Disclaimer:I do not own Sky High, its setting, premise, or characters -or related characters named and unnamed. All is the property of Walt Disney Pictures, Buena Vista Pictures, Andrew Gunn, and Mark McCorkie.

Hooded Fox

Chapter Two: A Bargain Struck

"So, this guy said your Dad sent him?" Will asked as they walked into the museum lobby together.

The Maxville History Museum did not charge an entry fee, but they did encourage donations. There was a transparent acrylic box just inside the door so that people could see just how much –or how little- was donated that day. Will reached into his pocket and dropped a $20 bill into the acrylic box.

Warren had a job, but he was also paying for school and had consistently less money than Will –whom was a realtor and still living with his parents, and thus, had a higher income and fewer living expenses. Warren pulled two $1 bills and some random change from his pocket totaling $2.17, and slid it into the box.

"He actually didn't say Dad sent him." Warren clarified. "He just said that he did what he wanted. But how else could he have known that I need to learn to hunt unless my Dad asked him to teach me? And instead of paying him, or my Dad compensating him in some other way, he expects me to do him a 'favor' in return."

"That sounds super-sketchy." Will announced.

"I know, right! Standard villain dealing." Nodded Warren. "He's willing to help me, a hero, but only if, said hero, is willing to look the other way –if not outright commit a crime- for him."

Will shook his head. "This sounds like bad news, man. Your Dad used to be an assassin. He killed people. What if this guy's the same? What if he's in town for a job and wants you to look the other way while he kills…" Will trailed off while he tried to think of a high profile target that was in town at the moment. "…The Mayor…?" Then remembered that there were plenty of people in Maxville that others with money might want dead, they did not have to be very publically known. "Or the Broker. Or Principal Powers. Or- what if it's my Dad! What if this guy was hired to take out the Commander and he's targeting you because you're close to my family!"

Warren just gave him an unamused glare. "You know I'm not dumb enough to help a supervillain kill your Dad, right?"

Will waited to see if Warren was going to bring up Royal Pain again. It happened back in high school. It was six years ago by now. And yet, Warren vowed to never let the younger man live it down. The pyrokinetic even promised to somehow work it into his Best Man's toast one day at Will's far-off future wedding.

The pause dragged on so long, in fact, that they made it to the gallery for the medieval exhibit.

Warren yawned.

Will sighed with relief. Thinking that, this time, Warren was not going to bring up Royal Pain. "So, why are you meeting him?"

Warren grinned an evil grin. "I figured agreeing to meet him in public was better than inviting him into a Secret Sanctum and letting him steal some of my Dad's old weapons."

There it was! There was the Royal Pain reference. Warren hadn't forgotten. He was just waiting.

"Oh, for the love of-!" Will threw his arms up in frustration. "I was fifteen!"

A few people milling about the exhibit looked up at them, shooting Will dirty glares for raising his voice. While museums never had any official quiet rules, they always –somehow- tended to be as silent as libraries. When someone disturbed that silence, it was almost the same at shouting across a library.

Now it was Warren's turn to sigh, his with exasperation. He massaged the sides of his head. He was so tired. He had been tired for days –weeks, actually. Being a full time superhero, full time student, and working part-time was just a bit much for him. All he wanted to do all day was take extra long naps and… eat.

"Just… stand on the opposite side of the room and watch me out the corner of your eye." He pleaded. That was the whole reason he asked his friend to come with him to this meeting. So that he had a witness if something went bad. And some super-strong, flying back-up in case things went very, very bad.

"Gawd, you're always so moody." Will grumbled, moving away from Warren and making his way across the room. "Why am I even friends with you…" Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.

Warren turned his attention to the crowd, looking for anyone who could possibly be the Hooded Fox from the previous night. There were several people who looked to be around the same height and general body-type. But not a single one of them was an anthropomorphic fox. He turned his attention to blending in, looking like any other normal, non-super powered citizen, whom had just come to get a bit of history. He turned his attention to the exhibits, his eyes only skimming over the illuminated manuscripts, or artifacts, and their information placards. Still watching the people around him in his peripheral vision.

A fleet of small children on a field trip, escorted by an overly cheerful tour guide, and half a dozen exhausted looking teachers and volunteer parents. Students from Maxville U, trying to take notes, looking irritated by the children that occasionally disturbed the otherwise library-level quiet. Older retired people spending the day out. Nobody that really stood out to Warren that could be the Hooded Fox.

He moved along the display cases. Making sure he didn't look any different than anyone else there to take in a bit of history and feel cultured and educated.

The next case he paused in front of featured a few Plantagenet coins, the placard in front of them informing Warren that they were minted in King's Lynn, making them King John coins, which were apparently different from King Richard coins. Moving along the case, there was a fragments of a tapestry depicting a bard stumming a lute. The placard in front of that piece explained that it was Alan-a-Dale composing 'the Phony King of England' (a famous historical song that mocked King John I). Warren moved on to the next display case.

A tall glass case standing just off the center of the room, displaying a bow –unstrung, obviously.

A recurve bow. Warren knew that without having to read the information placard, his father taught him that much. Any bow where the ends curled outward away from the archer was a recurve bow. Made of English yew, the full length of the bow was inlayed with silver. Thin silver threads, almost as fine as human hair. The patterns swirling and interlocking with each other to form abstract illustrations. A fox, slinking through the forest, a person fleeing soldiers, the fox transforming into a fairy and chasing the soldiers away. A man in a hood stealing coins from collectors. The same hooded figure redistributing the coins to farmers and millers.

Glancing down at the placard, Warren read that this was the 'Sherwood Bow' and was rumored to have belonged to the folk hero Robin Hood himself. This could not be confirmed, however, as 'Robin Hood' was often used as a stock name for thieves and highwaymen who wanted to conceal their identities. It was entirely possible that there never even was a real 'Robin Hood' to begin with.

"Lovely, isn't it."

Warren heard the voice before the man slid up beside him in front of the bow. The same voice as the Hooded Fox from the previous night. Slightly accented, like something from western Europe. He turned. The speaker was definitely not an anthropomorphic fox. So, it had to have been a very, very well made mask under his hood last night.

Looking him up and down, Warren studied him. Not particularly tall, in fact, he was on the shorter side of average height. He was shorter than Warren was. Wearing brown slacks, and a beige shirt, under a forest green cardigan. He was dressed like the standard caricature of an academic.

But his face and his hair did not quite match up with his clothing. The face was narrow, eyes and nose angled in a way that made him look almost vulpine even without that life-like fox mask. With high cheekbones and bushy eyebrows. His eyes were a green even more foresty than the color of his cardigan. In fact, they kinda reminded Warren of Layla's eyes. Woodland eyes. Except, while Layla's were full of empathy, kindness, and passion, this man's eyes sparkled with pure, unrepentant mischief. All of it was topped by a mane of wild red hair.

Not red like his mother's hair was red, or the two streaks in his own hair were red. This was a more natural, earthy red. Again, like Layla's. (And Warren hated that his mind kept comparing this guy to Layla.) But where Layla's hair was straight, and almost always styled, tamed, and under control, this guy's hair was a beast all its own. Just wavy in some places, outright curly in others, some coils sticking up in odd directions, some waves falling over his ears. Messy and all over the place. Noting like the neat and clean-cut figure he was below the neck.

Warren blinked at him. This was not what he expected was under the hood.

But the man was not looking at him. His eyes were on the bow in the display case. The Sherwood Bow. Those mischievous sparkling eyes gazing at it with something akin to longing.

"Note how fine the silver work is." He said. "As if made by the fae folk themselves."

Warren was uninterested in the bow. "I'm here, Hooded Fox. What kind of 'favor' did you want from me in return for teaching me to hunt?"

"Not sure yet." Answered the other, tapping his chin with a finger. "I don't know what I'll need from you."

"I'm not going to agree to anything unless I know what I'm agree to." Warren informed him.

"That's smart." Nodded the Hooded Fox. He ran a hand through his wild mess of woodland-red curls. "Actually, that's much smarter than the vast majority of people who've made deals with me. I'm not used to your kind being smart."

Insulting the overall intelligence of superheroes, yup, this guy was definitely a supervillain. Warren also often heard his Dad insulting the overall intelligence of the hero community. He would often say that Flamebird and Phoenix were the only smart heroes on Earth. Begrudgingly, he did have to admit that some of his friends –Zach, the hero Highlighter- could be kinda dumb sometimes. They were not exactly smart. But that didn't make them any less capable as heroes! The fact that supervillains constantly and consistently underestimated them like that was one of the reasons why the heroes constantly and consistently thwarted their schemes.

"I'm not going to kill anyone for you." Warren announced, keeping his voice low and glancing around to make sure no one in the exhibit was paying attention to them. "And I won't look the other way if you're here to kill someone. I will stop you."

"Saddle-goose! You're a dramatic one. Murder is not what I'm after." The other assured him.

"And I won't commit crimes for you, either." Warren continued. He was a hero and heroes did not break the law and commit crimes. There was a line between superhero and supervillain, a line that Warren was acutely aware of. Perhaps more aware of than the average hero. He would not cross that line.

"'Crime' as defined by your laws or mine?" Asked the Hooded Fox.

"'Crime' as defined by the law!" Warren snarled.

The Hooded Fox rocked on the heels of his feet, twirling a coil of red hair around one finger. "Ambiguous wording. Excellent. Excellent. This is good for me."

Warren just stared at him. There was nothing ambiguous about the law. It was the law!

"You need not agree to a bargain with me at all." The Hooded Fox reminded him. "I'm sure you can find someone else to teach you the skill you need to keep your cravings in check." A pause for affect. "How are your cravings, by the way. Are they under control? I would assumed they are, but it's always good to ask. Tell me, do you know what happens to you if you can't get- …what you need?"

The memory of Hardwin Battle flashed through Warren's mind. More of a mindless wight than a man. Skeletal thin, just skin stretched over bones. Yellow teeth and broken finger nails. Stalking the woods like an animal. Killing deer, and bears, and even innocent people. Ripping their chests open, breaking their ribs apart, and eating their hearts out. After so long, the old man became a monster. A literal, actual monster. Like something out of a horror movie.

Warren did not want that to happen to him.

Rocking on his feet again, the Hooded Fox smirked. Warren might not have actually said anything, but his answer was clear as day on his face.

"I'm a hero." He reminded the other man. "I won't do anything a hero's not supposed to do."

"Those are terms I can agree to!" Nodded the Hooded Fox. He liked how ambiguous and open to interpretation they were. "As it so happens, I am not in this city for as nefarious a reason as you imagined. I just want some property returned to its rightful owner."

"What property?" Warren asked. If it was something that was stolen, he could recover stolen property. It was a little different than what Phoenix usually did, but not very far outside of his realm of experience. He recovered drugs and money, and other evidence for the police all the time.

"Personal property."

"Are you being cryptic on purpose?" It was a little hard for Warren not to get frustrated with this guy. He hadn't given him a straight answer since they met.

"Well, I'm sure not being cryptic by accident!" Laughed the Hooded Fox.

Warren only scowled at him.

The older man smiled at him, extending his hand. "I'll teach you to hunt, and in return you'll do a favor for me, and I won't ask any service from you that a 'hero' is not supposed to perform."

Warren continued to glare at him skeptically. He did not like that this guy wasn't telling him what he wanted. Not exactly. He said he wanted some personal property returned to its rightful owner. But he wouldn't say what the property was or whom it belonged to. Every instinct he developed growing up a pariah of the super community screamed at him to not take the deal.

But, Dad was supposed to have sent this guy and Dad wanted to make sure he could take care of himself and fend on his own. Dad wouldn't intentionally put him in a compromising situation. But, Dad was also a supervillain and his judgment could not always be trusted. But where else was Warren going to learn to hunt in a major metropolitan city like Maxville? The local Scouts councils barely even went camping! (One time, when he was younger, on a camping trip with his parents, he saw a mini-van pull up to the site next to theirs and a gaggle of Scouts piled out. One of them exclaimed "ew, dirt!" as if in shock. Like they weren't expecting there to be dirt in the hills.)

If Warren wanted to be able to get his own 'meat' and slake the cravings that went along with his second superpower, he needed to take the deal.

Reluctantly, hesitating, Warren took the Hooded Fox's offered hand. "Alright." He said. "It's a deal."

"Bargain." Corrected the Hooded Fox. "I prefer the term 'bargain'."

…