wayne Family Butler
Howlett Estate
After the ordeal of Wayne Manor being destroyed, Alfred was glad to see all of his charges comfortably relocated in the Howlett Estate.
Well, all but Dick and Helena.
And, if he was honest, "comfortable" was a stretch if he was measuring his own experience.
He had known the staff at the estate for decades, and yet they insisted on treating him as some sort of… guest.
It was disconcerting, listening to Mr. Kenneth and the rest of the staff call him "Mr. Pennyworth" or dealing with Mrs. Hopkins turning away his offer of help. And to find himself turned out of the kitchen…
"This is absolutely ridiculous," Alfred informed Mrs. O'Malley that morning as he tried — once again unsuccessfully — to find a way to make himself useful. "I'm not trying to supplant you. These children were under my care!"
"And we have more than enough staff to take care of every one of them, Mr. Pennyworth. And you know it. So just be a good houseguest and relax," Mrs. O'Malley said.
Alfred shook his head. "It's not in my nature to be waited on," he insisted. "You understand, of course."
"And it's not in my nature to take too much guff from someone who's under our care. If you'd like to take it up with Mrs. Hopkins—"
Alfred let out a huff of annoyance. "Indeed. And do you suppose you might venture a guess as to what she said when I offered my help?" he said. "This is intolerable."
"I'm very sorry that you find our care so sub-par, Mr. Pennyworth, but I'm very sure that Mrs. Hopkins would turn you down should you want to take over. I know you have a standard that you like to keep at Wayne Manor, but we have our own chain of command here, and I'm afraid, sir, that the master of the house asked us to care for you."
Alfred's expression clearly said what he thought of that, though before he could argue any further, Mrs. O'Malley smiled a little more to herself and pulled out the trump card.
"Mr. Wayne agreed with him, sir."
"Of course he did," Alfred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. But he would never speak ill of Bruce Wayne, even in front of old friends, so he found himself, still irritated, retreating to the main foyer, where two of the children that had been at Wayne Manor — Barbara and Scott — were pulling on their shoes on their way out.
Barbara looked up and smiled Alfred's way with a little wave. "We won't be long. Just going to go talk to my dad. Some of the old Sentinels — the good ones — are going to help us get everyone that was at Wayne Manor set up somewhere safe once the excitement dies down."
"Best of luck, Miss Gordon," Alfred said, slipping easily into a warm and encouraging smile that was at this point well-practiced. "And please, give my regards to your father."
"Always," Barbara said, smiling as she grabbed Scott's arm, and the two of them headed off, already deeply in conversation about their own plans.
Alfred shook his head as he watched the two of them leave and then sat down, suddenly at a loss for what to do.
"Feeling well enough to visit?" Mrs. Hopkins asked — just as she set his tea down next to him.
Alfred let out a breath and then gestured for her to join him. "You run a tight house," he said, then took a sip of the tea and had to add, "And the tea is excellent."
"I have to run it tightly, Mr. Pennyworth," Mrs. Hopkins said. "Too many on the staff to let them get complacent. Besides, it's been a lot for them to do, bringing this place back to its old glory."
"Yes, well, I'm accustomed to running things at Wayne Manor unaided. Boredom does not suit me," Alfred said, one eyebrow raised. "As I have been trying to tell you."
"And I'll not be letting myself or any of the staff off from doin' their jobs when we've just now gotten our James back. You know how it is to make sure it's all done to the letter."
"And I've said before: I'm not looking to supplant but supplement," Alfred said. "Or don't you realize my own Master Dick and Miss Helena are still missing — and I have nothing to do but wait?"
"I did manage to hear that," Mrs. Hopkins admitted. "And I'm sure once Master James returns, we can find something for you to do. But I know he and Mr. Wayne discussed how best to make you comfortable — and to heal fastest." She paused. "Have you taken the pills that lovely little SHIELD doctor left for you? I can have one of the maids go retrieve them if you're close to needing some."
Alfred let out a sigh. It was a fair point. He had been injured in the blast, and he knew Master Wayne in particular had been worried. But he'd lived through more wars than this one and still carried on; he wasn't going to stop now. "I'm not invalid, and I do take care of myself."
"Of course you do," Mrs. Hopkins said, puffing herself up a bit. "But if you don't mind me saying, Mr. Pennyworth, you look like you were dragged through a hedge backward. A bit of rest would do you some good."
"And I'm sure I will get it when my charges are safely back at home," Alfred said. "But if I might be frank with you, I don't think I shall rest until then."
"Mr. Pennyworth," Mrs. Hopkins said gently. "It's going to take some time to rebuild; I'm sure you're aware of that much."
"Oh, I know," Alfred said. "But to see them in Seven again — you understand, they haven't even been here in the district since Reaping Day…"
She nodded her head at that and looked thoughtful. "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt if you wanted to help Mrs. O'Malley in the kitchen to find something that the Wayne children would … appreciate."
Alfred let his shoulders drop at last. "Thank you," he said.
"It's been so long since Master James has even been here.… I know better than most how hard it is to know your charges are adrift."
Alfred smiled softly at that. "We're all happy to see him a bit more grounded, even if he is somehow in even more danger than before." He got to his feet. "I know Master Bruce is fond of him as well."
"We're aware, Mr. Pennyworth," Mrs. Hopkins replied. "We had to listen to the old man for years ranting about Mr. Wayne and all of his meddling."
Alfred simply responded with a fond smile. "Yes. I'm sure," he said. "Now then, I'll need a pie tin…"
"Anything you require, we shall provide," Mrs. Hopkins said as they fell into step, slowly making their way to the kitchen.
Alfred gave her a sidelong look. "Something tells me you're quite enjoying yourself."
"Having all these children around? What in the world would give you that idea, Mr. Pennyworth?"
Victor Creed aka Sabretooth
Eighteenth Victor of the Avenger Games
Hidden near the House on the Hill
District Seven
Victor had felt as if he'd been more than patient waiting for the right moment to get a hold of the little Runt, but the bastard simply wasn't stickin' his head out of his ritzy little hidey hole. Victor was, on the other hand, catching snippets from one sack of meat after another, slippin' around District Seven like they owned the place and makin' it sound like the lil' fireplug was a lot more important to their stupid rebellion than Creed had initially figured.
And he couldn't let that stand.
All Victor had to do was draw him out. But for that, Victor knew he needed bait. It was just a matter of pickin' the right target.
He leaned back against the corner post outside of the bar, smoking a cigarette and watching people going back and forth. There were a lot more loggers in town as of late. The war put a pause on industry, and the men that'd been worked to the bone cutting and hauling and makin' lumber weren't in a big rush to keep pushing. But even with the extra bodies, it was easy to spot SHIELD; the new flannel shirts looked too clean and too crisp to belong to anyone that came from Seven. Especially when wandering around in packs. Hell. Even the loggers'd throw the new flannels in the wash before they wore 'em around. But these guys … yeah. They didn't know what they were doin' — and they sure as hell didn't belong.
Victor took a long drag on his cigarette and held it, letting the smoke prickle in his lungs and throat for a moment before he slowly blew it out through his nose and mouth, tossing the spent cigarette butt into the dirt street as he kicked himself off of the corner and started to follow the little pack of obvious SHIELD agents. He gave them a little bit of a lead, letting them think they weren't being followed, if nothing else so he could see who, exactly, in District Seven was backing the spoiled little Howlett brat.
And he wasn't disappointed.
Just outside of the walls of the Howlett Estate, in a small, quiet, moss-filled patch of forest, the new-flannel-clad operatives met up with not only the head of the cutting crew, Smitty, and a couple of his men, but the old Head Sentinel … and a few of his favorite Sentinels as well. 'Mac' Hudson looked clearly relieved to see the SHIELD operatives, and all of the cutters that had shown up with Smitty weren't giving off the usual signs of pure distrust and loathing usually reserved for SHIELD.
Has the whole damn district lost it's flippin' mind? Creed thought to himself as he watched the easy alliance in front of him. This … wasn't how his home district was supposed to act in the face of SHIELD … and the Sentinels? Since when was the cutting crew on friendly terms with them?
Creed took a moment to consider what they were carrying and how they were distracted before he simply rushed forward and clocked Gordon hard enough in the face to knock him backward.
In a heartbeat, the brawl broke out, but the cutters didn't see that Victor had already pulled out his Bowie knife. As they closed in on him, Creed struck out with a shout, smiling to himself as the knife met flesh and dug in deep. He didn't know or care who he'd hit as he twisted the blade, his hand resting against the warm body as he did so.
With a cry of pain, Puck fell back, his hand over a quickly bleeding hole at his right side. The blood was dark and flowing fast. Smitty abandoned the fight just long enough to see that Mac was trying to help Puck — and then he dove back in, his own knife held in his hand, with the blade sticking out in a fighter's grip.
The fist fight between them was accented with slashes, and though Smitty was a heavier hitter, and a top bare-knuckle brawler, Creed played dirty.
"You never had a chance to be anyone this place cared about, Creed," Smitty said as the two of them circled each other. He hadn't done much damage to him, and Creed knew Smitty was trying to get in his head. "You're too stupid, too ugly, and too damn mean for anyone to even begin to care about."
"Thought that's what you needed to live in this place," Creed said before he charged forward, skillfully dodging Smitty's punch only to grab a hold of his outstretched arm, yank it behind his back, and then reach around to stab him in the heart. The blade made a hard tearing sound as it cut through the wet bone, and then a crack echoed when Creed twisted it hard. Smitty cried out and dropped to his knees — pulling the blade out of his own chest from the drop as Creed held tight to it.
Creed was smiling and panting as he watched Smitty sputter, his hands shaking as he slipped flat to the ground. He wasn't paying attention to the reaction that came from from Mac and Gordon.
Gordon was in open shock, and Mac … Mac stood, his hands still bloodied from trying to stem the flow as he'd tried and failed to triage Puck. Creed knew that Mac had been friendly with the cutter's crew, so making him watch as he snuffed a couple out was worth the effort.
It took a moment for Mac to pull it together as he fought to gain control of his emotions. He had barely managed to keep his focus for Puck, and now … now he couldn't do anything to help as he watched the life seep out of Smitty, staining the mossy ground. His jaw locked, and his fists clenched at his sides as he stared up at Creed, his face still downturned. Creed chuckled on seeing it. As Creed took a step toward him, Mac snapped out of his haze and seemed to suddenly remember his sidearm, snapping it up with military precision.
"Freeze!" Mac and Gordon shouted, nearly in unison, their guns raised and both of them looking perfectly steady — in spite of the shock of what had just happened. Neither of them could get close to Smitty to try and help, and it was clear to everyone there that it would have been wasted energy in any case. Mac swallowed hard as he took in Smitty's unseeing stare, though Gordon was clearly on top of things.
"You have no way out of this, Creed. We're not Sentinels anymore; we don't have to let you wander around terrorizing anyone. If you want to live, you'll put your hands on your head and get on your knees. Now!"
"Never gonna happen," Creed growled out. He smiled crookedly and pushed his hair out of his face with his hand, smearing blood in its wake. "Now … your time tellin' people what to do around here's over, old man." He lunged to attack Gordon and was fast enough to knock his gun arm aside and crack him in the jaw, but before he could really lay into the man, Mac dropped his rifle and stepped into the way with a hard right hook that sure as hell wasn't in any of the Sentinel training procedures.
But it did look familiar.… Creed just couldn't place it right away as Mac squared up and kept hitting him, grunting with every hit. Mac was starting to let out that primal thing that hides in the hearts of civilized men and women, but it wasn't until Mac knocked the knife loose with a knee planted in Creed's gut that Victor did recognize something about Mac that he simply hadn't seen before. It was little. Just … in the shape of his eyes when he was really ticked off and the way he set his jaw. "Sonofabitch," Creed almost breathed out an instant before Mac swung again and cuffed Creed in the side of his head.
"You'll leave him alone, you low down sack of crap," Mac said, his voice holding a far more familiar gravelly tone when he was that mad.
Creed stared at him for a second and then let out a growl. "Oh, hell. Now I can see it," he said, more and more annoyed as he realized what exactly he saw. "How the hell'd you end up here?"
Before Mac could answer, the gate to the Howlett Estate was swinging open, and Gordon's little girl took in the scene, rushing toward her father, with that skinny orphan kid that Mac would often pay to run errands for the Sentinels that were too busy to "get involved" in the district right in her wake.
Creed didn't pay them any attention as he went back to Mac, growling to himself. "Now I can see the Runt in ya; why the hell didn't I see it before?" Mac shifted his stance, obviously putting himself between Creed and the young newcomers. "You ain't a Howlett … so it's gotta be the other side, don't it?"
"What's he talking about?" Scott asked as he rushed up with Barbara, looking between Mac and Creed as the two men started to fight in earnest, fists flying and hitting hard — and Mac, surprisingly, was keeping up blow for blow. Even when it was clear that the hit had done him harm, he stubbornly gritted his teeth and just. Kept. Fighting.
"I can't believe I missed it!" Creed barked out before he bashed Mac hard enough to knock him flat backward. He was quick to rush over him, wrapping his hands around Mac's throat. "There's more than a passin' family resemblance." He was squeezing harder, ignoring the hits Mac was getting in — and the grasping, clawing attempts to peel his hands from around Mac's throat. "Of course the friggin' Sentinels would look the other way for the high an' mighty Howletts. No family here my ass. You and the Runt … in cahoots the whole time… " He squeezed harder. "It's alright, Hudson.… He won't have any family here for long …"
Mac was fighting back hard, pushing against Creed, though his coordination was failing him terribly the longer Creed squeezed his throat. Which was when he really started to show the family resemblance to Logan, his nose scrunched up as he grimaced, trying to make contact in a desperate and futile attempt.
"Let him go while you still have a choice," Scott said, obviously moving closer to help. He raised the bloodied rifle that Mac had dropped and pulled the trigger as he'd been shown by the SHIELD agents at Wayne Manor ... but the gun was jammed and simply didn't fire. Frustrated, Scott changed his grip on the gun, moving to use it as a blunt object instead.
But Creed wasn't paying attention until Scott rushed forward and hit him with Mac's dropped rifle hard enough to make him loosen his grip on Mac — and before he could recover, Scott hit him again, following it up with a solid kick to Creed's chest that gave Mac enough room to start coughing hard as Gordon pulled him away.
Creed wheeled around to nail Scott, though as he drew his arm back, Gordon shot at him, at the least drawing his attention from Scott as the bullet zipped past Creed's ear, cutting him with a near miss that blew his long, blonde hair out. "Old man wants to get heavy on me, eh?" Creed growled out. "Fine with me."
Gordon was shaking his head sporadically, and it was obvious even from a distance that the older man was still a little punch drunk. Creed reached down to retrieve the dropped knife and whipped it at Gordon, nailing him high in the shoulder, and cursed his aim. The hit from the smart-mouthed kid must have done more harm than he thought.
Still, it might not have been a fatal blow, but when James Gordon let out a cry of pain — and dropped his gun — Barbara and Scott went into motion. Scott had tried again to clear the jammed chamber on the rifle and was just raising the weapon again when Creed rushed him, intending to grab the gun from the kid and pay him back for the earlier hits — but that put him right in Barbara's path, and she had a surprise up her sleeve.
She was glaring as she shoved the Taser into Creed's side. "Hit my dad again and I'll aim lower," she promised in a deep, dangerous tone.
Creed was more than a little shaken, not that he would admit it. "Doubt you're big enough to worry about lower, frail, but I can show you all about it a little later," Creed said low, glaring at her. It was obvious that he was planning to backhand her hard as he stumbled the first few steps her way, already drawing his hand back.
And that was when Scott stepped in again, swinging the rifle to make Creed back away from Barbara. He flipped it over and drove the butt directly up into Creed's face, knocking him back and leaving him tasting his own blood. "Hands off," he said.
Creed was beyond angry — and ready to take the kid's head off — when another shot was fired and missed him, ricocheting between the trees. Creed whirled around, and he watched as Gordon took a more measured aim, resting his arm on his knee to stabilize himself for the kickback.
"Next time, I won't be so nice, Red," Creed hissed out before he darted into the trees, leaving the four of them alone in the bloodied clearing. He was angry that he hadn't killed more of them, but a couple of guys from the Runt's old crew would have to do. He knew Smitty had always favored Logan, and Puck was one that seemed content to fall into the kid's footsteps, so at least that was two more down.… The Summers kid would have to wait until next time …
He just needed to keep a closer watch to see where it was all centered — and to watch who was coming and going. Anyone that was close to Logan had to pay. Guilt by association was a crime punishable by death, after all.