"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material." -F. Scott Fitzgerald
Was he always destined for turbulence? Instead of smooth sailing crossing the wide Atlantic carried by the predictable breezes of a weatherman's daily forecast everything was a chaotic hailstorm of prideful deceit and venomous allegations spoken on the tips of tongues. It was as if each person trapped within the confines of a cherry wood den surrounded by the unmistakable blank stares of beheaded deer were held there against their will, and the only means of escaping was a duel ending in bloodshed staining the threshold of what was intended to be a family gathering. The name 'Wilson' must be far too tied to the woeful ways of distrust since the oblivious nature of each member here offered no apparent kindness towards one another. There would be no peacemaking, no hand holding solidarity, not even a spark of remorseful recognition. It was kill or be killed.
Joey took another sip of the lukewarm tea (wincing from the bitter after taste) which was held in what was the most horrendously designed mug he had ever seen. It was a garish looking maroon with scattered smiley faces each off centered from the eyes to the mouths. Some of the misaligned eyes were crossed out with Sharpie traced X's and a rather obscene image was drawn on the underside of the cup. There was a partially faded slogan on the side near the chipping handle that once read as 'The Best Dad' which someone had rewritten as 'Dead-Beat Dad'. No doubt that it was Rose, her sloppy handwriting was certainly recognizable. But of all the other plate-ware available this one was the least cracked and clearly the chosen survivor.
From where he awkwardly stood in the corner Joey intrinsically observed his family in perhaps the most unnatural environment plausible; a living room. Here they were meeting in what should be the normal place for typical domestic civilians, a father, a mother, the children. They should be sitting closely linked to each other asking mundane questions about how their day was, or going over some nonchalant familial bonding. But when it came to an estranged group of mercenaries and the super-powered it was a juxtaposition of the dichotomy of morals.
His father- Slade was seated by an unlit fireplace, back firmly upright despite his weight sinking into the cushions of an old armchair. His face was stern and unmoving exactly the way Joey remembered it as a child, the subtle feelings of nausea rolled within his stomach when his gaze crossed briefly with the man's steely singular eye. Across from him his sister Rose sat spread out on the sofa, her boots resting completely onto the dated fabric despite the rudeness of looks she was receiving. Her long white hair trailed down over the arm of the couch where she mindlessly twirled a hunting knife sometimes catching the beginnings of the rug, pulling out loose fibers. Not that it mattered, this house hadn't been a real home to any of them the moment Joey was kidnapped. Now it was only a 'has been' useless to their current lifestyle. Rose silently yawned and adjusted her view to the ceiling. She might've looked relaxed to the normal man but the slight twinge in her muscles proved otherwise; she was far beyond prepared to fight her way out of here if need be. Below her on the floor arms folded over the coffee table was Grant, fully dressed in gear with two pistols out right exposed attached to the holsters on his hips. His snarled features never ceased as he gripped at the corner of the wood so aggressively that Joey was sure that he would snap off a piece. He was the same as ever; the angry boy who used to pummel him daily for being 'girly' and 'weak.' It made him inwardly shudder. Joey moved on from him, he had no time to walk down memory lane if it only led to nightmares. The other person standing besides him was his mother, Adeline, who was choosing to stay distant, her body rigid as she swayed somewhat, changing the pose of her legs every now and then underneath a long floral skirt. There was no other sensible belief than that she wore this particular outfit to conceal more weapons; perfect fit for a militarized woman. Adeline's expression never changed from its hauntingly empty look, her own sight perpetually locked on to her ex-husband's looming stature gave off an ambiguous atmosphere.
Resisting the urge to clear his throat in spite of knowing no sound other than the ghost of a grunt would be heard Joey shifted anxiously. It had been years since he had seen any of them much less all at once or even alive. The amount of times he believed that someone had died no longer left him in heartbreaking agony but rather full of morbid curiosity of if their death was valid and could be legitimized. It was a shame really, instead of being the son of a loving family he was an unwilling participant within a criminal underground. Lifting the mug to take another taste of failure he waited for someone to speak up. Knowing them the sooner someone started talking the easier it would be for him to slip away.
It was Grant who spoke first (no surprise there).
"Why are we here, Dad? " He asked, the disdain in his voice easily picked up by the way his annunciation drastically spat on Slade, as if ruing the man for ever existing.
Their father remained in his cold disposition, never breaking eye contact with the woman who bore his children as he replied with that eerie monotonous tone.
"Is it wrong for a man to wish to see his family?"
Almost flinching Joey saw a murderous glint flash across his mother's face as her fists tightened until the the tendons inside appeared white. From the sofa Rose stopped playing with her knife.
"Oh so we're a family now?" Grant hissed, "Funny, I don't recall you ever being around to be an actual parent."
"Times have changed." Slade said, still not even turning his attention to his first born.
Joey wanted to leave. He wanted to walk out of this house, dump this disgusting leaf water, throw out the atrocity that this mug was, and go back to his friends at the tower. He didn't want to stick around for much longer with his family's bickering soon to become a blood thirsty rage fest. Nervously he tapped quietly on the sides of the cooling beverage, hoping- praying for either a chance to get away or for a distraction big enough that everyone scatters.
This time it was Rose who piped up, no longer lounging but sitting with an incredulous wide eyed look.
"Times have changed or are you just sick of getting your ass handed to you by a bunch of kids, Old Man?" She snapped, smirking at the dissatisfaction of Slade as he leered towards her tempestuously.
Glowering at what could be a lethal level the mercenary gathered his bearings before bone-chillingly cornering Rose into verbal massacre.
"I do not get beat by children, but I have no qualms with beating my own."
At this point Joey was near trembling from how perturbed he was feeling. Here his own father was admitting that he had no issues with beating his own children into submission and surprisingly this was nothing unheard of to the teen. Besides hearing about the servitude of Robin and the horrible manipulation of that Terra girl, Joey was also well versed in the brief moments of his childhood when Slade was around long enough to be an active parent. There were the unwanted recollections of his father taking off his belt and spanking the bareness of Grant's legs as Joey was forced to take in his brother's shame, and of his own momentary tantrums that resulted in a smack on the behind. Luckily for him Adeline guarded Joey from most of the punishments, yet offered little consolation for her other son. But hearing it again after so many years of escapism Joey once again felt small. Just like when he was a child living in a home unappreciative of his gifts, he was enduring that unwelcoming sense of insignificance.
Fully engaged with Slade, Rose was teetering on the edge of the sofa, "You're such a bastard, you know that?"
"You're one to talk," Grant cut in with a devious snark, "You don't even count as a real 'Wilson' 'cuz of your whore mom."
"Grant-" Slade started.
Rose intervened like a runaway train, her knife now ready to be stabbed through her half-brother's body like a prepped filet mignon.
"-The fuck did you say about my mother!? What the FUCK did you say about my mother!?"
"You heard me, you crazy bitch!" Grant jeered, rising from the floor with both hands wrapping around the grips of pistols.
Noticing Grant itching to pull the triggers, Rose whipped out a dual set of knives from one of her many back pockets, "Oh so you wanna fight! Huh, is that it!? Come on then asshole, fight me!"
Aiming straight at her forehead guns blazing Grant demonically growls as he clicks off the safety. "Yeah no problem, I've been wanting to do this for a long time. You'll be one dead piece of shit real quick because who the fuck brings a knife to a GUN fight?!" He roars.
Rose lunges at him and Grant fires.
The sound of the mug shattering is deafened by the enormity of the bullets screeching through the air and impaling the dilapidated cream walls. Joey crumples, hands pressed against his ears as he huddles on the ground. The broken pieces of the ceramic scattered before him as the boy rocks back and forth on his heels.
He wants to leave. He hates it here.
"That is ENOUGH!"
Joey opens one eye to see Slade restraining the steaming barrel of one of Grant's pistols and with the other hand both of Rose's wrists.
"This behavior is unacceptable, and it is not why we are here!" Releasing them he threw both of his children to the ground, "You two will sit and listen to me. You will not speak without my permission, and if you do I will rip out your tongues so that you cannot speak any longer. Is that clear?"
Joey pretended to ignore the rare flicker of guilt being sent his way by his troublesome brother.
With wounded pride Grant murmured a distinct 'Yes Sir', while Rose only answered with a disgruntled nod as they both plopped down to their respected positions. Adeline resided where she was, unreservedly motionless, not even protecting her own blood son from being hacked at by her husband's mistress's daughter. Not even sparing a glance to her other cowering son who gangly stood back up withholding tears from the shock.
"Why are we actually here, Slade," Adeline inquired with her arms crossed over her rather too expensive looking blouse, "You don't think we actually would believe your desire for a 'family reunion' charade did you?"
"No, I knew you wouldn't," The man took slowly seeped back into the chair like water freezing into ice, his spine stiff as a board, "I'm not a fool who thinks that his family would want to spend quality time together. Those days are well behind us."
Adeline's green eyes narrowed, "Then why are we here? You still haven't answered me."
"You're not here because I need something from you, and it's obvious that you're not here because you need something from me," Slade rotated his head, pinning his daunting attention onto to his youngest son.
"We're here because of Joseph."
Joey all but collapsed as four pairs of eyes bore into him. Grant's and Rose's faces exuded confusion as they darted between the stare down of the oldest adults and the fragile frame of their smallest brother. Adeline, just feet away from Slade, relocated her sight towards her boy with concern filling up in her emerald irises.
Catching everyone's attention for what was the umpteenth time, his father cleared his throat roughly.
"Well Joseph, what is it you have to say?"
Fumbling with his hands Joey apprehensively thought out the best way to express himself. He knew that pulling as many strings as he did to get them here would all but backfire on him, and as unlikely as he was to initiate a family meeting, he was the only that could accomplish such a task because of his soft characteristics. Since being the black sheep of the family left him disregarded he was for a large part abandoned to engage in his own personal inclinations, and therefore be taken for granted whenever any issues arose. No one would ever suspect him of formulating a massive undertaking, to them he was too kind to be brazen enough to do this.
Finally bringing himself to admit the reason why he dragged everyone into this Hellscape room of damnation, the teen hesitantly signed the awaited answer.
'I'm dating someone.'
Jaws hit the floor and the typical violent reactions of the Wilson's reached maximum pandemonium. Joey verily regretted that he didn't have a normal family, so here he was being bombarded with a mixture of threats and intimate questions that definitely crossed the line of privacy. He knew this was a bad idea, he just unequivocally knew. He should've told them individually, or maybe not at all, who knows? It was too late to turn back time for this unscrupulous and insufferable day.
Surrounded by the wailing antagonistic voices of everyone Joey just shrunk further in on himself.
He really wanted to leave now.