Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Watch The Sky ❯ Chapter Twelve ( Chapter 12 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for children under 17
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.10.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.8K | Visits: 255 | Status: Completed
Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for children under 17
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.10.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.8K | Visits: 255 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS! Dwayne McDuffie and WB and Milestone do in...their various ways.
Warning: profanity, darkness, slash, Out of Character
A/N: Wa ha ha ha ha...did you think I would forget? (Grin) Of course aliens aren’t unusual in this fandom...(feels clever).
Carol :um...steamrollers? Construction? Ugh. Constant construction makes me wonder if Reno will EVER be done with its freeway work. I fully feel sympathy for you on this matter. (Feels sympathy) Your questions will be answered very shortly...but thanks for the observations! It makes me think about more possible situations and such that I might’ve missed or totally blanked over.
Chapter Twelve
Hotstreak was right–once Static reached the docks, where the Big Bang had occurred a few years back, he felt that consolation of being...safe. Secure. As if the eyes that had been watching him had been abruptly shut. Things were more normal in this area–it was still blocked off by somewhat lax security measures, empty, abandoned–but the water pushed gently against the wood of the docks, and the sound of birds in the air gave it a cozy sound.
The redhead was standing uncomfortably near a warehouse, glaring sullenly into the distance. When Static arrived, he exhaled heavily. “Let’s make this quick, all right? I got things to do, and you’re wasting my time,” he complained.
Static smirked. “Reconsidering things in a hurry?”
Hotstreak scowled. “What are you talking about? Anyway, let’s get this over with. What do you want to know?”
“I expected a battle out of this, man. Thanks for cooperating without–”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hurry up! Geez, if anybody sees me talking to you–”
“All right!” Hopping off his disc, Static flicked it shut and held it within one hand, considering his first question. His expression turned grim. “Tell me–what do you know about ‘They’?”
Hotstreak gave him an irritated look, as if completely bothered by the topic. “C’mon–you’ve been to their house. Big bad hero like you must pick up his sidekick somehow.”
Static felt slightly more comfortable in that Hotstreak didn’t know his other identity. He shrugged. “Not really. I mean...obviously, my sidekick has legs.”
“Anyway, their house is fucking creepy as hell! There’s things that are runnin’ around, talking, spilling things–! They have this thing against anything involving calcium. Every time Rich gets a cup, it’s somehow on the floor, or slapped right out of his hand. I’ve seen it happen. You can hear Them complaining whenever he gets an ice cream cone! I can’t see Them, but you can get a glimpse of Them from time to time. I hear the two talking about Them a lot, when I’m waiting for Rich. That’s what they call Them–They. Them. They mention a ‘Harold’ a lot, too. Anyway, since I’ve been seein’ Rich, I didn’t feel the same, anymore. It was like They followed me around, too. Not talkin’–just...sorta watching...I guess.”
Static was in disbelief. Hotstreak’s account matched Osgoode’s, and what he’d seen as well. It also seemed that Hotstreak accepted the strangeness as something entirely ‘normal’ for the twins. It felt insulting that someone like the meta was so accepting of the incidents while Static himself had a hard time accepting it.
“Jesus,” he muttered, scratching his head.
“Not only that, They’re another reason why I don’t think Ebon went all psycho. Them things are really possessive of them,” Hotstreak added, frowning. “When Puff and I went in there to see why Ebon an’ ‘nem didn’t show up, I could feel Them watching us. Y’know, I can’t explain what They are–I just know They’re there.”
Static stared at him for a few moments. “I can’t believe you’re so calm about this...do you realize how crazy you sound?”
Hotstreak reddened, and he grew insulted. “Look, I know what I fuckin’ know! I ain’t stupid, nor am I blind! Yeah, only one eye works better than the other, but because of that, I tend to notice things more! Like the fact that little dweeb Virgil Hawkins can’t even tell them apart, and he hangs around them way more than I do with Rich! Or that that Osgoode kid is more psycho than anybody thinks!”
Static scowled, and he had to bite his tongue in order to keep from snapping back at him in defense. “Look...it’s just...if there’s nothing really there...then why should I believe it? What if...what if somehow the Big Bang gas touched them, giving some sort of telekinesis that acts based on their emotions–?”
“Why are you bothering me with this?” Hotstreak complained, giving him an irritated look. “I don’t fuckin’ care about no tele–telekinesis–whatever!–bullshit! Is this all you wanted to fuckin’ ask me? I got things to do!”
Static sighed heavily. “Fine. I believe you. Because there’s no way you can completely make this stuff up–I doubt you have the imagination or that you’re ever interested in science fiction...”
“I didn’t come out here to get insulted by you! I’m just telling you what I know!”
“Hold up–how do you know They don’t like water?” Static then interrupted, giving him a curious look.
Hotstreak hesitated, then shrugged. He promptly lost his big act and looked more than a little sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at everything but him. “Uh...well...this one time me and...uh, Rich came down here. He was kinda surprised that it was so...so quiet. That he didn’t feel ‘watched’, anymore. I thought he was just being insane, like he is. He says the weirdest things, like, randomly. Then the next time we, uh, sorta met up, he’d laughed about being in trouble by coming to the lake. Not by his parents, but by Them. That’s what he said. ‘They don’t like water.’ When we wanted privacy, we, uh, came down here.”
Static wanted to make fun of the older teen’s embarrassment, forcibly holding himself back. It wasn’t all the time when he had this opportunity, but there were more important things at this moment. “Huh. Sounds like...that one movie.”
“Yeah. Wacky,” Hotstreak said with heavy sarcasm as he crossed his arms. “Anyway...are we done?”
“One more–how did you know Ebon had Richard?”
Hotstreak reddened, licking his lips nervously. His good eye shifted with nervousness, looking at everything but him. “Uh...well...I sorta follow him around...well, anyway, I saw Ebon grab him. Couldn’t exactly go right up and demand what the fuck without losing my rep, so I sorta...convinced Puff that she should team up with Ebon. Just so that I could, uh, get in close to mess it up so that...uh...Rich could get away. But, whatever. It changed when Kangorr spotted the brother. I kinda knew things would get handled from there–there’s something shitty about that guy that just...I dunno. I just...felt better knowing that he was going to be with Rich. It just...it just feels that it’s gonna work out.”
Static’s brow furrowed as he processed that. “So...you trusted that Osgoode would...make things right?”
“C’mon, what is this? Fifty questions?! I don’t wanna stand here all day gettin’ asked my whole damn life story! Man...”
“Okay, okay. Chill. So what happened when you found the bodies?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, we saw the bodies. Figured that was that, but Puff freaked out, so...I had to, too. Y’know...to make sure that I wasn’t in on it, and have people sniffin’ around me, thinking I was a suspect, or something. Or figurin’ out that thing between Rich and me. That’s why I was all up in their faces that next day or whatever, to...keep people from...y’know...don’t be tellin’ people nothin’, either! If anybody finds out–!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, your rep will–”
“–they’re gonna use Rich against me–! Er...yeah! My rep! It’ll be torn to shreds!”
Static stifled a snicker as Hotstreak quickly corrected himself. Despite this, he wasn’t sure how to interpret the confidence in Osgoode’s presence in a dangerous situation; the redhead seemed at a loss in explaining it as well. Static found no reason that Hotstreak would lie to him with that revelation; in all his years of knowing the meta, Static felt that he was telling the truth. No matter how humiliating its oddness.
Static considered what he’d learned from the other metahuman. He then frowned. “You’re surprisingly cooperative, man.”
Hotstreak shrugged. “You’ve got blackmail. ‘Sides, those things are freaky. Maybe you’ll be useful for once and check into that, ‘steada bothering people who got things to do. Anyway, that it? Cuz I’m expected elsewhere...”
“Yeah...sure. Thanks a lot. Also, smart guy, the age of consent in this state is fifteen, but applies only to females because of that marriage matter. Any sort of sexual contact with a male minor under the age of eighteen will constitute as a felony. There’s also a bill in the works for this state in that sodomy of any sort will be considered an offense, qualifiable for higher charges, as well. You know this state’s run by Bible-thumpers, and looks down on homosexuals.”
“...What? Really?” Hotstreak looked downright crushed upon hearing this.
“Yeah. And whatever Puff has planned and you want no part of better not be anything serious or threatening to a civilian, or to the city!” Static then warned as Hotstreak then turned and walked off after throwing him a suspicious glance over his shoulder. Static stood there for several moments, finding it so odd that Hotstreak would tell him such things so easily.
01010011
That night, Richard stared at his half-closed door. Beyond it, he could hear Osgoode rummaging through his collection of comics. Sean had already left for work and Maggie was in bed, reading a novel. His clock read ten til ten, and Richard definitely didn’t feel like sleeping. Osgoode’s behavior was frightening for him. His twin was seemed to be biding his time; torturing him with his cold stares his lingering presence, and his cold comments. Though Osgoode seemed a little more cheerful than usual, his actions were completely different.
In their shared science class, during the dissection of the cat, Osgoode had been much too cheerful about pulling out the cat’s wilted innards with cold precision. He’d added little comments about what he’d do to a human body if he had the chance; speculated on whether or not to keep that person alive during the fact. Wondered, quietly in case their classmates overheard, how They had felt doing such terrible things to the Metabreed.
It was with a terrible cheer that Osgoode spoke in this manner–and every bit of it was directed at Richard in a subtle way. Even if he wouldn’t touch him, Osgoode would give Richard suggestive actions–a slash of his pencil across his throat, joking reminders of a broken nose or other limbs, the way he felt whenever he cut into human flesh with a screw driver. He commented on what he’d do to Richard, in a sort of mockery about OJ Simpson’s atrocious try into fiction with his controversial book.
“If I ever did it, what I’d do to make my brother disappear because I grew tired of him pissing me off,” he’d said, too quiet for anybody to overhear.
After that horrible parody about what he’d do to his brother in gory detail, he began to remind Richard what he’d done to him. Over lunch, Osgoode would remind him of his past inflicted damages with quiet and psychotic glee–his classmates would think that they were sharing jokes or playful secrets with the casual way Osgoode carried on.
After every comment, Richard was bombarded with the images of seeing the underside of a shovel coming at his face, or seeing a Phillips head screwdriver driving through the delicate web of his thumb and index finger. He would start to think of what Osgoode would do to him in private–burning his flesh with his own cigarettes, purposely lighting his shirt on fire with his lighter, lacing his drinks with ammonia or ipecac, punching and kicking him so violently that ribs snapped. Punching him so hard that his glasses broke, and stitches were required. Having absolutely no remorse for the time he’d duck-taped his brother limbs together and locked him into the trunk of their parents’ car, leaving him there during one hot summer’s day.
As a result of his flashbacks, Richard began to grow stiff in every limb, for his mind to wander from reality. Every time he found a respite, his twin would follow him with an excuse–deliberately forcing himself around Richard so that the older twin wouldn’t have any privacy or moment’s peace alone.
While he didn’t do any harm in physical retaliation, sticking to Harold’s warning, he succeeded in terrorizing his brother’s mind.
During dinner, Osgoode cheerfully carried conversation with his parents while Richard stared at his food, unable to touch it. While his twin joked that he was taking after his mother with her ‘eating disorders’, he created an atmosphere in which both Maggie and Sean believed that Richard was suffering no trauma of any sort and was just sulking over a recent break-up. It was amazing how Osgoode was able to manipulate their parents in this manner–but Richard felt trapped.
This was the first time Osgoode had left him with himself in the past day. Despite the feeling of relief, Richard couldn’t help but think that Osgoode was planning something to get back at him. He could tell that his twin was suffering from his quiet rage; he could feel that build-up of rising heat within his brother. Empathically, he realized that Osgoode felt frustrated and trapped within his anger, having no way to go about relieving it as he never learned the proper way how. He’d used abuse of his brother to feel better about himself; apparently, Osgoode often felt better whenever he saw his brother bleeding and bruised, or terrorized and quiet. Now that he couldn’t lay his hands on Richard, the twin just seemed to grow more dangerous.
Richard’s stomach was in knots and his thoughts were scattered, his mind foggy. It was hard to concentrate on something other than the violent images that were brought up due to Osgoode’s ‘cheerful’ reminders of the past. He stared blankly at the cover spread of his bed, faintly registering the sound of the phone ringing down the hall. Forcing himself to focus on it, he had the dull hope that Virgil was calling for Osgoode and they were going to make up and things would be all right again–and as he looked up, he could see Osgoode lingering at his own door with a hopeful expression as they listened to Maggie answer the phone.
Their mother sighed loudly, and rose from her bed to emerge into the hall to address her boys. Holding the phone limply in one hand, she asked in a weary manner, “Anybody know why somebody keeps calling just to hang up? Both of you make enemies, today? This is the fifth call in an hour! I don’t want to turn the phone off if this continues!”
“No,” Osgoode muttered, sulking as he retreated into his room. Richard furrowed his brow as Maggie’s words penetrated the fog of his thoughts, and he lifted his head to call her into his room. She walked in with a questioning expression.
“I’ll find out who it is,” he muttered, reaching for the phone. She tossed the handheld to him, then announced her return back to bed. From across the hall, Osgoode stared at Richard with penetrating reminder, the slate-gray of his eyes turning almost black. Richard swallowed tightly as he held the phone against his chest, feeling trapped as his brother held his gaze with warning.
He looked away, dropping the phone onto his bed. Several long minutes passed before it rang, startling him. Before he even had a chance to pick it up, Osgoode wandered into his room with a smirking expression. He was already dressed in his pjs, and he’d left his glasses in his room. Without saying anything, he laid himself over Richard’s bed, waiting for him to answer the phone. His hands shaking, Richard forced himself to pick up the phone, answering it with silence.
Osgoode rolled onto his side to prop his head atop of one hand while Richard listened to the silence on the other end. Slate-gray watched him intently, Richard’s chest tightening as seconds passed with nothing signaling the person that called them. He was starting to think that it was Them, playing pranks on them as They sometimes did to break up the monotony of their constant surveillance when he heard a familiar voice ask, “Rich? You there?”
Richard wanted to throw up. Not in disgust, but because he couldn’t talk to Hotstreak without Osgoode realizing who it was on the other end. What if it infuriated his brother even more? Osgoode would think that he’d lied about them breaking up. On the other hand, he felt somewhat happy that Hotstreak was trying to talk to him again.
“You’ve...you’ve got the wrong number,” he stammered, feeling sweat bead his brow. “Amanda Hugginkiss doesn’t reside here. Is that even English? Am I saying it wrong? Hello? Me love you long time for fifty?”
“Rich...come out to that place. You know...at the docks? I got somethin’ to say. I need to see you tonight. It’s–it’s really important,” Hotstreak said, sounding uncertain. “...There someone else there, why you can’t talk?”
“I’d like extra pepperoni, please. Make it cheese-stuffed crust, too. Breadsticks with extra marinara sauce. Delivered pronto, or I ain’t giving you my hot, sexy momma in payment.”
“Okay...I get it. Just–meet me there. Or do you want me to come and get you? In the usual place?”
Richard froze as Osgoode shifted, looking irritated. “Just hang up,” he muttered in annoyance. “You’re just encouraging them to prank call us. God, you sound like an idiot...”
“...I’ll come get you. All right?”
Richard watched Osgoode leave his room, pushing his door open for a more unobstructed view into his room. Where his brother could watch him from his own bed. “Sure. I’ll hold. But I better be guaranteed a bigger mortgage after this.”
“After twelve. All right? That way everyone’s asleep. Either way, I need to talk to you. Either you come out, or I’m coming in.”
“...Fine. I’ll settle for a low cost extension.”
After Hotstreak hung up, Richard watched Osgoode settle into his bed. Hanging up the phone, Richard didn’t feel any better as Osgoode turned out his light with a mighty yawn, yelling out his “Good nights” to everyone. Hearing his mother’s absent reply, Richard watched his brother shift so that he could continue staring at him. Feeling absolutely no need for sleep, too scared to even close his eyes while his brother was watching him, Richard laid stiffly onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Later that night, he had to force himself to look at the clock. It was twelve after midnight–he was quite confident that his brother had fallen asleep before then. The silence he heard in regards to Osgoode’s presence was familiar with sleep. He could hear the quiet patters of Their feet as They rummaged through the kitchen; opening cupboards, drawers, bouncing lightly on the chairs and couch.
He could feel one of Them close-by–the hangers in his closet clanked together lightly, clothes rustling against clothes. The door opened and closed very softly with its busy movements. Maggie was a loud snorer–They complained of the noises that came from her room. Still, despite of it all, Richard knew he was safe to leave the house. Having decided this, They went suddenly quiet as he rose from his bed, stuffing his feet into his house slippers and picking up his sweater from the floor. Pulling that on over his own pj’s, Richard waited for a few moments to listen to his brother’s breathing. Osgoode was asleep–he wouldn’t wake up. Confident and greatly relieved, he slipped out from his room, and quietly made his way through the darkness of his house to leave by the backdoor.
He knew that They were angry to see him leave, hearing their hushed whispers as they begged him to stay. The night was chilly, and he was tired as he realized his safety. His entire body had been so tense that as he stepped out of his back yard, every muscle seemed to sag with immense weariness. The neighborhood was quiet with the late hour–but They were agitated in that he was leaving Them. They could follow him, but They wouldn’t follow him all the way to the docks. As They hissed about hating water, Richard hurried toward a particular by-way near the apartment complex that he’d been chased through weeks earlier.
Hotstreak looked up from picking at his nails as he heard the blond near, and waited for him with an expectant air. Richard drew close, feeling a little nervous as he pulled his sweater tight, grimacing at the wind chill.
“Hey,” the older teen said quietly in greeting. His face softened as he reached out to sling an arm around Richard’s shoulders, drawing him close. Despite his feelings for the meta over the problems in their relationship, just being near him again and feeling his unnatural heat against him left Richard immensely relaxed and comfortable. “Let’s talk for a bit, huh? I borrowed a car to get there faster. That all right?”
“It’s not stolen, is it?” Richard mumbled against his green trench, feeling his eyelids close as he relied on the meta to hold him up. “I don’t wanna car chase tonight...”
“Nah. It’s someone actually responsible. He let me borrow it awhile.” Not at all offended by the comment, Hotstreak then led Richard down the stairs, heading for the double-parked Charger nearby. Fifteen minutes later, they were parked and Richard felt even more relaxed now that They couldn’t keep Their eyes and ears on him. No more voices, no more prying eyes. Just relaxing silence and the somewhat harsh crash of water against support. This area was easily navigated within the full moon light, and from the city lamps that lined the street just a distance away.
When they finally reached their private spot, a large undersurface office located within the warehouse that was closer to the Big Bang incident than the other structures in the area, Richard had to battle against his sleepiness as Hotstreak flicked on the lights. The electricity was the result of the efforts Richard made by stealing energy from a nearby underground source that was accessible from the street nearby. He’d made the area homey with coveted home supplies; Hotstreak had provided his own items of comfort, and the steel door was only unlocked with a key that he’d had made for the pair of them. The area was inaccessible to outsiders and labeled as a Hazmat area–though Richard had already investigated for traces of contamination with his own device and found it completely safe. Only the city had been slow to set their attention to the long abandoned structures that made an eyesore at the docks.
Richard sat heavily down onto the couch that Hotstreak had provided from whatever street he’d found it–the cushions were greatly worn, but it was clean and roomy. He looked over at the meta as he made sure the place was still untouched as when they’d last left it. When he was satisfied, he joined Richard on the couch, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against him. Richard wouldn’t argue against the comfy position he had against him, and contemplated falling asleep where he was. His mother wouldn’t mind if she found him gone in the morning; and it would provide such a relaxing escape from Osgoode and his murderous intentions.
But he couldn’t do that–it went against his responsibilities.
Hotstreak exhaled heavily, breath hitting Richard’s hair. He then relaxed, and seemed to start breathing in a rhythmic manner that Richard thought that he’d gone to sleep. Once he registered this, feeling a jolting twitch in the older teen, he closed his eyes and decided to go to sleep anyway. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to see that the meta had shifted the both of them to lay horizontally on the worn cushions. It was tempting to go back to sleep, but his responsibility in being home when the others woke up was annoyingly strong.
He turned his head to the other and kissed his temple, murmuring for him to wake up. Once the other opened his eyes, giving a tired grumble, Richard shifted position so that he had the front of his body pressed against the other’s side; he tossed an arm over his shoulders and kissed his ear.
“I missed you. Are you still mad at me?” he asked quietly.
Hotstreak sighed, lifting his head to wipe at the corner of his eyes. “No. I had to think about it, for awhile. I...I was just being stupid. I shouldn’t have bothered you the way that I did. I...was being a jerk...I guess.”
Richard chuckled, feeling uplifted. “You? A jerk? Unheard of...”
“...Quiet, you. Anyway, I gotta apologize for that. If you ain’t into doing something, then I shouldn’t be pushing you.” Hotstreak shifted so that he was propping his head atop of one hand, Richard managing to turn himself so that he was resting comfortably on his back without hanging over the edge of the couch cushions. He watched his brow furrow. “You don’t smell.”
“I am capable of taking showers, and participating in hygienic measures,” Richard said coyly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw and tickle his fingers on the auburn-colored soul patch under his lower lip.
“No, I mean–I don’t smell smoke on you.”
“Oh...yeah...I’m trying to quit. Don’t talk about it, or I’ll relapse.” Richard grinned at him for a few moments, then met his lips for a kiss. He stopped him from shifting away by grabbing his hair. “Did you miss me, then?”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I did. That’s why I’m groveling my way back to you.”
“Rawr,” Richard murmured, grinning broadly. “It’s sexy when you grovel.”
Hotstreak snorted, looking down at him for a few studious moments. He then furrowed his brow. “You know what? Static found out about us. I didn’t know you guys had a stalker.”
Richard froze for a few moments, recalling Osgoode’s violent reaction in the Gas Station. He swallowed tightly and didn’t feel very playful. Sensing his tension, Hotstreak mimicked his expression. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I–he....that guy took pictures of us talking. S-Static s-showed them t-to me and–”
“What’s wrong with you?” Hotstreak then asked, giving him a puzzled look. “Yeah, he knows, but it ain’t like he’s going to spill if you’re afraid people’ll gonna find out. I kinda trust him on that.”
Richard swallowed again, reminded of why he was so tired. Why his mind felt foggier than it should. But he found it curious that Static would approach Hotstreak in that event. “What’d he say?” he then asked curiously.
Hotstreak shrugged a shoulder with awkward movement. “Just asked stuff. What I knew about...I dunno. You’re always talking about ‘Them’, and you know I see stuff in your house. Something like that.”
“What’d you tell him?” Richard asked him, wondering what Virgil was trying to accomplish. To prove that Osgoode was merely making things up? Or was he on one of those missions to set things right? Either way, each aspect was terrifying. They both guaranteed Their disapproval and Osgoode’s ire. Virgil was practically begging Them to kill him.
“Eh. Just the basics....that’s all I know. He kept talking about that morning Ebon snatched you.” Hotstreak frowned at him, reaching down to run his fingertip over Richard’s eyebrows, smoothing them back. “What happened there, anyway?”
Richard wasn’t sure how to answer that. There were things that weren’t exactly clear–whenever something happened, he tended to black out. Unlike Osgoode, who seemed to remember every moment. Aside from that, he felt a little comfortable and relieved in that he’d found someone who accepted this oddness. Hotstreak didn’t seem to freak out too badly, but he’d seemed to accept the events as somewhat ‘normal’. Richard felt lucky in that aspect, feeling saddened for Osgoode because it was obvious Virgil had a hard time accepting it.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he murmured. “Sometimes They don’t let me remember.”
“Don’t you think it’s fuckin’ weird They completely spazzed out on Shiv an’ the others? I wonder how they killed Ebon. I know he didn’t commit suicide–”
“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Richard interrupted, giving him a pleading expression. “The less you know, the less likely Static will trick something out of you.”
Hotstreak sighed, but he told himself that Richard was right. If he knew his nemesis, Static would find a way to wrangle more information out of him. The less Static knew, the better Hotstreak would feel. He kissed Richard again, enjoying the absence of smoke and nicotine. Shifting so that he was laying atop of the other teen, he propped himself up on his elbows as Richard grunted, shifting so that he was more comfortable underneath him.
“Anyway, I did miss you,” Hotstreak muttered, rubbing his nose against his. “I was stupid to do that. When you’re ready, you’d let me know. I think it’s cool that you’d stand up to me like that.”
Richard gave him a playful nip on his nose as he retreated. “Isn’t it better to work for something that won’t come easily to you? The pay-off in the end is always worth the frustration.”
“So...uh...I learned something new, today. Is there really a law against sexual contact with male minors under 18? And something like a bill that makes sodomy an...offense? Qualifiable for higher charges?”
Richard gave him a puzzled look. “Yeah...but that’s not why I chose not to have anal sex. That’s just a rule ultra-conservatives made up to continue their hate and try to control homosexuals. Those rules mean nothing to me, and as long as we keep things in private, I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”
Hotstreak thought about this for a few moments, then gave him a suspicious look. “But if we break up again, you could accuse me of that. If you were really pissed at me.”
“No I won’t,” Richard protested, giving him another puzzled look. “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t hold anything you do against you, even if you made me angry for some reason or another.”
“...Well...you know...gotta think of the angles. So...even if I–sorta respect your wish on holding off for the ass part, I think I’m just gonna wait. Until...it’s sorta legal.”
“I doubt that bill will apply in our situation. It’s mainly for in-trial situations concerning child abuse by an adult, pertaining to minors under 14.” Richard kissed him again, cupping his face between both hands.
“Whatever. I said my part. Let’s make-out. That’s safe at least, right?”
Richard laughed, pushing his head away when he descended for a kiss. “Yeah, it’s safe, but I have morning breath!”
“Aw, c’mon! Don’t do this right now–I’ve got to get you back in an hour. That way you have enough time to get some sleep before waking up for school. Can’t have the private school brat all out of sorts for his classes. God forbid you actually skip school because of fatigue, right?”
“Right.” Richard then eyed him suspiciously. “Do you have a hard-on?”
“Um...no. Actually...” Hotstreak shifted suddenly, making Richard protest as he applied weight in uncomfortable places. With a sheepish expression, Hotstreak plucked something out of his jacket pocket to hold in Richard’s sight. “If you weren’t going to accept my apology, I had another course of action.”
Richard barked out in delighted laughter, reaching for the pocket-sized teddy bear. It was cream colored, very Easter-cutesy, but had a Winne-The-Pooh red shirt pulled on. The yellow letters, “Pooh”, had significant meaning between the pair of them–which was why the shirt was pulled onto an un-Winnie bear. It was so cute that he had no idea what to do with himself, Hotstreak reddening in mortification.
“SAY IT!” Richard then demanded, hugging the bear close. “And I’ll forgive you completely. I’ll also do whatever you want–within MY reasoning.”
“...Aw man...isn’t this enough? Do you know how embarrassing it was trying to get Carmen to steal this shit just so I could score points with you?...don’t make me say it.”
“SAY IT. That’s all I want. I just want you to say it. No one can hear you. Promise.”
Hotstreak sighed again, rolling his eyes. His color increased as his expression turned resigned. “Fine. I...I missed you and want you back...Pooh Cub.”
Richard laughed again, utterly delighted by the pet name he’d given himself for Hotstreak to use. The redhead scowled in embarrassment, but it didn’t last long as he realized how much he’d missed the other teen’s flustering antics into making him a wimp. At least Richard made these particular demands in privacy.
The blond teen flung his arms around his neck, pulling him back atop of him. That stuffed monstrosity of cuteness hit the side of his face and reminded him of the efforts he’d put into getting that toy and shirt just to make Richard smile at him. It just seemed to make it all worth while when Richard was happy.
“All right! I forgive you, papa bear. Let’s make out.”
01010011
“Well, of course there are particular races out there in space that conduct gene-farms and the like,” Superman said, giving Static a puzzled expression.
His red cape fluttered neatly from his back, caught in the chilling wind that swept against the pair of them as they stood on the rooftop of the Daily Planet. Static’s neck had a crick from looking up at him, so he’d taken to a hover on his disk so that they were at least eye to eye. He’d just gone over some of the information that both Osgoode and Hotstreak had revealed to him recently. The trip to Metropolis had been a long and tiring one–he hadn’t even considered a phone call, as the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. So deeply involved with his thinking that such time-slicing factors hadn’t even cut in with his thoughts.
“Completely illegal in ethical terms, but if they can get away with it...it’s common for them to try. It’s not that unusual. I wouldn’t be surprised if this experimentation was happening to hundreds of people on this planet, and those breeding situations are being conducted. They do that on other planets throughout every galaxy. It’s a way to populate a dying race, or improve one. From what it sounds, they’re just dallying in experimentation involving particular traits of human beings. You say that they were genetically created to be a certain way?”
“Uh...yes. One mentioned that they were purposely given the...erm...homosexual gene just so that They could get more research on...gay individuals.”
“Well, I’m not that surprised. There’s a race interested in the Earth population, splicing probably Their own genes with those They’d stolen from humans. Maybe They are a dying race, and They’re trying to find ways in which They could save it with choosing a completely adaptable and compatible human race such as Earth’s. While I don’t agree with it, it’s something that isn’t new.”
Static gaped at him.
“Of course, haven’t your, uh, ‘victims’ realized that there are actually aliens living among Earth beings, and pretty well recognized?” Superman then asked, rubbing his strong chin with a thoughtful expression. “From what you’ve explained, it’s as if they are completely missing the fact. They’re allowing themselves to be isolated from believers by thinking they are alone in this experimentation when they will actually be taken seriously by those that are in the know. Are these boys well-sheltered?”
“No,” Static replied in a startled tone, realizing that prospect hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Pretty avid comic-geeks, and they worship superheros. But it’s sad–they feel very alone, and it makes me guilty that I think they’re crazy! Do you think those things are manipulating them to–”
“It sounds like it, Static. Isolating them from the very fact that we’re already here. But why would They keep it all under wraps?” Superman nodded thoughtfully. His expression was puzzled. “Unless...and this is pretty farfetched...that alien group hasn’t any idea that there are aliens already occupying Earth.”
“I...I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen any of them, nor have I made contact. I just hear Them, sometimes. See Them out of the corner of my eye–it’s weird. I also get the impression that they don’t feel confident in talking about...Them. And that’s what they call Them. ‘Them’. ‘They’. And they mention ‘Harold’. As the, I don’t know...the ‘head scientist’.”
Superman tilted his head with thought, crossing his arms over his chest. Static surveyed the high-rises of Metropolis, wincing at the wind chill that made his dreads slap against his face and neck. He shivered, tightening his jacket around himself, a little annoyed that the Man of Steel was unaffected by the chill.
“I don’t know, Static. I wouldn’t have any idea of whom it may be that’s conducting this little experiment and research. I think you should get a little closer to your, ah, victim. Ask him for more details. Maybe J’onn would have a better idea of whom this group may be. If they are threatening, you can just turn the case over to us.”
“Dakota is my city, and they’re my citizens. I think I can handle alien exploits on my own,” Static said stubbornly, Superman giving him a cautious smile. He realized how possessive he sounded, and gave a sheepish half-grin. “Um, well...I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will push for more questions, more details. And next time, I’ll call you. It might be less tiring then flying for three hours straight just for a fifteen minute conversation.”
“They sound powerful, and completely invincible. But let me tell you something,” Superman added, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Everything has a weakness. Nothing is ever completely unvanquishable. Don’t let Them make that impression on you.”
Static thought of Hotstreak’s comment about water. He gave a short nod. “Yeah. I just might have a plan.”
01010011
That next night, Richard emerged from the bathroom, rubbing at his still wet hair. Being around Osgoode had left him tense and emotionally stony–he’d made plans to see Hotstreak again later that night, and wanted to be clean for the encounter. School had been hell with Osgoode continuing with his subtle threats and suffocating presence; Virgil had kept his distance, and this made the younger twin even more angry than before.
It felt as if Richard had absorbed most of Osgoode’s building fury, leaving him drained when they finally arrived home. He wanted a break from it, his body running on fear-fueled adrenaline. He kept expecting Osgoode to strike out as he normally did.
Osgoode was no where to be seen as Richard made his way through the hall and into his room. Feeling grateful for the respite from his brother, he shut the door behind him to dress. Clutching his bathrobe tightly, he made his way to his dresser to dig out clothing for bed. He thought of Hotstreak’s words earlier that morning; the groveling gift that he’d endured embarrassment for. Even if the smile felt odd, he smiled anyway. Thinking of the small bear and its ‘Pooh’ shirt made him ecstatic in that the redhead would go out of his comfort zone for such small things.
He’d hidden the bear in his room on his return home, and was anxious to pull it out to see it. Dressing quickly, he turned to his bed to toss his bathrobe when he froze in mid-movement. Without his glasses, all he saw were suspicious bumps atop of his neatly made bed. With a horrible sinking feeling, he groped the dresser top for his glasses, sliding them on to see that stuffing and material lay scattered atop of his bedspread.
The gift had been shredded, the teddy bear’s head sitting neatly atop of his pillow. He felt incredibly sick to the stomach as he numbly reached for the torn legs, stitching popped by something sharp. Stuffing lay everywhere, as if strewn out in a mad haste. The button eyes had been popped out, thread ties waving upward in garish appearance. The arms had been slashed and cut into unrecognizable halves, the red shirt shredded into unrecognizable piles.
His fingers felt numb as he turned the teddy bear’s slashed legs around, catching sight of large kitchen scissors nearby. He wasn’t sure who it was that had done so–were They warning him not to see Hotstreak again? Or was it Oz?
He startled when his brother’s voice caught his attention from the door. His face was an ugly mixture of jealousy and anger. Richard could feel both radiating from him, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but feel hurt that Osgoode was jealous. It made him feel sad for his brother. “How sweet. I can’t believe that big, bad whiner would actually go through humiliation and disgrace for something so horribly cutesy. Get rid of it, and anything else you got from that guy. I don’t think you should be seeing him again, especially when I feel that Virgil could be at risk. If I feel that Virgil is in danger because of Hotstreak, I’m not going to be very happy. Is this in any way unclear?”
Numbly, Richard looked up at him. He didn’t know what to say. Osgoode gave him a smirk, then turned and left his room, slamming his door moments later.
Warning: profanity, darkness, slash, Out of Character
A/N: Wa ha ha ha ha...did you think I would forget? (Grin) Of course aliens aren’t unusual in this fandom...(feels clever).
Carol :um...steamrollers? Construction? Ugh. Constant construction makes me wonder if Reno will EVER be done with its freeway work. I fully feel sympathy for you on this matter. (Feels sympathy) Your questions will be answered very shortly...but thanks for the observations! It makes me think about more possible situations and such that I might’ve missed or totally blanked over.
Chapter Twelve
Hotstreak was right–once Static reached the docks, where the Big Bang had occurred a few years back, he felt that consolation of being...safe. Secure. As if the eyes that had been watching him had been abruptly shut. Things were more normal in this area–it was still blocked off by somewhat lax security measures, empty, abandoned–but the water pushed gently against the wood of the docks, and the sound of birds in the air gave it a cozy sound.
The redhead was standing uncomfortably near a warehouse, glaring sullenly into the distance. When Static arrived, he exhaled heavily. “Let’s make this quick, all right? I got things to do, and you’re wasting my time,” he complained.
Static smirked. “Reconsidering things in a hurry?”
Hotstreak scowled. “What are you talking about? Anyway, let’s get this over with. What do you want to know?”
“I expected a battle out of this, man. Thanks for cooperating without–”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hurry up! Geez, if anybody sees me talking to you–”
“All right!” Hopping off his disc, Static flicked it shut and held it within one hand, considering his first question. His expression turned grim. “Tell me–what do you know about ‘They’?”
Hotstreak gave him an irritated look, as if completely bothered by the topic. “C’mon–you’ve been to their house. Big bad hero like you must pick up his sidekick somehow.”
Static felt slightly more comfortable in that Hotstreak didn’t know his other identity. He shrugged. “Not really. I mean...obviously, my sidekick has legs.”
“Anyway, their house is fucking creepy as hell! There’s things that are runnin’ around, talking, spilling things–! They have this thing against anything involving calcium. Every time Rich gets a cup, it’s somehow on the floor, or slapped right out of his hand. I’ve seen it happen. You can hear Them complaining whenever he gets an ice cream cone! I can’t see Them, but you can get a glimpse of Them from time to time. I hear the two talking about Them a lot, when I’m waiting for Rich. That’s what they call Them–They. Them. They mention a ‘Harold’ a lot, too. Anyway, since I’ve been seein’ Rich, I didn’t feel the same, anymore. It was like They followed me around, too. Not talkin’–just...sorta watching...I guess.”
Static was in disbelief. Hotstreak’s account matched Osgoode’s, and what he’d seen as well. It also seemed that Hotstreak accepted the strangeness as something entirely ‘normal’ for the twins. It felt insulting that someone like the meta was so accepting of the incidents while Static himself had a hard time accepting it.
“Jesus,” he muttered, scratching his head.
“Not only that, They’re another reason why I don’t think Ebon went all psycho. Them things are really possessive of them,” Hotstreak added, frowning. “When Puff and I went in there to see why Ebon an’ ‘nem didn’t show up, I could feel Them watching us. Y’know, I can’t explain what They are–I just know They’re there.”
Static stared at him for a few moments. “I can’t believe you’re so calm about this...do you realize how crazy you sound?”
Hotstreak reddened, and he grew insulted. “Look, I know what I fuckin’ know! I ain’t stupid, nor am I blind! Yeah, only one eye works better than the other, but because of that, I tend to notice things more! Like the fact that little dweeb Virgil Hawkins can’t even tell them apart, and he hangs around them way more than I do with Rich! Or that that Osgoode kid is more psycho than anybody thinks!”
Static scowled, and he had to bite his tongue in order to keep from snapping back at him in defense. “Look...it’s just...if there’s nothing really there...then why should I believe it? What if...what if somehow the Big Bang gas touched them, giving some sort of telekinesis that acts based on their emotions–?”
“Why are you bothering me with this?” Hotstreak complained, giving him an irritated look. “I don’t fuckin’ care about no tele–telekinesis–whatever!–bullshit! Is this all you wanted to fuckin’ ask me? I got things to do!”
Static sighed heavily. “Fine. I believe you. Because there’s no way you can completely make this stuff up–I doubt you have the imagination or that you’re ever interested in science fiction...”
“I didn’t come out here to get insulted by you! I’m just telling you what I know!”
“Hold up–how do you know They don’t like water?” Static then interrupted, giving him a curious look.
Hotstreak hesitated, then shrugged. He promptly lost his big act and looked more than a little sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at everything but him. “Uh...well...this one time me and...uh, Rich came down here. He was kinda surprised that it was so...so quiet. That he didn’t feel ‘watched’, anymore. I thought he was just being insane, like he is. He says the weirdest things, like, randomly. Then the next time we, uh, sorta met up, he’d laughed about being in trouble by coming to the lake. Not by his parents, but by Them. That’s what he said. ‘They don’t like water.’ When we wanted privacy, we, uh, came down here.”
Static wanted to make fun of the older teen’s embarrassment, forcibly holding himself back. It wasn’t all the time when he had this opportunity, but there were more important things at this moment. “Huh. Sounds like...that one movie.”
“Yeah. Wacky,” Hotstreak said with heavy sarcasm as he crossed his arms. “Anyway...are we done?”
“One more–how did you know Ebon had Richard?”
Hotstreak reddened, licking his lips nervously. His good eye shifted with nervousness, looking at everything but him. “Uh...well...I sorta follow him around...well, anyway, I saw Ebon grab him. Couldn’t exactly go right up and demand what the fuck without losing my rep, so I sorta...convinced Puff that she should team up with Ebon. Just so that I could, uh, get in close to mess it up so that...uh...Rich could get away. But, whatever. It changed when Kangorr spotted the brother. I kinda knew things would get handled from there–there’s something shitty about that guy that just...I dunno. I just...felt better knowing that he was going to be with Rich. It just...it just feels that it’s gonna work out.”
Static’s brow furrowed as he processed that. “So...you trusted that Osgoode would...make things right?”
“C’mon, what is this? Fifty questions?! I don’t wanna stand here all day gettin’ asked my whole damn life story! Man...”
“Okay, okay. Chill. So what happened when you found the bodies?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, we saw the bodies. Figured that was that, but Puff freaked out, so...I had to, too. Y’know...to make sure that I wasn’t in on it, and have people sniffin’ around me, thinking I was a suspect, or something. Or figurin’ out that thing between Rich and me. That’s why I was all up in their faces that next day or whatever, to...keep people from...y’know...don’t be tellin’ people nothin’, either! If anybody finds out–!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, your rep will–”
“–they’re gonna use Rich against me–! Er...yeah! My rep! It’ll be torn to shreds!”
Static stifled a snicker as Hotstreak quickly corrected himself. Despite this, he wasn’t sure how to interpret the confidence in Osgoode’s presence in a dangerous situation; the redhead seemed at a loss in explaining it as well. Static found no reason that Hotstreak would lie to him with that revelation; in all his years of knowing the meta, Static felt that he was telling the truth. No matter how humiliating its oddness.
Static considered what he’d learned from the other metahuman. He then frowned. “You’re surprisingly cooperative, man.”
Hotstreak shrugged. “You’ve got blackmail. ‘Sides, those things are freaky. Maybe you’ll be useful for once and check into that, ‘steada bothering people who got things to do. Anyway, that it? Cuz I’m expected elsewhere...”
“Yeah...sure. Thanks a lot. Also, smart guy, the age of consent in this state is fifteen, but applies only to females because of that marriage matter. Any sort of sexual contact with a male minor under the age of eighteen will constitute as a felony. There’s also a bill in the works for this state in that sodomy of any sort will be considered an offense, qualifiable for higher charges, as well. You know this state’s run by Bible-thumpers, and looks down on homosexuals.”
“...What? Really?” Hotstreak looked downright crushed upon hearing this.
“Yeah. And whatever Puff has planned and you want no part of better not be anything serious or threatening to a civilian, or to the city!” Static then warned as Hotstreak then turned and walked off after throwing him a suspicious glance over his shoulder. Static stood there for several moments, finding it so odd that Hotstreak would tell him such things so easily.
01010011
That night, Richard stared at his half-closed door. Beyond it, he could hear Osgoode rummaging through his collection of comics. Sean had already left for work and Maggie was in bed, reading a novel. His clock read ten til ten, and Richard definitely didn’t feel like sleeping. Osgoode’s behavior was frightening for him. His twin was seemed to be biding his time; torturing him with his cold stares his lingering presence, and his cold comments. Though Osgoode seemed a little more cheerful than usual, his actions were completely different.
In their shared science class, during the dissection of the cat, Osgoode had been much too cheerful about pulling out the cat’s wilted innards with cold precision. He’d added little comments about what he’d do to a human body if he had the chance; speculated on whether or not to keep that person alive during the fact. Wondered, quietly in case their classmates overheard, how They had felt doing such terrible things to the Metabreed.
It was with a terrible cheer that Osgoode spoke in this manner–and every bit of it was directed at Richard in a subtle way. Even if he wouldn’t touch him, Osgoode would give Richard suggestive actions–a slash of his pencil across his throat, joking reminders of a broken nose or other limbs, the way he felt whenever he cut into human flesh with a screw driver. He commented on what he’d do to Richard, in a sort of mockery about OJ Simpson’s atrocious try into fiction with his controversial book.
“If I ever did it, what I’d do to make my brother disappear because I grew tired of him pissing me off,” he’d said, too quiet for anybody to overhear.
After that horrible parody about what he’d do to his brother in gory detail, he began to remind Richard what he’d done to him. Over lunch, Osgoode would remind him of his past inflicted damages with quiet and psychotic glee–his classmates would think that they were sharing jokes or playful secrets with the casual way Osgoode carried on.
After every comment, Richard was bombarded with the images of seeing the underside of a shovel coming at his face, or seeing a Phillips head screwdriver driving through the delicate web of his thumb and index finger. He would start to think of what Osgoode would do to him in private–burning his flesh with his own cigarettes, purposely lighting his shirt on fire with his lighter, lacing his drinks with ammonia or ipecac, punching and kicking him so violently that ribs snapped. Punching him so hard that his glasses broke, and stitches were required. Having absolutely no remorse for the time he’d duck-taped his brother limbs together and locked him into the trunk of their parents’ car, leaving him there during one hot summer’s day.
As a result of his flashbacks, Richard began to grow stiff in every limb, for his mind to wander from reality. Every time he found a respite, his twin would follow him with an excuse–deliberately forcing himself around Richard so that the older twin wouldn’t have any privacy or moment’s peace alone.
While he didn’t do any harm in physical retaliation, sticking to Harold’s warning, he succeeded in terrorizing his brother’s mind.
During dinner, Osgoode cheerfully carried conversation with his parents while Richard stared at his food, unable to touch it. While his twin joked that he was taking after his mother with her ‘eating disorders’, he created an atmosphere in which both Maggie and Sean believed that Richard was suffering no trauma of any sort and was just sulking over a recent break-up. It was amazing how Osgoode was able to manipulate their parents in this manner–but Richard felt trapped.
This was the first time Osgoode had left him with himself in the past day. Despite the feeling of relief, Richard couldn’t help but think that Osgoode was planning something to get back at him. He could tell that his twin was suffering from his quiet rage; he could feel that build-up of rising heat within his brother. Empathically, he realized that Osgoode felt frustrated and trapped within his anger, having no way to go about relieving it as he never learned the proper way how. He’d used abuse of his brother to feel better about himself; apparently, Osgoode often felt better whenever he saw his brother bleeding and bruised, or terrorized and quiet. Now that he couldn’t lay his hands on Richard, the twin just seemed to grow more dangerous.
Richard’s stomach was in knots and his thoughts were scattered, his mind foggy. It was hard to concentrate on something other than the violent images that were brought up due to Osgoode’s ‘cheerful’ reminders of the past. He stared blankly at the cover spread of his bed, faintly registering the sound of the phone ringing down the hall. Forcing himself to focus on it, he had the dull hope that Virgil was calling for Osgoode and they were going to make up and things would be all right again–and as he looked up, he could see Osgoode lingering at his own door with a hopeful expression as they listened to Maggie answer the phone.
Their mother sighed loudly, and rose from her bed to emerge into the hall to address her boys. Holding the phone limply in one hand, she asked in a weary manner, “Anybody know why somebody keeps calling just to hang up? Both of you make enemies, today? This is the fifth call in an hour! I don’t want to turn the phone off if this continues!”
“No,” Osgoode muttered, sulking as he retreated into his room. Richard furrowed his brow as Maggie’s words penetrated the fog of his thoughts, and he lifted his head to call her into his room. She walked in with a questioning expression.
“I’ll find out who it is,” he muttered, reaching for the phone. She tossed the handheld to him, then announced her return back to bed. From across the hall, Osgoode stared at Richard with penetrating reminder, the slate-gray of his eyes turning almost black. Richard swallowed tightly as he held the phone against his chest, feeling trapped as his brother held his gaze with warning.
He looked away, dropping the phone onto his bed. Several long minutes passed before it rang, startling him. Before he even had a chance to pick it up, Osgoode wandered into his room with a smirking expression. He was already dressed in his pjs, and he’d left his glasses in his room. Without saying anything, he laid himself over Richard’s bed, waiting for him to answer the phone. His hands shaking, Richard forced himself to pick up the phone, answering it with silence.
Osgoode rolled onto his side to prop his head atop of one hand while Richard listened to the silence on the other end. Slate-gray watched him intently, Richard’s chest tightening as seconds passed with nothing signaling the person that called them. He was starting to think that it was Them, playing pranks on them as They sometimes did to break up the monotony of their constant surveillance when he heard a familiar voice ask, “Rich? You there?”
Richard wanted to throw up. Not in disgust, but because he couldn’t talk to Hotstreak without Osgoode realizing who it was on the other end. What if it infuriated his brother even more? Osgoode would think that he’d lied about them breaking up. On the other hand, he felt somewhat happy that Hotstreak was trying to talk to him again.
“You’ve...you’ve got the wrong number,” he stammered, feeling sweat bead his brow. “Amanda Hugginkiss doesn’t reside here. Is that even English? Am I saying it wrong? Hello? Me love you long time for fifty?”
“Rich...come out to that place. You know...at the docks? I got somethin’ to say. I need to see you tonight. It’s–it’s really important,” Hotstreak said, sounding uncertain. “...There someone else there, why you can’t talk?”
“I’d like extra pepperoni, please. Make it cheese-stuffed crust, too. Breadsticks with extra marinara sauce. Delivered pronto, or I ain’t giving you my hot, sexy momma in payment.”
“Okay...I get it. Just–meet me there. Or do you want me to come and get you? In the usual place?”
Richard froze as Osgoode shifted, looking irritated. “Just hang up,” he muttered in annoyance. “You’re just encouraging them to prank call us. God, you sound like an idiot...”
“...I’ll come get you. All right?”
Richard watched Osgoode leave his room, pushing his door open for a more unobstructed view into his room. Where his brother could watch him from his own bed. “Sure. I’ll hold. But I better be guaranteed a bigger mortgage after this.”
“After twelve. All right? That way everyone’s asleep. Either way, I need to talk to you. Either you come out, or I’m coming in.”
“...Fine. I’ll settle for a low cost extension.”
After Hotstreak hung up, Richard watched Osgoode settle into his bed. Hanging up the phone, Richard didn’t feel any better as Osgoode turned out his light with a mighty yawn, yelling out his “Good nights” to everyone. Hearing his mother’s absent reply, Richard watched his brother shift so that he could continue staring at him. Feeling absolutely no need for sleep, too scared to even close his eyes while his brother was watching him, Richard laid stiffly onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Later that night, he had to force himself to look at the clock. It was twelve after midnight–he was quite confident that his brother had fallen asleep before then. The silence he heard in regards to Osgoode’s presence was familiar with sleep. He could hear the quiet patters of Their feet as They rummaged through the kitchen; opening cupboards, drawers, bouncing lightly on the chairs and couch.
He could feel one of Them close-by–the hangers in his closet clanked together lightly, clothes rustling against clothes. The door opened and closed very softly with its busy movements. Maggie was a loud snorer–They complained of the noises that came from her room. Still, despite of it all, Richard knew he was safe to leave the house. Having decided this, They went suddenly quiet as he rose from his bed, stuffing his feet into his house slippers and picking up his sweater from the floor. Pulling that on over his own pj’s, Richard waited for a few moments to listen to his brother’s breathing. Osgoode was asleep–he wouldn’t wake up. Confident and greatly relieved, he slipped out from his room, and quietly made his way through the darkness of his house to leave by the backdoor.
He knew that They were angry to see him leave, hearing their hushed whispers as they begged him to stay. The night was chilly, and he was tired as he realized his safety. His entire body had been so tense that as he stepped out of his back yard, every muscle seemed to sag with immense weariness. The neighborhood was quiet with the late hour–but They were agitated in that he was leaving Them. They could follow him, but They wouldn’t follow him all the way to the docks. As They hissed about hating water, Richard hurried toward a particular by-way near the apartment complex that he’d been chased through weeks earlier.
Hotstreak looked up from picking at his nails as he heard the blond near, and waited for him with an expectant air. Richard drew close, feeling a little nervous as he pulled his sweater tight, grimacing at the wind chill.
“Hey,” the older teen said quietly in greeting. His face softened as he reached out to sling an arm around Richard’s shoulders, drawing him close. Despite his feelings for the meta over the problems in their relationship, just being near him again and feeling his unnatural heat against him left Richard immensely relaxed and comfortable. “Let’s talk for a bit, huh? I borrowed a car to get there faster. That all right?”
“It’s not stolen, is it?” Richard mumbled against his green trench, feeling his eyelids close as he relied on the meta to hold him up. “I don’t wanna car chase tonight...”
“Nah. It’s someone actually responsible. He let me borrow it awhile.” Not at all offended by the comment, Hotstreak then led Richard down the stairs, heading for the double-parked Charger nearby. Fifteen minutes later, they were parked and Richard felt even more relaxed now that They couldn’t keep Their eyes and ears on him. No more voices, no more prying eyes. Just relaxing silence and the somewhat harsh crash of water against support. This area was easily navigated within the full moon light, and from the city lamps that lined the street just a distance away.
When they finally reached their private spot, a large undersurface office located within the warehouse that was closer to the Big Bang incident than the other structures in the area, Richard had to battle against his sleepiness as Hotstreak flicked on the lights. The electricity was the result of the efforts Richard made by stealing energy from a nearby underground source that was accessible from the street nearby. He’d made the area homey with coveted home supplies; Hotstreak had provided his own items of comfort, and the steel door was only unlocked with a key that he’d had made for the pair of them. The area was inaccessible to outsiders and labeled as a Hazmat area–though Richard had already investigated for traces of contamination with his own device and found it completely safe. Only the city had been slow to set their attention to the long abandoned structures that made an eyesore at the docks.
Richard sat heavily down onto the couch that Hotstreak had provided from whatever street he’d found it–the cushions were greatly worn, but it was clean and roomy. He looked over at the meta as he made sure the place was still untouched as when they’d last left it. When he was satisfied, he joined Richard on the couch, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against him. Richard wouldn’t argue against the comfy position he had against him, and contemplated falling asleep where he was. His mother wouldn’t mind if she found him gone in the morning; and it would provide such a relaxing escape from Osgoode and his murderous intentions.
But he couldn’t do that–it went against his responsibilities.
Hotstreak exhaled heavily, breath hitting Richard’s hair. He then relaxed, and seemed to start breathing in a rhythmic manner that Richard thought that he’d gone to sleep. Once he registered this, feeling a jolting twitch in the older teen, he closed his eyes and decided to go to sleep anyway. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to see that the meta had shifted the both of them to lay horizontally on the worn cushions. It was tempting to go back to sleep, but his responsibility in being home when the others woke up was annoyingly strong.
He turned his head to the other and kissed his temple, murmuring for him to wake up. Once the other opened his eyes, giving a tired grumble, Richard shifted position so that he had the front of his body pressed against the other’s side; he tossed an arm over his shoulders and kissed his ear.
“I missed you. Are you still mad at me?” he asked quietly.
Hotstreak sighed, lifting his head to wipe at the corner of his eyes. “No. I had to think about it, for awhile. I...I was just being stupid. I shouldn’t have bothered you the way that I did. I...was being a jerk...I guess.”
Richard chuckled, feeling uplifted. “You? A jerk? Unheard of...”
“...Quiet, you. Anyway, I gotta apologize for that. If you ain’t into doing something, then I shouldn’t be pushing you.” Hotstreak shifted so that he was propping his head atop of one hand, Richard managing to turn himself so that he was resting comfortably on his back without hanging over the edge of the couch cushions. He watched his brow furrow. “You don’t smell.”
“I am capable of taking showers, and participating in hygienic measures,” Richard said coyly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw and tickle his fingers on the auburn-colored soul patch under his lower lip.
“No, I mean–I don’t smell smoke on you.”
“Oh...yeah...I’m trying to quit. Don’t talk about it, or I’ll relapse.” Richard grinned at him for a few moments, then met his lips for a kiss. He stopped him from shifting away by grabbing his hair. “Did you miss me, then?”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I did. That’s why I’m groveling my way back to you.”
“Rawr,” Richard murmured, grinning broadly. “It’s sexy when you grovel.”
Hotstreak snorted, looking down at him for a few studious moments. He then furrowed his brow. “You know what? Static found out about us. I didn’t know you guys had a stalker.”
Richard froze for a few moments, recalling Osgoode’s violent reaction in the Gas Station. He swallowed tightly and didn’t feel very playful. Sensing his tension, Hotstreak mimicked his expression. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I–he....that guy took pictures of us talking. S-Static s-showed them t-to me and–”
“What’s wrong with you?” Hotstreak then asked, giving him a puzzled look. “Yeah, he knows, but it ain’t like he’s going to spill if you’re afraid people’ll gonna find out. I kinda trust him on that.”
Richard swallowed again, reminded of why he was so tired. Why his mind felt foggier than it should. But he found it curious that Static would approach Hotstreak in that event. “What’d he say?” he then asked curiously.
Hotstreak shrugged a shoulder with awkward movement. “Just asked stuff. What I knew about...I dunno. You’re always talking about ‘Them’, and you know I see stuff in your house. Something like that.”
“What’d you tell him?” Richard asked him, wondering what Virgil was trying to accomplish. To prove that Osgoode was merely making things up? Or was he on one of those missions to set things right? Either way, each aspect was terrifying. They both guaranteed Their disapproval and Osgoode’s ire. Virgil was practically begging Them to kill him.
“Eh. Just the basics....that’s all I know. He kept talking about that morning Ebon snatched you.” Hotstreak frowned at him, reaching down to run his fingertip over Richard’s eyebrows, smoothing them back. “What happened there, anyway?”
Richard wasn’t sure how to answer that. There were things that weren’t exactly clear–whenever something happened, he tended to black out. Unlike Osgoode, who seemed to remember every moment. Aside from that, he felt a little comfortable and relieved in that he’d found someone who accepted this oddness. Hotstreak didn’t seem to freak out too badly, but he’d seemed to accept the events as somewhat ‘normal’. Richard felt lucky in that aspect, feeling saddened for Osgoode because it was obvious Virgil had a hard time accepting it.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he murmured. “Sometimes They don’t let me remember.”
“Don’t you think it’s fuckin’ weird They completely spazzed out on Shiv an’ the others? I wonder how they killed Ebon. I know he didn’t commit suicide–”
“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Richard interrupted, giving him a pleading expression. “The less you know, the less likely Static will trick something out of you.”
Hotstreak sighed, but he told himself that Richard was right. If he knew his nemesis, Static would find a way to wrangle more information out of him. The less Static knew, the better Hotstreak would feel. He kissed Richard again, enjoying the absence of smoke and nicotine. Shifting so that he was laying atop of the other teen, he propped himself up on his elbows as Richard grunted, shifting so that he was more comfortable underneath him.
“Anyway, I did miss you,” Hotstreak muttered, rubbing his nose against his. “I was stupid to do that. When you’re ready, you’d let me know. I think it’s cool that you’d stand up to me like that.”
Richard gave him a playful nip on his nose as he retreated. “Isn’t it better to work for something that won’t come easily to you? The pay-off in the end is always worth the frustration.”
“So...uh...I learned something new, today. Is there really a law against sexual contact with male minors under 18? And something like a bill that makes sodomy an...offense? Qualifiable for higher charges?”
Richard gave him a puzzled look. “Yeah...but that’s not why I chose not to have anal sex. That’s just a rule ultra-conservatives made up to continue their hate and try to control homosexuals. Those rules mean nothing to me, and as long as we keep things in private, I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”
Hotstreak thought about this for a few moments, then gave him a suspicious look. “But if we break up again, you could accuse me of that. If you were really pissed at me.”
“No I won’t,” Richard protested, giving him another puzzled look. “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t hold anything you do against you, even if you made me angry for some reason or another.”
“...Well...you know...gotta think of the angles. So...even if I–sorta respect your wish on holding off for the ass part, I think I’m just gonna wait. Until...it’s sorta legal.”
“I doubt that bill will apply in our situation. It’s mainly for in-trial situations concerning child abuse by an adult, pertaining to minors under 14.” Richard kissed him again, cupping his face between both hands.
“Whatever. I said my part. Let’s make-out. That’s safe at least, right?”
Richard laughed, pushing his head away when he descended for a kiss. “Yeah, it’s safe, but I have morning breath!”
“Aw, c’mon! Don’t do this right now–I’ve got to get you back in an hour. That way you have enough time to get some sleep before waking up for school. Can’t have the private school brat all out of sorts for his classes. God forbid you actually skip school because of fatigue, right?”
“Right.” Richard then eyed him suspiciously. “Do you have a hard-on?”
“Um...no. Actually...” Hotstreak shifted suddenly, making Richard protest as he applied weight in uncomfortable places. With a sheepish expression, Hotstreak plucked something out of his jacket pocket to hold in Richard’s sight. “If you weren’t going to accept my apology, I had another course of action.”
Richard barked out in delighted laughter, reaching for the pocket-sized teddy bear. It was cream colored, very Easter-cutesy, but had a Winne-The-Pooh red shirt pulled on. The yellow letters, “Pooh”, had significant meaning between the pair of them–which was why the shirt was pulled onto an un-Winnie bear. It was so cute that he had no idea what to do with himself, Hotstreak reddening in mortification.
“SAY IT!” Richard then demanded, hugging the bear close. “And I’ll forgive you completely. I’ll also do whatever you want–within MY reasoning.”
“...Aw man...isn’t this enough? Do you know how embarrassing it was trying to get Carmen to steal this shit just so I could score points with you?...don’t make me say it.”
“SAY IT. That’s all I want. I just want you to say it. No one can hear you. Promise.”
Hotstreak sighed again, rolling his eyes. His color increased as his expression turned resigned. “Fine. I...I missed you and want you back...Pooh Cub.”
Richard laughed again, utterly delighted by the pet name he’d given himself for Hotstreak to use. The redhead scowled in embarrassment, but it didn’t last long as he realized how much he’d missed the other teen’s flustering antics into making him a wimp. At least Richard made these particular demands in privacy.
The blond teen flung his arms around his neck, pulling him back atop of him. That stuffed monstrosity of cuteness hit the side of his face and reminded him of the efforts he’d put into getting that toy and shirt just to make Richard smile at him. It just seemed to make it all worth while when Richard was happy.
“All right! I forgive you, papa bear. Let’s make out.”
01010011
“Well, of course there are particular races out there in space that conduct gene-farms and the like,” Superman said, giving Static a puzzled expression.
His red cape fluttered neatly from his back, caught in the chilling wind that swept against the pair of them as they stood on the rooftop of the Daily Planet. Static’s neck had a crick from looking up at him, so he’d taken to a hover on his disk so that they were at least eye to eye. He’d just gone over some of the information that both Osgoode and Hotstreak had revealed to him recently. The trip to Metropolis had been a long and tiring one–he hadn’t even considered a phone call, as the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. So deeply involved with his thinking that such time-slicing factors hadn’t even cut in with his thoughts.
“Completely illegal in ethical terms, but if they can get away with it...it’s common for them to try. It’s not that unusual. I wouldn’t be surprised if this experimentation was happening to hundreds of people on this planet, and those breeding situations are being conducted. They do that on other planets throughout every galaxy. It’s a way to populate a dying race, or improve one. From what it sounds, they’re just dallying in experimentation involving particular traits of human beings. You say that they were genetically created to be a certain way?”
“Uh...yes. One mentioned that they were purposely given the...erm...homosexual gene just so that They could get more research on...gay individuals.”
“Well, I’m not that surprised. There’s a race interested in the Earth population, splicing probably Their own genes with those They’d stolen from humans. Maybe They are a dying race, and They’re trying to find ways in which They could save it with choosing a completely adaptable and compatible human race such as Earth’s. While I don’t agree with it, it’s something that isn’t new.”
Static gaped at him.
“Of course, haven’t your, uh, ‘victims’ realized that there are actually aliens living among Earth beings, and pretty well recognized?” Superman then asked, rubbing his strong chin with a thoughtful expression. “From what you’ve explained, it’s as if they are completely missing the fact. They’re allowing themselves to be isolated from believers by thinking they are alone in this experimentation when they will actually be taken seriously by those that are in the know. Are these boys well-sheltered?”
“No,” Static replied in a startled tone, realizing that prospect hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Pretty avid comic-geeks, and they worship superheros. But it’s sad–they feel very alone, and it makes me guilty that I think they’re crazy! Do you think those things are manipulating them to–”
“It sounds like it, Static. Isolating them from the very fact that we’re already here. But why would They keep it all under wraps?” Superman nodded thoughtfully. His expression was puzzled. “Unless...and this is pretty farfetched...that alien group hasn’t any idea that there are aliens already occupying Earth.”
“I...I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen any of them, nor have I made contact. I just hear Them, sometimes. See Them out of the corner of my eye–it’s weird. I also get the impression that they don’t feel confident in talking about...Them. And that’s what they call Them. ‘Them’. ‘They’. And they mention ‘Harold’. As the, I don’t know...the ‘head scientist’.”
Superman tilted his head with thought, crossing his arms over his chest. Static surveyed the high-rises of Metropolis, wincing at the wind chill that made his dreads slap against his face and neck. He shivered, tightening his jacket around himself, a little annoyed that the Man of Steel was unaffected by the chill.
“I don’t know, Static. I wouldn’t have any idea of whom it may be that’s conducting this little experiment and research. I think you should get a little closer to your, ah, victim. Ask him for more details. Maybe J’onn would have a better idea of whom this group may be. If they are threatening, you can just turn the case over to us.”
“Dakota is my city, and they’re my citizens. I think I can handle alien exploits on my own,” Static said stubbornly, Superman giving him a cautious smile. He realized how possessive he sounded, and gave a sheepish half-grin. “Um, well...I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will push for more questions, more details. And next time, I’ll call you. It might be less tiring then flying for three hours straight just for a fifteen minute conversation.”
“They sound powerful, and completely invincible. But let me tell you something,” Superman added, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Everything has a weakness. Nothing is ever completely unvanquishable. Don’t let Them make that impression on you.”
Static thought of Hotstreak’s comment about water. He gave a short nod. “Yeah. I just might have a plan.”
01010011
That next night, Richard emerged from the bathroom, rubbing at his still wet hair. Being around Osgoode had left him tense and emotionally stony–he’d made plans to see Hotstreak again later that night, and wanted to be clean for the encounter. School had been hell with Osgoode continuing with his subtle threats and suffocating presence; Virgil had kept his distance, and this made the younger twin even more angry than before.
It felt as if Richard had absorbed most of Osgoode’s building fury, leaving him drained when they finally arrived home. He wanted a break from it, his body running on fear-fueled adrenaline. He kept expecting Osgoode to strike out as he normally did.
Osgoode was no where to be seen as Richard made his way through the hall and into his room. Feeling grateful for the respite from his brother, he shut the door behind him to dress. Clutching his bathrobe tightly, he made his way to his dresser to dig out clothing for bed. He thought of Hotstreak’s words earlier that morning; the groveling gift that he’d endured embarrassment for. Even if the smile felt odd, he smiled anyway. Thinking of the small bear and its ‘Pooh’ shirt made him ecstatic in that the redhead would go out of his comfort zone for such small things.
He’d hidden the bear in his room on his return home, and was anxious to pull it out to see it. Dressing quickly, he turned to his bed to toss his bathrobe when he froze in mid-movement. Without his glasses, all he saw were suspicious bumps atop of his neatly made bed. With a horrible sinking feeling, he groped the dresser top for his glasses, sliding them on to see that stuffing and material lay scattered atop of his bedspread.
The gift had been shredded, the teddy bear’s head sitting neatly atop of his pillow. He felt incredibly sick to the stomach as he numbly reached for the torn legs, stitching popped by something sharp. Stuffing lay everywhere, as if strewn out in a mad haste. The button eyes had been popped out, thread ties waving upward in garish appearance. The arms had been slashed and cut into unrecognizable halves, the red shirt shredded into unrecognizable piles.
His fingers felt numb as he turned the teddy bear’s slashed legs around, catching sight of large kitchen scissors nearby. He wasn’t sure who it was that had done so–were They warning him not to see Hotstreak again? Or was it Oz?
He startled when his brother’s voice caught his attention from the door. His face was an ugly mixture of jealousy and anger. Richard could feel both radiating from him, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but feel hurt that Osgoode was jealous. It made him feel sad for his brother. “How sweet. I can’t believe that big, bad whiner would actually go through humiliation and disgrace for something so horribly cutesy. Get rid of it, and anything else you got from that guy. I don’t think you should be seeing him again, especially when I feel that Virgil could be at risk. If I feel that Virgil is in danger because of Hotstreak, I’m not going to be very happy. Is this in any way unclear?”
Numbly, Richard looked up at him. He didn’t know what to say. Osgoode gave him a smirk, then turned and left his room, slamming his door moments later.