C h a p t e r T w o
Trust your friend
"I'm
sitting here in the boring room
It's just another rainy Sunday
afternoon
I'm wasting my time
I got nothing to do
I'm
hanging around
I'm waiting for you"
Lemon Tree by Fool's
Garden
He sat down on the floor with a sigh of relief. He ran his hand on the back of his head and pulled the loose end of his bandages and removed them. His bright orange hair fell on his shoulders for he had long ago run out of hair gel and will to keep them how he liked.
"Damn those supers…" Syndrome whispered to himself, cracking his neck as he used to do when nervous.
He didn't expect them to find him so soon; he had nothing prepared for his vengeance yet, not even a single plan. Syndrome got up and thoughtfully scanned the labels on the boxes, searching for ideas. His body could be worn out, but his mind wasn't.
Reclusion had its advantages; it gave time to think. That could be a bad thing if you did not know how to arrange your thoughts, for you could go mad easily with a messy head. Though Syndrome wasn't like that, he had control over his body functions, especially his brain.
His most brilliant inventions were all now boxed in that filthy attic, which didn't please him one bit, though it had to be done. Syndrome picked up a box from the top of many others and put it on the ground. He opened it slowly, nostalgia slightly breaking into him: his zero-point energy bracelets and his rocket boots – both so simple, yet unbelievably useful.
Syndrome had made about five bracelets for safety keeping; even though he didn't think he would ever use so many. He put two bracelets on and admired his bandaged hands and dirty coat. His appearance was different, but the feeling of power was the same of four years before. And, as always, he craved for the conclusion of his plan so this power could finally be undeniable to the world.
There was only one problem, a family-size one: the Parrs. As long as they lived, Syndrome would still be neglected. He had to get rid of them somehow.
"But how?" Syndrome asked out loud, scratching his chin.
He clearly couldn't beat the supers by himself, so he relied on a machine. Eyeing his box of bracelets, an idea popped up. He could make a much larger source of zero-point energy and use it to trap them there until he figured out a better way to finish them off.
Syndrome couldn't leave the house without calling up attention; the Parrs would have to come to him.
He left the attic and headed to what he marked as his sleeping room. Sprawling himself on the old mattress, Syndrome closed his eyes, giving the final touches to his plan.
"And I have just the right bait for my favourite super family…" he smirked to himself in delight. "Another member of the family."
Syndrome felt that was the perfect moment maniacal laugh to celebrate, but he decided to keep it quiet this time. He would have plenty of time to laugh later, when his plan was complete.
The next day Syndrome woke up with incessant knocking on his door. It's probably him, he thought. He quickly bandaged his face again, making sure to keep all his hair hidden and his mouth and eyes were not, and rushed down the stairs towards the door. Dash burst in the moment he saw Syndrome through the window.
"'Morning, Bud!" he greeted. "I brought a few things you might like to use…" he grinned. "And some you might like to eat." He playfully raised his eyebrows a few times, chuckling.
Syndrome forced a smile, unsure of what exactly to say.
Dash carried two large bags to the kitchen and placed them on the table, humming a merry tune all the time.
"I brought blankets, shampoo, soap, a towel, some of my dad's old clothes, and -- drum roll please!" he picked up the other bag and turned it upside down on the table. "Food!"
Syndrome had never seen so much junk food before in his entire life, and that was saying a lot, because he had been an addict since he was a kid himself. Doritos, Cheetos, Cheerios, Oreo and all other popular snacks a kid could ever dream of.
"I wasn't sure what type of cheese to bring, so I got cheddar. I mean, everyone loves cheddar cheese!" Dash blatantly stated.
"Cheddar's fine…" Syndrome nodded, his eyes wide.
Dash laughed. "You haven't seen the best of it! I brought you a little snack so you can keep these for later." He picked the first bag and took a smaller one from it. "Burger King Breakfast!"
Syndrome raised an eyebrow. "What is all this for?"
"I said I was gonna find a way to help, and that's exactly what I am doing." The younger boy explained.
"But I-" before Syndrome could say anything, Dash cut in with a repressive look.
"Eat." He said.
Syndrome had to count to ten and breathe slowly, all to keep him from yelling at the boy that very moment. He couldn't, though; befriending Dash was part of the plan. If he blew his cover before time it would all be lost.
"Fine." Syndrome finally answered, sitting on the kitchen chair and opening his tiny sandwich box. The smell of fast-food was too much for him to keep thinking of the plan. He had two choices: eat the sandwich or think of his plans, there was no in-between. It had been a while since the last time Syndrome ate a sandwich, especially a cheese, eggs and bacon one, making the choice much easier than it would usually be.
He picked the sandwich, and about four bites later Syndrome was already going for the french toast sticks. Dash seemed surprised with how he ate at first, but eventually turned away his attention to his own food.
An awkward moment of silence followed and Syndrome, who had already been having trouble to communicate that day, found himself in an even worse loss of words. He wasn't good at socializing with "normal people", much less with someone he intended to betray.
That's why I always send someone else do the dirty work… dammit, he reminded.
"How long have you been here?" Dash said, his mouth full of sandwich.
"A few years." Syndrome answered monotonously, never taking his eyes off his food.
"Oh, right." Dash sounded slightly uncomfortable with the harshness of the answer, but Syndrome didn't even notice. He was too concentrated on trying to make that moment less problematic. "Why do you wear those bandages?"
"They make it harder to identify me, if I'm ever spotted."
"And why do you live here? It attracts a lot of attention to the house. Weren't you afraid someone would come in here and find you like I did?" Dash insisted.
"Only someone who didn't care at all about ghost stories would come in, which meant that person would lack much reasoning." Syndrome answered, still staring blankly at the table.
"You've never told me your age..." The boy slyly pointed out to avoid making another question.
"Twenty nine."
"Younger than I thought!" he exclaimed. "I mean… ugh… no offence, but you sounded like a cranky old man yesterday… and today too."
Realization suddenly hit Syndrome rather hard in the face, metaphorically speaking. He wasn't doing such a good job on befriending the boy after all. He had to take drastic measures, no matter how much he hated to be nice to a Parr.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Syndrome politely said, this time looking directly at Dash. "I'm just not used to talking to anyone. And I was already a social failure before this incident, now I'm total disaster…" he chuckled uncomfortably.
Dash didn't take his eyes off Syndrome for a brief moment, in which both of them remained silent. Syndrome's smile slowly faded and it was replaced by a shy grin; he was wondering if his answer had been that bad to leave the boy so shocked. Dash noticed his confusion and smiled.
"What brought you to this neighbourhood?" Dash asked.
"You're just… going to ignore what I said?" Syndrome's lips were left partly opened and he kept shaking his head several times, looking for the right words. Finding himself in a loss of words, Syndrome closed his mouth for a second. "I thought you had just complained about my attitude?"
Dash shuddered. "Not really. I was just wondering if you really wanted to me here, you know?" he looked down. "You laughed, so that meant you do… you're just not used to having people around, and I perfectly understand that."
Syndrome opened his mouth again, but Dash interrupted before he could even have another problem with his answer.
"What brought you to this neighbourhood?" Dash insisted, with another smile.
Syndrome knew that he was better off answering the question and moving on with his plan. Something was still bothering him, though. Dash would not have been making all those questions for no reason; he was probably suspicious. There was another possibility: Dash could be very innocent. But after all Syndrome had experienced in the past few years of his life taught him not to underestimate anyone.
What he was about to do put in danger the whole point of the plan if he were wrong about Dash. It was worth the try, however.
Syndrome suddenly frowned.
"Why are you so curious about my life?" he asked.
Dash was surprised with the question and leaned back on his chair, uncomfortably tapping his fingers on the wooden table. With a faint 'oh' he looked away.
"I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I just…" Dash closed his eyes. "I just want someone to care about me how I care about them. And the only way for that to happen is if I know that person well so I can help them."
"Your family cares about you." Syndrome stated, without thinking. He couldn't know Dash's family! "I think." He quickly added.
"They're my family; they have to care about me." He sighed.
"Don't your two friends out there count?" Syndrome questioned. Dash's eyes flung open and he looked around the kitchen swiftly. "Out there."
Syndrome pointed to the window beside the front door, which they could see from the kitchen. Dash turned around and spotted Tyler and Jake, who were trying to peek into the house. Tyler took a few steps closer, but Jake grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back.
"What are they doing there?!" Dash exclaimed.
"That's what I'm asking."
Dash got up from his chair, but before he could rush out of the kitchen, Syndrome leaned over the table and grabbed him by the arm.
"Don't. They don't care what you're doing here." he said.
"But I-" Dash looked from Syndrome to the boys and back to Syndrome. "They are worried about me. I have to tell them I'm fine and lure them away from the house… from you."
Syndrome shook his head, spotting a chance to get close to the boy for once and for all.
"They don't trust you or your judgement, Dash. That's why they are out there." He said. "Don't fool yourself with those boys."
"I agree! But they can't get near the house, remember?" Dash insisted.
"They won't, Dash. Listen to me!" Syndrome tightened the grasp around the boy's arm to catch his attention when he tried to look out of the window again. "From what I've seen yesterday and in all other days you three were around the house, they won't get any closer. They're scared!"
Dash sighed. "I guess you're right…" he smiled. "You're always right. That proves I'm just… stupid."
Syndrome let go of his arm, allowing Dash to sit back down.
"You're not stupid, Dash. You just haven't realized yet that the world isn't a nice place full of potential friends. There are bad guys and girls out there and you must learn to deal with them." Syndrome grinned, pointing a finger at Dash. "You must overwhelm them. Show just who you are!"
"Show… who I am." Dash muttered under his breath. "I like that."
"You've stood in the shadows for too long, boy! It's time to get out!" Syndrome sprung out of his chair, raising his arms above his head. "Prove that you are worth something!"
Dash jumped out of his own chair, possibilities and plans flashing before his eyes.
"Yes! You're so right, Bud!" he exclaimed. "That is the greatest advice ever!"
Dash walked around the kitchen quickly, without even remembering to control his super speed. He was so full of confidence that everything he always wished to do was popping into his head. He was planning a new attitude at school, a more mature relationship to his sister and all kinds of improvements he could think of.
He suddenly stopped walking.
"You know what? You are the greatest friend I could've ever asked for." He smiled. "You're such a genius, you know?!"
Dash rushed out of the kitchen and, with a last wave of his hand, he left the house, his head spinning with thoughts.
Syndrome crossed his arms and grinned with satisfaction.
"I know I am…" He whispered to himself.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This chapter starts building up the plot better. Dash's relationship with Syndrome goes slightly deeper from his point of view. Syndrome still sees Dash as bait, though he keeps a little more respect for the boy than before.
Don't expect much slashy action SO soon, I'm actually trying to make this as IC as possible (regardless of what has been said by a reviewer who admitted not have read the fic, yet right away decided it was OOC and "paedophile").
Speaking of which, I really appreciate all reviews, even the ones with constructive criticism (a.k.a. flames). All I ask, though, is that these kind reviewers read my fic before judging it. Whatever you say based on your interpretation of the summary is a product of your own mind, clearly stating that YOU "see" sexual interaction between Syndrome and Dash, while I'm going for the physiological view of things. Please base your thoughts on what my fic IS not on what you think it might be. Thanks! :)
I also would like to thank the reviewers who make my day, even if only with a single line of encouragement! It means more to me than you might think. ;)
Thanks to: WormmonABC, RavensHaelo, selbidercnI, selbidercnI , Spikes Girl5, soccergurl1990, tile, Yuki and Jack-Jack Incredible!
Obs: This is un-betaed as always. Forgive me for any mistakes!
