Chapter Eighteen

—=—

"We're not safe anymore."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?!"

"Just what I said."

"A few more details would be helpful!"

"It's Father's fault."

"Well, duh! Got anything else to add?!"

"He wants us back home."

"I knew that much! Why?! He was leaving us alone before!"

"He has—"

"He changed his mind." Demetrius cut Anya's papa off.

"But Why?!"

"Um. . ." Demetrius deliberated.

Anya half-listened to Damian yell at his brother, passively aware of the activity in the car. She was glad for the subversion of Damian's attention, cause that meant she didn't have to deal with it. While being friends gave her some sense of ease, it was also disquieting. And Damian had been extra focused on her. It wasn't on purpose. He didn't even mean to think about her, he kinda just did. Anya chalked it up to his relief. Between getting kidnapped, nearly killed, and constantly wondering what was really going on, it made sense to her that he was happy to have the one person around who had been with him through it all.

Anya couldn't say it wasn't entirely unreciprocated either.

But she didn't know what to do with that feeling and preferred to keep to herself in the corner, quietly watching the scenery go by.

The urgency that her family had left their home with had been stressful. Her parents had flown around the apartment packing clothes, food, and basic necessities like a whirlwind. They zoomed around and Anya hadn't done much but watch on, fingers laced tight, muscles twitching, and frozen in place, wondering what she should be doing, feeling like she should be doing something.

And now in the car, she sat quietly with Bond at her feet. Waiting. Watching for what was next. Thinking about what was next and trusted that her parents knew what they were doing.

It was as her gaze was following the particularly tall tree in the distance as it moved backwards that she noticed the all too familiar sound of crackling and muffled jargling at the same time as Demetrius.

"Someone's following us." He said, using the opportunity to avoid Damian's questions.

Her papa nodded in acknowledgement, expecting this.

"Who is?" Damian sweat.

"Father's people."

"People?! As in plural?!" Damian turned around and peeked his head over the back of the seat.

"How many?" Anya's papa asked.

"Mm. . .three. But that's just who I can feel nearby."

"Can you tell where they are?"

"Six, Nine, and Two o'clock."

"Alright. . ." Anya's papa muttered to himself and turned his head here and there. "Hang on."

No sooner than he said it, gravity shifted.

Screeeech!

"Ah!"

Anya's papa swerved hard to the left onto another street, all of the weight seeming to fall to one side and tilt the car. Bond chirped in surprise. Anya fell into the door with a gasp and she clung to the handle. She was crushed into it, her body unable to lift away as if she were magnetized to it. Sometimes, sharp turns were fun like a gentler version of an amusement park ride, but this. Was not.

Demetrius flung an arm over Damian, pinning him to the seat before he went flying, and clung to his own door. A foot braced against the chair in front of him. Anya's mama didn't move at all, perfectly stable in her seat.

"Papa!" Anya cried.

"Sorry, Anya. You kids okay back there?" He said and preceded to swerve again to the right.

"Ah!" Damian slid into Demetrius. Anya clutched to the handle for dear life before she careened into the boys.

"No!" Anya and Damian said.

"Demetrius, are they still following?"

"Yeah. They're trailing a ways behind."

Anya's papa growled a sigh and picked up the speed. Buildings and foliage became a blur of colour as he wove effortlessly between traffic. The car shuddered as it passed vehicles in a whoosh.

"Loid? Isn't this a little fast?" Anya's mama asked, though her concern was more for the kids.

"Yes!" Anya and Damian said.

"Now there's four." Demetrius updated. "One up ahead to the right."

Another swerve to the left.

"Papa!" Anya called as she was once more plastered to the door.

"Just hang on. We need to lose them."

Another swerve to the right and Anya's body tried very hard to wrench her away from the door.

A swerve to the left.

Anya huffed as she was yanked back into the door.

"Lost one of 'em." Said Demetrius.

"Will someone please just tell me what's going on?!" Damian blurted from where he was stuck to Demetrius' side, taking advantage of the respite between turns.

"Father wants us back and the Forgers are taking us somewhere safe." Demetrius forced out as his right foot braced on the floor with another left swerve.

"Are you sure we won't die first?!" Damian exclaimed and held just as tight to Demetrius' arm as it held him.

Anya's papa glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "We'll be fine. Don't wo—#%^ ."

Squeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaal!

"Ahhh!"

Hooonk!"

The smell of burnt rubber seeped into the car as it slid sideways to avoid a head-on collision.

Squeeeeeeeaaaaaaal!

Another car.

"Ahhhh!"

"Hoooooooonk!

Another.

Beeeeeep!

Hoooooooonk!

With another swerve, Anya's papa pulled down a road, miraculously evading death.

Anya released the breath she'd been holding, hesitant to loosen her iron grip on the handle as her shaky hands pulsed with the adrenaline surging through her.

"See?" Her papa said. "Everything's fine."

Damian didn't seem to agree, barely breathing as he clutched his brothers arm, frozen and wide-eyed. "Yeah, right." He breathed weakly.

"Demetrius?" Anya's papa prodded.

"Two."

"Where?"

"Falling behind. They're more worried about dying than you are."

"Because we're not going to die!" Anya's papa declared and swerved to the right as if to emphasize his point.

Anya gasped and Damian clenched his teeth in tensed panic.

"Debatable!" He cried as the car straightened out. "Where are we going anyway!?"

"Nowhere special. Just someplace to lay low for a while."

"Until Father is. . ."

"Yes. Demetrius?"

"I don't feel them."

"Good." Anya's papa said, though he didn't slow down.

"But—" A terrifying thought came to Anya. "What if we can't feel them?" She said anxiously and looked to Demetrius. "They can make themselves quiet! Anya felt it!"

"What?!" Said Demetrius.

"It doesn't matter. They won't find us." Anya's papa swerved down a road, taking a left, and pressed Anya into the door again.

Sirens blared in the distance.

Anya's papa was unsurprised and he turned down another road, the force trying to fling Anya to the left and rip her fingers away from her grip.

"Papa!"

"Just a little longer." He promised.

The buildings sped past them. People, signs, and greenery were fleeting streaks on the their windows and the roar of the engine only seemed to get louder. They flew down the road. Down another road. They moved so fast, the wheels rolling so smoothly with speed, that Anya hardly noticed the vibrations passing through the seats.

Then her papa hit the brakes hard and swerved into a parking lot. "Hang on!"

Squeeeeeeaaaaaaaaal!"

And drove straight into an open garage door of what looked like a small mechanic shop.

Screeeeeeeeeeeech!

Anya lurched with a gasp as they came to a full, abrupt stop.

The door closed behind them.

—-

The car had stopped.

The wheels weren't moving, the engine had been turned off, the windows were darker in an enclosed space, and no one was honking at them, they hadn't crashed, exploded in a fiery death, or run over anybody.

The car had stopped.

It had stopped, it had stopped, it had stopped.

Damian repeated, though he couldn't bring himself to let go of Demetrius' arm as if there would be one more swerve, one more near collision, or some other stomach twisting thing that might kill him.

He wasn't the only one apparently, noticing Forger who still white-knuckled the grip in the door, looking at her father like he was some kind of psycho.

Which he was.

Bond whined and snuffled at Forger's knee.

"You can let go now." Demetrius said, but didn't try to pull away before Damian let go.

Damian reluctantly released the arm.

"Everyone alright?" Mr. Forger asked and neither Damian or Forger were able to respond.

"We're fine." Demetrius answered for them, though Damian highly disagreed.

"Quickly then, everyone out of the car." Mr. Forger gave them no time to recover and got out, yanking open Demetrius' door. Mrs. Forger glanced back at the kids before exiting to peer through a window to the streets.

When Demetrius disembarked, Damian followed into a mechanic shop. It was dimly lit with most of it's light coming through the window which Mrs. Forger discretely kept watch through, and Damian blinked at the lightbulb Mr. Forger flicked on.

With quick hands, Mr. Forger and Demetrius swapped the luggage into a grey car parked beside them. When they were done, a curly, black headed man appeared from the back of the shop and Mr. Forger went to quietly speak with him. He gave the strange man his car keys and the garage door was opened briefly for him to drive out.

Damian observed all this numbly, gradually calming himself as he reached for his senses.

"Demetrius, you first." Mr. Forger gestured vaguely to a stool at the back wall, striding to the trunk of the grey car to grab something he'd left on the top.

Damian watched dazedly as Demetrius strolled unbothered to the stool and dragged it closer to the vehicle.

". . .What?" Damian said, confused, as Mr. Forger procured a briefcase, plopped it down on the dust filmed floor, and popped it open.

"Disguises." Demetrius said and Damian flinched.

Mr. Forger pulled a rubber glove over a hand and withdrew a bottle from his briefcase. He spun the lid off and dipped two of his gloved fingers inside.

"What's that?" Damian asked as Dr Forger's fingers were extracted and slathered in some weird, translucent goop.

He smeared it over Demetrius' face.

"Ew!" Damian and Forger said.

Demetrius didn't seem to care.

Mr. Forger applied it deftly. He left it thick in some areas, molding the fast drying goop to his desired shape and the movements were too quick, too practiced to be anything other than years of carefully crafted skill. After, Mr. Forger left the glove on and used his other hand to mess with something else in his case. The goop was already dried and Mr. Forger applied make-up with extreme precision and speed. When he was done, Demetrius looked like an entirely different person. The process had taken less than a minute and Damian gaped at Mr. Forger.

How did he know how to do that?!

"Anya. You're next." Mr. Forger told her as Demetrius got up from the stool. "Demetrius, go and change your clothes. There's a washroom around here somewhere."

Forger's hand slipped from Damian's, leaving it cold and uncomfortably bare as she went to replace Demetrius on the stool. Her father prepared to repeat the process and unscrewed the goop bottle's lid.

Damian watched by the car nervously, head spinning, and trying to ground himself on shifty and loose sand. Everything was happening too fast, and what exactly was happening? How had he ended up here? Why were they in a mechanic shop? He had been happily looking over his homework with his friends not half an hour ago and suddenly he was running away from school. From his father.

What happened after this? Where were they going? Was he going to be running forever? Why were the Forgers helping him and his brother? Because of Forger? Because they were friends? Because both her and Demetrius were lab subjects?

After that murder attempt on their lives that hardly qualified as a "car ride", Damian's nerves ran high, jittering his fingers and shoulders with adrenaline that had yet to completely burn off. It was too jarring. Going from a high speed chase to sitting in this garage and already preparing for whatever Mr. Forger was preparing them for.

Damian felt displaced. This garage was not part of his realm. Running from his father was not something he did. Damian was out of his element and he was suddenly vulnerable in a world that was too big for him.

Damian didn't like it and it scared him.

"It'll be fine."

Damian jolted as Demetrius passed by and ruffled his hair, bag in hand on his way to the washroom.

Usually, Damian would be indignant and irritated that his brother had read this thoughts, but his mind was drifting too far into fear of the unknown to care, distractedly clutching the comfort that at least Demetrius was here.

"Damian? Your turn." Mr. Forger addressed him a moment later and Forger slid off the stool, unrecognizable with a new face and a dark wig to cover her hair.

Who were these people? Damian had to wonder again and again.

What kind of psychiatrist was able to drive like an unhinged maniac and bring everyone out unscathed? What kind of doctor could completely change how a person looked so easily and so quickly?

"How do you know how to do this?" Damian asked and climbed onto the seat, eyeing the hands opening the goop bottle with a healthy dose of wary skepticism.

Mr. Forger smoothed the goop over Damian's skin, cool to the touch, and answered readily.

"I once wanted to be an actor and being able to change my appearance seemed like a useful skill to have. I would be able to play many roles in the same production, so I practiced a lot." He said and finished spreading the weird texture on Damian's face, strangely elastic-y as it solidified.

Damian blinked rapidly at Mr. Forger.

In the past, Damian would have thought nothing of it. How natural and quickly Mr. Forger's response was. How preparedly he gave it. But Damian picked up on it without even meaning to.

Ever since Demetrius.

Mr. Forger was lying. Damian was sure of it.

. . .Mostly.

The doctor took up a make-up tool from his case and Damian leaned uncomfortably away from it as it came towards his face.

As Mr. Forger painted it with gunk and powder, Damian watched him uneasily.

Why would he lie? What was he hiding? Damian realized he was probably just overly suspicious after catching Demetrius, and Mr. Forger wasn't a telepath, but Damian couldn't help his doubts. If the man was lying, what was the real reason?

"Disguises." Demetrius had said. Why would Mr. Forger need to know how to make disguises that changed someone's face so completely? Why would he have a place for them to hide out in? Why—

Well, okay. After Forger was kidnapped, it would make sense if they would want a safe place to go if she was ever targeted again. But how were her parents so insanely calm about everything? It was as if they had done this a million times before and took every problem, every punch that came at them like it was nothing. Damian thought he was finally in the loop, but one thing kept popping up after another.

When he caught Forger intensely focused on him, she startled, looking for anything else to pay attention to.

Well, that wasn't suspicious at all.

It seemed she wasn't the only Forger with secrets.

Damian's face felt funny when he slid off the seat and Mrs. Forger left her window to take her turn. Soon, everyone had a different face and freshly changed clothes.

"Everyone in." Mr. Forger had everyone pack into the grey car and Damian and Forger climbed in after Demetrius.

A moment later, the garage doors opened and they were leaving.

The ride was quiet. A stark contrast to the last one as the car ambled along behind slow traffic and the lulling drone of the car tried to put the kids to sleep.

Mr. Forger didn't speed. He drove safely and Damian eventually relaxed, not realizing he'd tensed when he got back into a car with him. Feeling less like he might die, Damian slumped into his seat.

He just still couldn't believe this was happening. Running from his father and leaving the dorm made it all too real. Was his life always going to be this stressful? He'd only known about telepathy, his father, and the labs for a short while and yet it was already consuming his life.

Damian sighed anxiously, suddenly noticing and disliking the perturbing sensation from his hand that he couldn't identify. It felt bare, like it was missing something, which was ridiculous. It was his hand, why was. . .

. . .

Damian studied it.

He flexed it.

And he tensed, feeling his face warm all the way down to his neck.

He was missing Forger's hand.

Because he had been holding it. Repeatedly. He'd been holding it just now before he had relaxed. He'd held it when they got out of the car earlier. After the car. When they got into this car.

And he hadn't even registered it.

He'd just done it. As if it was second nature.

He stared mortified at his traitorous hand.

How could he do something so utterly embarrassing!? How could he do something like that so thoughtlessly?! So mindlessly!? What was wrong with him?! He didn't need her hand! No! Heck no! He didn't! It was just—um—because—um—

Why did this bother him so much!? He'd held her hand before, this wasn't anything new! Sometimes friends did that!

. . .though, it was usually because something bad was happening. . .

He glanced at Forger who watched the sky out the window.

Damian was mortified with himself, but Forger hadn't let go either. She'd let him take her hand. She'd held his hand back and was entirely casual about it.

That was a good thing. This was progress. Forger was comfortable enough with him to hold his hand. This was way better than her avoiding him.

That was a good thing.

So why did it irk a part of his brain like a pebble stuck in an otherwise perfectly comfortable shoe?

"Alright, we're here." Mr. Forger cut into Damian's thoughts and he pulled into the parking lot of an apartment building five stories high.

The brick structure was old. The architecture was basically a slab of stone with windows and it drew Damian's attention from For—his concerns.

Damian swallowed, looking up at it tower over them as Mr. Forger found a parking spot.

This was where they'd be staying. They were actually leaving their lives behind and doing this. This was where they would hide. Would they really be safe here? This was insane. No more school for a while. No more homework, stellas or his best friends greeting him every morning. He wasn't at Eden anymore and this was really happening.

Mr. Forger had everyone get out of the car into the brisk morning air and the adults pulled the luggage from the trunk. In each hand, Mrs. Forger loaded up with bags while Mr. Forger slung a backpack on and grabbed a cooler in both hands. Demetrius retrieved his own bag and the car was locked tight before the kids were led indoors.

The apartment building was modest. Less than modest.

The bricks were worn and pale. The white paint on the door and windowsills were aged and beginning to crack. Damian cringed at the obvious lack of care to the lobby's appearance as it had been provided with only the most basic attention. The grey, tiled floor and blue walls were painfully bare and missing decorative baubles and artwork. Not to mention the disconcerting stains edging the wall's corners. They hadn't used wallpaper which was always more classy, and there were ugly gaps where a tight seam should've met the floor with the simple baseboards. Distasteful cracking ran along the edge between the baseboard and walls and Damian grimaced at the ill kept floors where more indeterminate stains and beginning signs of wear and tear crept tiny fissures into many of the tiles.

They moved on and the halls on the fourth floor weren't much better where Mr. Forger walked them to a door at the end. He put the cooler down, fished a key out of his pocket, and unlocked it.

Mrs. Forger entered first when her husband held the door open for them.

The apartment was small. Smaller than their other one. The limited space of the living room melted with the tiny kitchen and from where he stood in the entrance, Damian could see two doors further in which he assumed was a washroom and bedroom. The furniture was also scarce. Instead of a regular table, there was only a little coffee table in front of a single armchair. Folding chairs sat against the wall and one, tall stool sat in the corner where the little piece of the kitchen counter and the living room wall met. There was very little open floor and it was as if someone had taken a larger apartment and squeezed the rooms together to conserve as much space as possible.

At least the apartment seemed more intact than the lobby.

Mr. Forger went to put the cooler in the kitchen and Mrs. Forger dropped the luggage on the floor of the living room. After the kids had stepped inside, she closed and locked the door. Her husband pulled the curtains over the windows and flicked on the lights.

"You can take your masks off now." Mr. Forger said and tore off his own.

Damian was all too ready and he let go of Forger to take if off with both hands. It came away rather easily. The whole of it stayed mostly intact, stretching a little, and then tugging at the edges to give way. It was almost disturbing, looking at it in his hands. A face with nose holes and missing eyes and he could almost believe it was real skin by the way it looked and felt.

Damian made a face.

Beside him, Forger pulled off her own disguise, removed the wig, and made her own unsettled face at the patch of skin she held.

. . .

In her hands.

Damian bristled with realization.

He had been holding her hand just a second ago! HE DID IT AGAIN! WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM?!

Damian thought to himself, making both Demetrius and Forger startle and snap their heads to Damian, making him jump.

"Uh—um. . . " He choked.

"Okay, listen up kids." Mr. Forger mercifully interrupted and all eyes blessedly turned to him. "I think it goes without saying, but no one is to leave this apartment. At least not without a disguise and not without me or Yor." Mr. Forger said authoritatively. "We will continue to look into Donovan, but until he is dealt with, you will stay put. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, though Damian had to wonder what means the Forgers had to think they could take down his father. What kind of experience could they have do something like that?

"Good. And make sure to keep volume to a minimum. We don't want to attract undue attention, even from the neighbours."

Another nod from the kids.

"Any questions?"

"Yeah, what happened?" Damian asked.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Forger said.

"Why did Father suddenly decide we had to come home? Demetrius said he couldn't touch us because it would cause a scene or something."

"That's changed." Demetrius spoke before the adults could and fwumped onto the chair. "I guess he doesn't care anymore."

"If that were a possibility, you wouldn't have suggested otherwise." Damian glared at him. Demetrius was lying. Again. It seemed someone was always lying to him about something and keeping secrets.

In very un-Demetrius-like fashion, Damian's brother averted his gaze and picked an invisible piece of lint off his knee. "I mean. . .I thought it wasn't. . ."

Lying. Again.

Damian was getting very tired of this and the bite in his words charged from his tongue without notice. "Just tell me the truth. Why do you keep lying to me?" Damian accused Demetrius and his older brother peered defensively at him from the corner of his eyes.

"You don't need to know. You don't want to."

"Yes! I do!"

Demetrius's gaze grew hard and Damian swallowed. He rarely felt Demetrius' displeasure and it had always unsettled him.

But his brother relented with an irritated sigh. "Can you give us a moment?" He asked the Forgers.

"Of course. C'mon Anya." Mrs. Forger took her daughter's hand and the dog followed the family that retreated to the bedroom, giving the boys some privacy.

That was not a good sign.

Demetrius sank deep into the armchair, folded his arms, and focused resolutely on his feet that rested on the table. "He has the scientists." He finally revealed and Damian took a second to process that.

"The. . .people from the lab?"

Demetrius nodded.

". . .So?" Damian prodded and Demetrius looked to him. "What does that have to do with. . ." Damian paused, his mouth catching up with his brain. ". . .anything. . ." He trailed off, realization seeping in like snow slowly soaking him through on a cold, winter day. Chilling every part of him and making him wish for nothing more than to change into something warm. Pretend it had never happened. Pretend he'd never heard that.

"He was. . .going to use me. . ." Damian stated in a small, disturbed voice.

"Yeah." Demetrius confirmed shortly.

"Because. . .you weren't listening. . ."

"Yeah."

Damian stared at him, a heavy pit sinking in his stomach and turning it over. "Is—is that why you—-"

Damian couldn't finish and, though Demetrius must have heard his thoughts, he didn't respond.

This was why Demetrius didn't want to tell him.

His older brother picked more lint off his leg.

". . .Oh. . ." Damian breathed, wrapping his arms over his ribs and staring at the floor.

He was going to be sick. This was worse than he thought. His father had used him against Demetrius. Damian was the reason his brother hadn't run away. The reason he'd listened to their father. All this time, he had been using both of them and Damian had had no idea.

What was worse, was that he was relieved Demetrius hadn't run. That he'd stayed so Damian would be safe. He detested how thankful he was for that when he should be wishing that Demetrius had taken care of himself instead.

What would've happened to Damian if Demetrius hadn't stayed? Would Damian have been sent to the lab, too? Would he have even survived?

It wasn't just now. It wasn't just when Damian was kidnapped. Demetrius had always cared about Damian and had never told him. Instead of having a normal relationship, Demetrius had chosen to protect him in the way he knew how—shutting Damian out and doing what their father wanted.

"Hey." Demetrius said and Damian looked up at him. If Damian hadn't become used to deciphering his brother's facial expressions, he would've thought there was nothing different, but his face was gentler than Damian had ever seen it. A softness in his eyes that was edged with something somber. "It's fine." Demetrius insisted quietly, locking Damian's gaze onto his own, conveying just how strongly he believed it. "It was my choice. Understand? Don't worry about it."

Damian swallowed down the nausea, wondering if it was really that simple. How could he not worry about it? Demetrius had let their father have control over his life just to protect Damian, and it weighed on him that his brother had gone to such lengths.

Damian was grateful. He was beyond relieved. But he didn't like this feeling that he was the reason for Demetrius' decision. If it weren't for him, if Demetrius just didn't care about him, Demetrius could have left. Fled the country. Taken a new identity.

If Demetrius didn't care about him. . .

Somehow that was worse than anything else and Damian was filled with guilt all over again.

"Damian." Demetrius sighed exasperatedly with a head flop to the side. "This is why I didn't want to tell you." He said and Damian's skin crawled that Demetrius had heard him. Of course he had. "Stop overthinking it. It was my decision, got it? My life. You don't get a vote."

Damian blinked, taken aback at the sudden change in Demetrius' attitude. His tone. "Wh—"

"That's all there is to it." Demetrius stated definitively and abruptly got up, making a beeline towards the bathroom with suspiciously long, quick strides. "Accept it and move on."

He closed the door with a soft thud, inherently ending the discussion.

Damian watched after him for a moment, suddenly alone and bewildered. Demetrius, under no uncertain terms, just declared that Damian wasn't allowed to have an opinion on the matter and the youngest Desmond didn't know what to do with that.

He looked around as if the absent people could explain what had just happened and took a needed, deep breath.

His family was exhausting.

—-

Authors Note: I'll be honest, I completely forgot Bond existed when I wrote this chapter and he was added later as an afterthought. Also, don't be mad at Loid for his driving, that was fully for my own entertainment.