Fun fact - I'm pretty sure this is the first chapter without breaks. That's right - I managed to make a single scene nearly 6k words long. Please welcome our new guest star - a character who wasn't even supposed to appear in this fic but the plot has evolved and now I have... whatever this is.
One of these days, he would learn to trust his instincts, especially in situations involving attractive women promising information and secrets only to drug him unconscious. Today, it transpired, was not that day. It also wasn't the day for anything to go according to plan. Or something along those lines. What was the point of this again? Ah, hell. His thoughts were more muddled than an abandoned maze. There was a faint pounding at the base of his skull. Sensations trickled back quicker than cognitive consciousness – the scrape of rope against raw wrists, a throbbing headache, the chemical tang on his tongue.
In conclusion – ow.
Scott attempted to sit upright. The world sort of flip-flopped, swirling like a psychedelic trip he had never signed up for. His shoulders were aching. A cautious tug revealed that yep, his hands were definitely tied behind his back.
"Fuck."
"Language," Penelope chided, revealing the presence of multiple other people in the room. Parker, still out for the count, a thin trail of congealed blood weeping from one temple. And there, ducking his head, as sheepish as a chastised puppy, hands also bound…
"You have got to be joking." Scott yanked at a hand, but the rope held firm, so he settled for levelling his brother with a glare. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Alan gave a nervous chuckle. "Uh, so that's a funny story actually… quite a long one too… I think we should just save it for later. Or, y'know, never… that works too."
"Alan. Start talking. Now."
Alan knocked his head back against the wall with a stifled groan. "Fine. But you can't get mad." He drew a knee up to his chest. "So. Uh. I heard commotion over the comms link – and before you say anything, yeah, I know I wasn't supposed to be listening, but I was bored – and I got concerned and then none of you were answering and EOS said your stats suggested unconsciousness and minor injuries so obviously I had to investigate and come save you."
"How's that rescue plan working out for you?" Scott muttered.
Alan grimaced. "Okay, so I wasn't counting on security flipping out on me. They fight dirty, holy hell, where is the integrity these days?"
Penelope wasn't quite quick enough to hide her smile. Scott sent her a look, one that said thanks as ever for your undying support, except Penelope wasn't Virgil and therefore this meaning remained forever lost in translation. There were other, more pressing matters at hand, after all, so it didn't really matter. The point was that Alan was not supposed to be here but now he was, and Scott had no idea how they were going to get out of this mess, especially now his kid brother had joined the party just to really complicate things further.
"Scott?" Alan's voice grew small. "I really am sorry. I was just trying to help. I didn't mean to screw anything up even more."
Penelope drew a sharp breath, biting her lip to keep herself from speaking.
Scott repressed a sigh. "Yeah, I know. It's alright." It was too dark in the room to make out any significant details, but 'they fight dirty' was ringing on his mind and he didn't like the potential implications of that particular statement. "Are you hurt?"
Alan hesitated. "No." He shifted his weight, wincing slightly. "Okay, well not badly. Just a bit bruised. I've had worse on rescues."
Given worse usually involved being knocked out at the minimum, that was not a comforting thought. Scott fumbled with the ropes. They were just high enough on his wrists to make it a strain, out of reach, and it would take a possible dislocation to even dream of freeing himself. He relaxed his shoulders for a moment and refocussed on the room as best he could in the low light.
Parker still hadn't stirred, discarded at Penelope's side without a second thought for his welfare or the implications of such a headwound. Penelope herself didn't seem to have taken any major hits, but her lip was bleeding, and a colourful bruise decorated her cheek, the rest hidden by tangled hair that had come loose to drift around her face. She sensed the observation, tilting her chin to catch his gaze, eyes glittering with something dangerous – a taste for vengeance.
"Your friend decided to mention immunity," she explained in a devastatingly cold tone. "Our partygoers liked the sound of that. I wasn't about to hand myself over as their personal guinea pig. They didn't take kindly to my complaints, nor Parker's."
"Friend?" Alan was in the midst of some strange contortion that enabled him to wipe his forehead across his shoulder, leaving a smear of tacky substance across his suit. "Ah, crap."
"Are you bleeding?" Scott demanded.
Alan froze. "Um… no? Only a tiny bit. Barely noticeable, really. Anyway, how'd this supposed friend get the drop on you?"
"She got a little bit too friendly, I presume?" Penelope sent Scott a scorching stare. "Let me guess, you were distracted and let your guard down?"
"She drugged me, Pen. If that's your idea of a good time, I'm seriously questioning your mental state."
Penelope trailed off. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was a fair assumption."
"I am so confused," Alan announced, sliding down the wall with a sigh. "You're too cryptic. It's annoying. So… this woman drugged you?"
"Think Poison Ivy," Scott said. Sure enough, a comic book reference got through to Alan a lot quicker than a lengthy explanation would have done, but instead of accepting it, Alan sat up sharply, tenser than a taut string. For a moment, he was silent, searching for words.
"That's… that's bad. That's like… really bad."
"You don't say," Scott drawled.
Alan shook his head vehemently. "No, no, but… Dude. She drugged you. By… what, kissing you? Which you kinda hinted that you didn't want and that's… that's fucking assault."
"Yeah, anyway, moving on."
"Not moving on! What the fuck?"
"Language."
"Bigger problems right now."
"I'm telling Virgil."
Scott didn't dare look at Penelope. "If you want to tell Virgil," he said evenly, "then you can. But first we need to get out of here, and that's a puzzle I'm struggling to solve, so right now I need you to focus and help me figure this out, alright?"
Alan gaped at him. There wasn't indignation or the annoyance at having been cut off before he could complete his assessment and start arguing further, but there was that open concern and the vulnerability of caring. He was worried, genuinely, and Scott couldn't bring himself to simply ignore that. Besides, deep down, if he let himself remember being trapped, unable to voice fear or fury or even a simple plea, something small and scared coiled in his chest, suggesting that perhaps the incident had affected him more than he was prepared to admit, so, really, at the heart of it all was the fact that Alan was right but Scott couldn't acknowledge that yet, if ever.
So.
"I'm alright, Alan," he said eventually. "Really, I am."
Alan studied him for a long moment, unspeaking. "I'm not gonna let this go. We're definitely talking later. And by that I mean you're talking to Virg 'cos you won't talk to me. But for now… Okay. Escape plan." The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Houdini mode activated. Ow." He winced.
"Ow?" Scott attempted to shuffle forwards, teetered on the edge of losing his balance, and gave in. He eyed Alan amid the shadows – where he had notably retreated so that it was harder to see him… suspicious. "Just how minor are those injuries?"
"Superficial," Alan sing-songed, as if the pretend humour could possibly patch up the edge to his voice that whispered of pain and something else, something vaguely panicked and on the verge of losing his cool because the gravity of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. He wiped his forehead against his shoulder again, leaving further trails of blood over his face. "Stop worrying about me, I'm fine."
Penelope was rotating her wrist, gently shuffling one hand over the other so that her forearms no longer overlapped at such a high mark, leaving a slightly looser loop in the ropes holding her. Concentration held her senses captive, head tilted towards the door to listen for footsteps but focus set almost entirely on the task. The ropes were wearing thin. She twisted a hand, slipping a thumb under the main knot with a faint hiss of satisfaction.
"Honestly," she remarked under her breath. "Imagine using ropes instead of handcuffs. Amateurs."
"That's what she said," Alan whispered, sniggering to himself. Penelope gave him a look. "What? Oh c'mon, you have to hear yourself…"
"Pen." Scott was speaking before he'd even fully registered the thought. "Someone's coming. Footsteps outside. Hear them?"
Penelope relinquished her grip on the rope, reluctance warring with irritation before she forced a neutral expression and straightened her spine, determined to meet their captors with her chin held high.
"Alan," she murmured, knocking her heel against his ankle so that he stopped struggling with the ropes and looked at her. "Say nothing. Do nothing. Do you understand?"
"But…"
"Alan," Scott cut in. "Listen to her."
Penelope side-eyed him. "The same advice goes to you, Scott."
"Oh, relax. I'll just be my usual charming self."
Penelope closed her eyes with an audible sigh.
"Hey, you were the one who said there were articles written about my good looks."
"And you cannot comprehend just how much I regret telling you that…"
With the opening of the door came the activation of the lights. Momentarily blinded, Scott could only make out vague blobs of colour and shifting shapes as his eyes adjusted. He finally got a good look at Parker's condition – definitely sporting a concussion but hopefully not too severe, bleeding quite a bit but that was par for the course of any headwound – and Penelope – more bedraggled than actually injured with a ruined dress, askew hair and smeared lipstick – but then his gaze shifted to Alan and oh, he was going to rain hellfire down on this godforsaken satellite.
Alan, sensing eyes on him, looked up and visibly cringed at Scott's expression, tensing as he went to speak, remembered not to and so automatically went to move his hands to sign only to realise he couldn't do that either. He settled for quickly mouthing the words. 'Don't freak out.'
Don't freak out. As if it was perfectly natural for Alan to be sporting an impressive black eye, bruising that was still revealing itself in a series of mottled shades across his face, the remnants of a nosebleed and a split lip. There were traces of blood in his hair.
Really, everyone should have been impressed with how level Scott managed to keep his voice, even if his words told another story.
"I'm going to kill you."
Maya, hovering towards the back of the small cluster of suited figures who had filed into the room, gave a derisive snort. Scott gave her deadly smile.
"You think I'm joking."
"I think," an anonymous voice that he quickly attributed to the man standing above him, sounded, shortly before a shock of pain ignited across the left side of his face, "that you should learn to hold your tongue."
The slap was vicious enough to have him tasting copper. He blinked. Penelope smacked her ankle against Alan's shin in warning as he began to voice protests in a sharp, horrified shout. To the side, Parker shifted slightly, a thin rod of tension finding root in his back – proof that he had regained consciousness but was maintaining the pretence to give himself an advantage. Good. Scott just had to keep their current visitors focussed on himself.
He squinted up at the figure to the left and recognised the businessman from earlier, the one who had seemingly lost touch with reality and had attempted to secure a deal with Tracy Industries as if either of their companies existed anymore.
"I don't know about you," he announced breathlessly, "but I don't usually strike deals by hitting someone in the face. Tracy Industries will definitely not be working with you at any point in the future, you can be certain of that. This is a terrible way to go about business."
The man immediately in front of him scoffed. "Are you an idiot?"
Scott cracked a grin. "I'd say yes, but my GPA suggested otherwise."
Keep them talking, keep them focussed, come on, come on, come on…
"Maya here says you happen to know something about a little trick called immunity."
Scott yanked at the ropes subconsciously. Maya's eyes were gleaming. Her smirk was knife-edged, lined with venom. The other woman, suited, deadly heels, vivid crimson lipstick, as dangerous as any gun if not more so based off her demeanour alone, sidled closer.
"Hey." A hand fisted in his hair and yanked his chin up. He blinked back pained tears. "I asked you a question."
"Actually," Scott ground out, "I think you'll find you made a statement. I didn't hear a question at any point. Bit of a misjudgement on your part, really."
Something gleamed. Metal. Sharp. Close. Which hand? Whose? The woman, not Maya, the other one, moving closer, something up her sleeve, the other businessman stepping aside, the first one, the speaker, staying close, grip harsh and painful, still yanking on Scott's hair. The woman seemed to glide, effortlessly taking command of the show, the unknown object slipping into her grasp. Knife? Fuck, yes, knife.
His heartrate picked up. There was sweat licking his palms. He inhaled deeply. Swallowed. Pushed all memories to the back of his mind.
"Didn't your parents ever teach you not to walk around with sharp objects?" he quipped. "You should be careful, you could really hurt someone."
The woman's smile was frosty. "That's the idea."
"Scott," Penelope murmured. "This is getting… out of hand."
Scott didn't acknowledge her. On a usual day, this would a dangerous decision, but right now Penelope wasn't the deadliest thing in the room – and that in itself was a red flag.
"Listen," he said, sounding a lot calmer than he actually felt. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement. There's no need for anyone else to get hurt."
"Not anyone else," the woman agreed. "Just you."
It painted a concerning picture of his life when he could make an actual list of all the times he'd had a knife held to his throat. This easily made the top five worst experiences. It was sort of a thing, not a phobia, just an unpleasant sense of heightened anxiety linked to The Worst Experience Ever (capitals extremely necessary thank-you-very-much) of his past featuring some not-so-pleasant captors and a crashed Air Force jet. This hadn't yet topped that, and he highly doubted it would, but even so – there was a knife pressed to his throat, sharpened, close enough that he could feel a thin line of warmth trickling down his skin – and his entire knife issues were rising to the surface. Breathing suddenly seemed a lot harder, and not just due to the constriction against his windpipe.
"Let me make our positions clear, Mister Tracy," the woman purred, ever a fan of that knife. "We can take the data we need from your corpse. Your state of living is not a necessity. But that would be rather unpleasant and I would hate to stain my clothes. This is Prada, you know? So, what is it to be? Will you willingly provide us with the information or will you force me to employ some more… persuasive tactics?"
Parker, hands hidden from view, was making short work of the ropes. Scott didn't dare look at Alan. He could only hope the kid had his eyes shut.
"What information do you want to know?"
"Immunity. How did you achieve it?" The blade stung. Scott focussed on the words. "Did you take something?"
"No. It's a natural mutation a friend of mine discovered in DNA sequences. Some people have it, some people don't. It's… you can run tests, to check."
"We'd like to speak to your friend," Maya interjected.
"You can't," Scott replied instantly. "He's dead."
Penelope didn't react. Mercifully, neither did Alan.
The blade began to twist, ever so slightly, and that thin wire of pain increased to an inferno. His life, entrusted to a fine line of metal and the hand of a woman without morals.
"Tests," the man from before spoke up. "We can run tests. See what… what works." He crossed his arms, something terribly familiar about his stance seeping through the seams. "I know some methods."
"W-what?" Alan choked out.
Maya's gaze fell to him, curiosity alighting on her features as she observed him, cold, calculating, taking a step closer and twisting to spy Scott's reaction.
"He'll agree," she called across. "We have leverage."
"Well, obviously." The man – so, so, excruciatingly familiar yet Scott still couldn't place him – glared daggers. He flapped a hand. "Bring the boy here."
"Don't touch him," Scott snapped.
Maya hmm -ed. "Very, very interesting."
"Oh, enough already," the man barked. "You've served your usefulness, girl, now leave."
Penelope tensed. "Oh," she breathed, voice drenched in realisation.
"Everyone out." The man didn't need to ask a second time. Maya hovered in front of Alan, unsure whether to leave or obey the initial instruction. The man snapped his fingers. "I said, bring me Alan Tracy."
Alan froze. "How do you know my name?"
"Your family has been plastered across the front of magazines for the past decade, it was hardly a mastermind's deduction."
"In case you were wondering," Penelope interjected. "Kayo is still alive, Hood."
Scepticism. Shock. Silence. All of it within a second. The Hood let his disguise flicker out. Scott, having only just recovered his ability to breathe after the knife had left his throat, nearly choked on his own inhale. Penelope cast him a concerned glance. Parker, hands now freed, froze. And Alan – Scott could pinpoint the exact second the kid went from scared and a little overwhelmed to pure terror. Given all of this, it was probably a bad thing when the first thing Scott said when he opened his mouth was:
"I thought you were dead."
The Hood spread his arms in a mocking bow. "Sorry to disappoint."
Penelope narrowed her eyes. "What would you want with immunity? You're safely tucked away up here, on your own personal satellite."
"As opposed to you, I presume. Except, oh, no, wait… you also have a personal satellite." The Hood leant in close, so close that Penelope flattened herself to the wall in rare show of unease. "You're right, of course. I do have something to gain. See, it's rather hard to own the world when there's no functioning planet left. Immunity could help rebuild and if I present it to everyone… Well, I'd practically be their god, wouldn't I?"
"You're sick," Alan hissed.
Scott had once gone plunging through ice in Alaska in the middle of winter. It was a similar sensation to what he was currently feeling, as the Hood's attention shifted from Penelope but landed on Alan instead. Scott could only hope that his repeating thought of shut up, please, for once in your life, Allie, just shut the hell up, was somehow transmitting into the kid's brain.
Alan didn't back down – because of course he didn't. "You want to figure out immunity and use it as a hostage. So you can… what, rule the world? What's so great about that anyway?"
"You are a child." The Hood paused, considering, voice dipping into the realms of hell as he continued with a twist of sadistic amusement, "But you are a useful child. Maya?"
Maya's grip on Alan's biceps was tight enough to leave bruises, red welts already flourishing under her nails as she yanked him upright. Alan didn't struggle – smart: pick your battles, save your strength for the final fight – but ground his heels into the ground, reinforced soles gaining traction so that Maya had to practically throw him. The Hood caught him, cold hands curling around his shoulders like claws. Alan held himself rigid, visibly trying not to shudder, seeking reassurance as he locked eyes with Scott.
"Do you realise," the Hood began slowly, "that you've failed him yet again? How many times is it now?" His laugh – a thick, toxic thing – echoed. Penelope's sharp intake of breath was full of dread. "The infected… and now myself." His hand slithered across sleek fabric, nails scratching against armour until it reached the point where the plating stopped. Fingers tapped against vulnerable skin, dangerously close to forming a chokehold.
"Scott," Penelope whispered, like a warning.
"You couldn't protect him from the infected and now you can't protect him from the other monster under the bed… me."
"Fuck you." Alan got so far as smashing his elbow into the Hood's ribs when there was a faint whirring of mechanical gears. The Hood slammed him into the wall, hand tight and constricting around his throat. Parker rolled to his feet in a blur of motion, surging forwards. Scott yanked at the ropes so fiercely that he could feel the fibres slice into his skin. Parker's fist met reinforced metal where there should have been muscle.
"Prosthetic technology has come so far, don't you agree?" The Hood's eyes ignited in that horrifying yellow. Parker examined the thin red laser projected onto his chest and tracked it back to the gun in Maya's hands, her face wracked with pain as she lost control of her own mind. "Maya here has been most helpful. Sit back down, Parker, or I won't hesitate to shoot you. Or, more to the point, Maya won't hesitate. It's one and the same, really, isn't it?"
Parker kept his hands up in plain sight, slowly sinking to the floor but angling himself so that Penelope was protected from any fired shots. "Let the kid go."
The Hood cast a disparaged glance at Alan. His grip tightened a fraction. "Why would I? This is so much fun."
The ropes were drenched in his own blood. Scott twisted a hand and pulled, to no avail, and his pulse skyrocketed to a thunderclap.
"What do you want? Me? Okay, fine, you've got me. I'll take your tests, you can do whatever you want, but first you have to let him go."
The Hood clenched a hand. Alan, wrists still bound in vicious rope, scrabbled at the wall, leaving harsh grooves from the metal fingertips of his suit, unable to do anything but suck in strangled breaths, painful and wheezed, eyes bright with tears. Penelope was screaming. Parker looked about five seconds away from risking being shot and launching an attack regardless of the consequences. Scott… couldn't think, breathe, help… Please, please, please…
"Anything," he gasped. "Just let him go."
Penelope lashed out, not caring that it was only tightening her bindings, trying to fight her way free through pure force alone. "Let him go." Her words rose to a desperate cry. "He can't breathe, let him go, you're killing him!"
Parker rose to his feet. Maya pressed the barrel to the underside of his chin. He retreated with a low growl. The Hood tutted, lifting his hand higher – prosthetic, no weakness and so providing him with an inhuman strength – off the ground, and all Scott could hear was that petrifying, horrific choked wheezing. Alan lashed out, training collapsing under the weight of panic, struggling, writhing, unable to free himself and the Hood was laughing.
"I'll do whatever you want, just let him breathe, let him down!"
The Hood's laughter gave way to a manic smile. "You know, I've always wanted to hear a Tracy beg. You're all…" He waved his free hand vaguely. "So prideful. Assured of your place in the world. But now… I'm in charge."
Parker snarled something bitter and hateful. Penelope let out a sob.
"You won't beg for your own life, I know that, but you'll beg for his. So, go on." The Hood's grip tightened. His voice lowered to a hiss. "Get on your knees and beg."
Scott didn't hesitate.
Not.
For.
A.
Second.
"Please."
"Oh, come on." The Hood licked his lips. "You can do better than that."
"Please. Please, I'll do anything you ask, please, just let him go." He was already on his knees, but he scrambled forwards, tipping into the arms of artificial gravity to press his forehead to the floor, whispering pleas on repeat, over and over and over until his voice broke. "Please."
"Very good." The Hood slowly clapped. "I'm almost impressed." He released his grip. Alan crumpled to the ground, and he wasn't moving but Scott couldn't reach him, and he wanted to scream.
Parker, hands still aloft in surrender, stepped quietly across the floor to reach Alan's side. Maya kept the gun trained on him but didn't fire. Parker turned his back to her, gently easing Alan upright, one hand on the kid's back, reassuring. Alan scrabbled at Parker's shoulders, hands shaking uncontrollably, and Parker wrapped an arm around him without question as Alan collapsed against him, burying his face in Parker's shoulder as he struggled to keep breathing.
"You're alright, kid," Parker murmured. "I've gotcha."
"I'm immune," Penelope burst out. She slammed a hand against the floor to draw attention. "Did you hear me? I said I'm immune. You want a test subject? Alright, I volunteer. Let the others go. I'll stay."
"M'Lady," Parker croaked.
"Penelope," Scott cut her off. "No."
The Hood drummed a hand against his prosthetic arm. "As amusing as this display is, I have to reject your kind offer, Lady Creighton-Ward." His mouth twisted. "You see, sometimes it all comes down to fate. And it's a Tracy's fate to die at my hands."
"And my father wasn't enough for you?"
"Oh, Scott." The Hood barely spared him a glance. "I didn't kill your father. Your father killed himself, the second he stepped on that rocket. Believe me, if I thought I could take credit for Jeff Tracy's death then I would, but the reality is… well. We all know what the reality is, don't we? But you. You're just as great of a thorn in my side as he was. In fact, I'd almost say you're worse." He let out a breezy sigh. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun." He gestured to Maya. "Take the woman and the old man upstairs. They won't be of use to us."
"What about Alan?" Scott's heart lurched. "Hey, hey, no, you said you'd let him go."
"I did. I let him go. I never said anything about letting him leave."
Sometimes in life, Scott experienced moments where he just couldn't do it anymore, when everything was too much, too complicated, and he couldn't figure out how to take the next step, hell, even how to take the next breath, and he just wanted to curl up and stop. Usually in these moments he had a voice in his ear talking him back from the brink. Which was why it was perfectly valid that his immediate thought wasn't of an escape plan or strategy, but simply, I need John. But John wasn't here – thank God – and he was on his own.
"On your feet." Maya's eagerness to press the gun to people's temples had Penelope stilling in her frantic fight to free herself. She twisted to catch Scott's eye.
"I'll find you. I swear to you, Scott, I will find you."
Scott forced a smile. "I know you will. Be safe, Pen."
Penelope's eyes filled with tears. "I love you."
The Hood tore Alan away from Parker as though the kid weighed nothing and sent him skidding across the floor to Scott's side. Scott practically overbalanced, unable to use his hands but at least able to observe, to check for himself that Alan was still breathing even if he was lacking lucidity.
Parker, despite the gun pressed to his jaw, spat at the Hood's feet as he was marched out of the room. It was only as the doors hissed shut that Scott glimpsed Maya's eyes – clear, free from pain – through the glass panels. Red lights blared.
"Launch initiated," a robotic voice announced.
The Hood flung himself to the doors. "What have you done?"
"This is an escape pod," Maya called through the glass, wicked with the satisfaction of victory. "I set it to escape. I know who you are, Hood, and I refuse to help an international terrorist. If I allow you to stay on board this satellite, I put everyone in danger. You can go back to Earth and rot amongst the dead."
"You need me. You need him." The Hood jerked a thumb towards Scott.
Maya shook her head. "You're wrong. Weren't you listening? Blondie over here is also immune. I can gather all the data we need from her." She flipped her middle finger at the windows. "Enjoy your time on Earth, Hood. I hear it's quite the experience nowadays."
The Hood's furious scream was so loud that it left Scott's ears ringing. Footsteps stormed over to him. "Fix this."
He squinted up at the Hood, framed against bright lights. "How? With my elbows? Untie me and I'll give it a go."
The Hood made short work of the knots. Scott stumbled upright, wrists crying out as the feeling flooded back to his hands. He didn't need to check the control panel to confirm what he already knew – that escape pods couldn't be operated from the inside – there was no way to stop the launch – but it gave him the chance to pretend to trip, stashing the blade Parker had inconspicuously dropped by the wall. Great. So now he was on a one-way trip to Earth with an injured teenager, an irate criminal mastermind, a single weapon, a battered suit with a few tricks up its sleeve but no armour and Alan's reinforced zombie-proofed IR-uniform. Things weren't looking good. He partly wanted to laugh, partly wanted to sob.
He inhaled slowly, then turned back to the Hood as the countdown ticked into the ten-second range.
"I can't do anything. It can't be controlled from the inside."
"No. No." The Hood's prosthetic fist left a crater in the wall.
Well maybe you shouldn't have used an escape pod as your torture chamber, Scott thought, but kept that wisecrack to himself. With his hands free, he could finally tend to Alan. He tucked himself into a corner and gently eased his brother into his lap. Alan made a feeble sound of protest, blindly patting at Scott's hands with a scared whimper.
"H-hey," Scott murmured, catching one of Alan's hands. "It's just me. It's just Scotty. Here-" He guided one of Alan's hands to the fine scar on his forearm. "Remember when I got that, when I took you and Gordon ice-skating years ago? See? Just me."
"You're bleeding," Alan whispered, voice slurred. "You 'kay?"
"Yeah." Scott closed his eyes, leaning over to press a kiss to Alan's forehead. "I'm okay."
"What's happenin'?"
"We're going on a trip. But it'll be alright. I'll keep you safe, I promise bud."
Across the floor, pressed to the opposite wall as the escape pod shook around them, hurtling into the empty void of space, the Hood watched them with baleful yellow eyes. Scott tightened his grip on his brother and stared back.
"I'll keep you safe," he repeated, daring the Hood to suggest otherwise, but the man simply huffed, turning away to watch as the world turned to flame outside the window.
Alan – breathing still strained and catching on every other inhale – closed his eyes. Scott stayed where he was and the Hood remained unmoving and – as the world shook and shuddered around them with the force of re-entry – they eyed each other, suddenly on equal footing.
"Before we land," Scott whispered, icy with threat, "I want to make one thing very clear. Touch my kid again, even look at him, and I will destroy you."
The Hood was silent for a moment. Then he jerked his chin towards the door with a dull laugh.
"Get in line, Tracy. There's a horde of the undead waiting to tear me apart too."
"Well then." Scott reluctantly slid his knife back into his inner pocket and slumped back against the wall. The Hood watched silently. "I'd hate to take that pleasure away from them."
The Hood remained quiet for a moment longer. "I won't harm your brother," he said at last, "if you won't stab me the second I turn my back."
"Deal," Scott snapped.
"Careful." The Hood's lips curved with an amused smile. "Haven't you ever heard what they say about making a deal with the Devil?"
Okay, technically that's not a cliff-hanger. Technically.
Review?
Kat x
