Does it Count as an Order if the Crazy Mercenary Offered First?

Arsenal was an odd one. Hands down.

Definitely less "hero-like" which was honestly a godsend. He had a pretty brash, sometimes cold way of speaking.

It frustrated the others sometimes and made their alarm bells go off, but they just had to read between the lines. I called it honest, he was done with life and had little energy to be all "comforting."

Also no other hero I knew had a robo-arm missile launcher and flamethrower!

But co-ops team or not Arsenal was on the hero team. Like in shirts and skins. Often the nerds were the ones in bare flesh getting reamed by red rubber and shaming jeers.

I had to admit, for a guy who could crush me like a soda can, he was good to us. And he seemed to like us around even!

We kept a much lower profile is all. Arsenal was duly paranoid not just as a guy with a lot of enemies but also, as the guy who informed us that Blue Beetle and Luthor had all of America on side with the Reach.

If he hadn't already, there would likely be mandates to recuperate escaped meta-teens. No need to give him more reason.

We gave him more reason.

The canning factory had been a fun romp in my head. Had sounded "off the chain," like Virgil sometimes used, on paper. And we'd gotten our grown-up's eye on it so he'd approve us going out.

We had... some ideas to use if the answer was no.

But it wasn't.

We were sent in. with orders trusted to me, to phone in if the mission went awry.

Hopefully our anti-hero, dubiously no-kill Nick knew better now.

There was plenty on TV about this sort of stuff. Some "odd couple."

Odd hexagon?

Arsenal could also, not cook. For his life.

Oh the food was, passably edible. We'd all eaten it just fine. Grover could tolerate the bland burntness if not ever, ever, ever like or desire it again.

Almost sending the poor goat guy to tears.

As it so happened, I wasn't one for being cooped up too long.

And again, aliens on the warpath, heroes on the hunt, and possibly a shadow league on the lookout was not an appealing reality at eight in the morning.

I took up my time with spying on our hen mother hooch.

All six, seven, whatever, a lot of people all squirreled away in a suitable safe house doubling as some manner of apartment space allowed us bunking arrangements that worked for everyone.

Me, G-Man, and V were just an obvious team from the start.

Tai and Eduardo paired off together while Asami got some accommodation for herself out of priority access to the one restroom.

Arsenal made due with the sad couch in an even sadder living room.

Completely bare, floors creaky, and even the walls drooped of the low bar somehow still being broken. Arsenal likely beat it to death with the shovel.

Effectively and savagely as he sliced onions to submission. Oh the buggers weren't going to be making anyone tear up ever again. Good work.

Arsenal was odd. A freak just like us and he was cool.

Had awesome weapons.

He brought a fresh head of lettuce for scrutiny at his face, then shrugged as he began to slice.

Knife set aside.

Whether that was a reason not to trust him or helped a little that he was so abnormal...

I made to take the blade only for Arsenal to sweep it up in his hand first, sure that he had only just seen me by a hair and that was heart-stopping all by itself.

Forcing me to change spot, dashing on sock-muffled feet to the opposite counter.

It isn't exactly normal to make cracks about slicing off a middle schooler's arm with the meat cleaver. If I wanted a portable bazooka so bad.

Watching carefully, until he started working again to this time continue close observations by the tomatoes at his right.

"Are you having fun?" he threw absently, halting my foot right above pace. "There shouldn't be running in the kitchen. Or hiding utensils."

With some hesitation, I put the foot down, standing still and waiting for Arsenal to elaborate.

From what I could tell he just continued his work, seemingly content to pretend I didn't exist. Even if he wasn't angry I kind of was to be ignored.

"What's the plan today?" I asked jutting out my chin defiantly at his back. And despite my insolence his body language didn't become clipped or erratic. Nothing to indicate he was angry and would love to pop me in the mouth or smack my hands with the nearest wooden object.

Rather Arsenal turned so we were looking at each other, smirked slightly with the knife still in hand, and teased "guess on it, I know you've got the brains. Not to mention the instincts." And there was a hint of severity when he said so.

I didn't like the idea of being still too long, so I shifted to where the cupboard door was, above Arsenal and at his right under the assumption of getting a better view of everything on the cutting board and counters.

"A salad? Salad, salad's the side and uhhh-"

I didn't see anything else and Arsenal jolted any and all thoughts out of my brain with his gruff bark of a laugh.

"Kid I have not thought that far ahead, oh don't worry it'll be healthy and that jazz, how do you feel about ramen cups all around?"

I left then, rapidly speeding for the dining bar and to a kitchen table in a sad, deserted little corner with a small window that gave us an in to all the skeezy, back alley noises of a dirty, smog infused city.

Hefting one of the chairs I slid it close to the cupboard and somehow, the noise still didn't provoke a reaction.

Where with Smelly Gabe...

I shook my head out of that. Even if he did try something, he should be smart enough to remember what any of us could do at a moment.

"Hey be careful there," Arsenal said, "I can just-"

I saw his hands reach and I stiffened rather than flinch. A coward did that and a coward was an easier target. "Don't touch. I don't like that unless you're my mother."

Arsenal nodded but still asked to just stand behind him, just in case the chair tipped.

Then I should be ready if he possibly chose to tip it. Either way I nodded. Better to know where the disturbance would come from.

I stretched myself until I could reach the door and found a mismatched collection of food.

Mostly boxed stuff but enough for multiple meals.

I also found seasoning packs.

A part of me wondered if Arsenal were ever such a heathen to eat them whole.

"Veggie tacos, veggie tacos and salad. Grover's vegan you know. Absolutely no animals. Or we could do beans and put some extra from the veggies for flavor and we have avocados and mayo and beef in the fridge."

I'd just found a bag of chips deep inside.

"What do you know about seven layer dip?"

"Do we have the means to do that though?"

"If you're creative enough," I crowed, "my Mom always did and it always put stupid Smelly Gabe in a good mood. Likes it almost as much as beer."

"Tell you what those are good ideas and I can tell the others are about ready to riot, can you cook?"

I tutted, "of course I can. Mom taught me how and this is exactly why. Only a loser couldn't take care of themselves and expect a kid and some woman they live with to do it for them. Can't even put a ring on it, but I'd sooner make him eat his cigars if he ever did that to my Mom."

"Good, now I have you to myself, so we can unpack all that."

I groaned in angry defeat. Because I knew he'd still played me but also, he was right about the others getting cheesed about the food.

For an adult living all on his own and on the run Arsenal was terrible at feeding himself.

Even if Tai and Virgil- one of them frightened- chided the others to keep lips zipped about it.

Grover had actually cried.

I didn't even have to hop off for Arsenal to get my chair into place with the veggie station.

He rummaged through the fridge for the avocados to slice and some peppers.

"Let's save the beef for tomorrow night," he said.

"The peppers too."

"Nah, don't worry I have plenty of those, to marinate right? I could buy some pasta make a stew out of it."

"Then you'll definitely need me tomorrow night too," I said.

"Geez a kid is giving me lip and I can't argue with him."

"It- well you aren't the only man in the world rubbish at cooking."

"Yeah I know, and hey," Arsenal nudged me, "I don't mind. Your mother raised you right."

He put a lettuce head in my hands, "you can finish off peeling that. Think of peeling flayed or dead skin off a mook."

"Awww no way, gimme the knife, you're good with onions but awful at everything else! How does that even happen?"

"Okay now I know you're just lying. What Mom taught you that too?"

"Yes," I said sharply, "when I was five Gabe made me make dip and I cut myself. He still ate it when my Mom said she'd cleaned the blood from everything."

And. He. Stopped.

"We couldn't afford to get more that time, well that's all in my Mom's budget but stupid Gabe fills our fridge and cupboards with junk food and beer and sodas I'm not allowed to have."

"Hey kid, you ever wanna just slice that asshole to pieces?"

"All the time!"

"Congratulations then have at it."

And he slid the avocadoes over to my side, just as abruptly taking the lettuce head, now looking rightly and deadly furious.

He stripped pieces off that were jagged, uneven, and had to be torn at twice to get to a good size for tacos.

Once I'd cut each avocado- I wasn't sure if he wanted guacamole or just avocado crescents.

I decided if they were peeled and then cut into bare alien green skin strips I could just mash them later.

Arsenal than whistled behind me.

"Damn you're almost too good at that."

"I should be, have to be good at something right," I said, wholly concentrated on my task.

The last tomatoes were next. And he wanted them in those thin hamburger strips.

We both really liked hamburgers.

"Learned about knife safety by the time you were five," Arsenal guided in a much more subdued voice then I'd ever remembered hearing.

Everything was different, in some way had shifted and it felt, flat. Tepid and peaceful, I didn't want to admit it... but it was... even a little bit safe.

"No one else was going to help my Mom, but she didn't want me to for some reason. I did and she taught me. She taught me everything she knew and then told me about my Uncle too."

Arsenal nodded. "That's some woman, raised you right."

"Obviously," I said just as proud as I pretended to be exasperated. Even if it was such an obvious fact. My Mom named Sally Jackson was everything good and warm in a world going crazy. And she deserved, should be married to some millionaire. Who didn't make his money through killing people and skimming off the tops from the crimes he stops.

"Oh and I won't tell you about my Uncle by the way. I think it's you have to tell me about yours."

Arsenal passed the small plate for the avocado and let Percy continue to the tomatoes in peace.

With the onions all done and the lettuce mixed properly and washed so the leaves glistened dewy with water, Arsenal was just standing around at this point.

"Don't forget that the water needs to be boiled for the beans and that you have to wait for the mashed beans to be dry until you can eat it."

He nodded and went for the pan.

Setting it on the stove under my close eye.

I was getting a bit presumptuous now. Arsenal was an odd one, a freak, and from the vibe he was giving off, knew how to deal with hysterical and irrational kids in the right kind of way. So they don't incriminate themselves in front of the authorities.

I should cool it a bit, adults tended to have an ego that lashed out when bossed around or talked back to by kids.

The lull was awkward.

I continued doing my task, my hands getting red and covered in little seeds.

Arsenal took in a breath and then with a much louder exhale turned back to look at me.

"Hey Perce-"

"Percy," I corrected, "please," looking him in the eyes and even looking a bit sad and uncertain as if at any point I'd been afraid, as if something so basic was where I was afraid.

"Percy you know it's my job to ask and of course, you don't have to tell me the truth and sure maybe it won't help," Arsenal started, making me just a bit confused, "are you in a safe environment? When you go home during school breaks, when you go to see your mother, does your stepfather know well enough to leave you and his wife be?"

Now I was genuinely struck dumb. Well, dumber than usual. Someone... wanted to- but it wasn't even important- but he'd asked.

But he shouldn't- shouldn't tell should he? Nothing would be done, even if Arsenal did-

Nightwing was cool but he was also made of ice and cut others off when speaking, he didn't like being given lip by Virgil about how they'd been trapped and used and contained.

No one would listen.

But Arsenal meant it and Arsenal-

Arsenal had killed.

So Percy shook his head.

Anger bubbling to the surface red hot and ugly.

He made sure to be aware of his breathing, his heart beat, it wasn't in his ears so that was good. It was still manageable. Usable and okay to express.

The tomato could be Smelly Gabe's stupid walrus head.

A twisted little smile crooned at the thought.

Cutting a strip off the tomato.

Cutting his skin to expose the red squishy parts.

"Are you safe in your home? Has he ever hit you? Does he act- a certain way for your Mom?"

He wanted to know why she was still married.

Percy just shook his head. "My Mom knows she isn't stupid!"

"It isn't about stupid, I promise you. I Promise," he emphasized grimly, "but it just isn't smart or acceptable that you be stuck in that situation if there is someone who can protect you and-"

"She does! I don't know why she still puts up with him but she- she's alone. No family, no friends I think, she never talks about other people not even to me, I know not to get hit and he says he will sometimes if I don't give him money but he hasn't. Not yet."

"Yeah that's how it goes, usually the one in a situation like that has no other options, usually living with little money in general or forced to ration limited, controlled amounts dictated by a partner and the apartment, does he make comments about who pays for that?"

I thought, in all the conversations and in the arguments they'd had- the few I remembered before I was shipped to my first school- I couldn't remember if it did come up.

"Sorry," I said.

"Don't be. Okay, okay, Percy your Mom clearly does the best she can, she clearly loves you and is on your side so that's a positive. Things would go in her favor then."

"What do you-" but it fell into place pretty quickly.

Just as the water for beans boiled, I tried to hop down to do it since he was thinking. Only for Arsenal to hold his palm out, not touching but clearly indicating me to stay.

"I got it," and he did. Grabbed the bag of beans to rip it open and pour into the pot.

"About my stepdad are you asking if you should kill him?"

I know something like that, the very idea, should be "bad," unthinkable and unhealthy.

But when it had come out of my mouth it wasn't even in a deadened way, just something asked to clear things up.

"I have killed Percy, not one or two and not always because I "have to," I've tried to kill in anger before," he admitted. "And this part, I don't like admitting but I will tell you I tried gunning for Luthor and I could have planted a bullet in that cue ball head of his. The thing is I didn't."

"Why?"

And I couldn't help but sound insolent and disappointed. Why hadn't he shot the cue ball into Swiss Cheese.

"I know, I know. It was a mistake. I should've so he wouldn't have done something more twisted than icing me and making cut-out clones to work for the bad guys."

And again I say, WHY?

And it probably showed, what with the dirtiest side eye I could conceive of. I even shook my head at him.

"He's who got me the arm, satisfaction I called it," and he scoffed bitterly crossing his two arms, "it was a flipping bribe."

Hey you're a swearer don't stop now.

"Sorry. What happened to you I mean. So, Smelly Gabe."

"Smelly?"

"Moldy garlic pizza wrapped in old gym socks."

"Making me gag, are we sure he isn't a swamp thing because that could make my job a whole lot less reprehensible, y'know, for the rep and all."

"Could be," he said.

"Just say the word Percy and I'll," Arsenal made a finger gun, popping it at air, "no mark, no residue, I'll make it look like poisoning or... guilt, let's use guilt, catching up to the guy one is more painful than the other," his grin turned conspiratorial and feral, "and for you I won't even charge you. System's failed you enough I'd say."

And he could do it too. Could and would do it.

Arsenal, a complete freak. And a freak with the power and know-how, to help, really help screw-ups. This could be, what it felt like to be understood and listened to, really listened to.

I knew he was cool!

I didn't know he was Night Avenger for the Weak amazing!

I grinned and fine, there were stars in my eyes.

Arsenal's grin turned crooked too, we were having fun.

And I wondered if I could custom order the method and just what "painful" meant to a super who'd had an arm amputated and was kept on ice and however "cut-outs" worked.

But then, it did hit me.

"The System" and authorities.

If Gabe were to turn up all dead one day in the apartment they'd want Mom to act a certain way and be all broken up about it.

And I couldn't let her be afraid of some psycho-killer taking rounds around the block, I'd have to tell her about Arsenal.

That was so unfair!

"That's, I would love for you to do it and I bet my Mom would thank you with her world class blue cookies too," I started, mood mullish.

"But," he prompted.

And I moaned, "but my Mom would be the first suspect nuh uh, I can't put that stress on her."

"Huh. I honestly thought you'd struggle the other way with that," Arsenal admitted, blinking a few times.

Had he-?

"Don't get me wrong any kid who wants me to," this time he made a slash at his throat, "done, deal, no questions asked and certainly no judgement. Still you've got your head on, can see the variables and it is fair if the fallout isn't something you want. If it happens the way you say even if you're Mom is acquitted by a judge with half a brain it could mean a year at least in the foster system."

"I'd take any stupid social worker brain dead enough to try down with me first."

"Okay let's not start taking names, feel I shouldn't encourage that as the responsible adult."

"Literally two seconds we wanted to kill my step-dad," I deadpanned.

"Who said anything about past tense?" he crowed, sounding so overly-indignant.

"Tell you what, we'll get this finished up Cooking Boy then I can give you something still to deal with that sod if you want."

I shrugged, "sure, what's a sod?"

"Look it up."

I had the urge to remind him I was dyslexic hobo but that smile and the devious spark in his eyes kind of made me... want to. Want to make sure he knew I wasn't one to just use as a yo-yo or much less give up and hide behind: "I can't, I'm disabled."

Dinner turned out to be a hit that night.

Grover pumped up his fist and then tackled me in a hug thanking me for actual sustenance and Gods tier eating.

Once Arsenal gave credit where it was due.

And Arsenal was as caustic as usual about being dissed for his efforts.

"He would have us eat ramen day round if he got his way."

We all shared a laugh and even the shabby hidey hole we were in felt just a little lived in just from the sound.

Arsenal didn't usually sit next to me. Meal time was for me and Grover and whoever did choose to join at my left that night. Usually V to talk Dakota and New York and where our Moms worked.

His worked as a paramedic.

"I said I'd help you and since dead in the Hudson is off the table," he handed me a piece of paper under the table. "My number, call it if you have an emergency or if you've had enough and need somewhere else to stay, a ride, anything. Just call it and don't be a hero because not even Robin was that young when he started down the Bat spiral."

I nodded. "Yeah, okay."

And then he took out his wallet.

I almost yelled then and there in front of everyone about what he was thinking.

"What? I'm not going to pay my new cooking boy," he whispered with another secretive, troubling smile.

And I decided, he counted out several twenties and fifties in desperation for competent help. Not to mention hush money less my sarcastic, impudent mouth embarrasses him again.

I couldn't wait to spill to Grover after dinner or tomorrow morning.