Like Putting On A Mask

“Your name? Blake? What does that have to do with anything? You’re not making sense,” Hardison said, frustrated. There was a growing sense of–not terror, exactly, but something similar, the same feeling of something dawning over his soul but not necessarily horrible. He twitched and flinched away minutely when Blake moved a hand toward the box again, but to counter that he bit out, “That’s just a stupid phobia. It has nothing to do with anything.”

He gave in to the pull and walked closer to Blake, cautiously. “What do you know about my parents?” Of its own volition, his hand reached out and grasped Blake’s forearm. “What do you mean, ‘timing’?” His pinky slipped past the end of Blake’s sleeve and made contact with his skin. Hardison stared at him. “Are you really my brother?”

“No,” rasped from Blake’s throat, less a spoken word than a dry creak like moving a rusty hinge.  All he wished was to clear his throat, but he hadn’t the control over his body to do even so.  “Not ‘Blake’...”  His head shook side to side at Hardison’s denial of the metal allergy.  He knew, he knew it wasn’t a phobia, not with how powerful his reaction had been.

A gasp sucked thick air into his lungs as Hardison crossed the small distance between them, no, as the world closed its distance, all of existence collapsing towards Blake until a hand grasped his arm, shocking like lightning through his body, shaking his core.  There were suddenly too many questions at once, each of them the tip of a blade’s edge prying at his brain, demanding answer.  His tongue dry, his throat closed, it was not so much his body that answered, and yet the answers came out all the same.

“What?” What? Hardison looked at Blake, and then pointedly held his own arms out to look at himself. He looked back at Blake. “Are you blind or something? Look at me. Look at you How can I be your brother?” Maybe he meant half brother, that wouldn’t be impossible, mixed race people could be darker, and Hardison had never known his birth parents. Why was he even entertaining this, this was ridiculous.

And yet, some part of him was drawn to this claim like it was truth. They were both stood stock still, staring at each other, in a silent impasse. The idea hung between them like a palpable thing, buzzing with power, and called to something inside Hardison. His blood pounded in his temples with warnings of imminent danger, the way it did sometimes about perfectly normal things, like eggshells or boiling water. “Why would you think that?” he asked so quietly it was almost a whisper, and he was afraid to examine whether he wanted to be convinced. 

The world around the two of them felt as if it had desaturated.  All color had left Blake’s vision except Hardison, who stood vibrant, radiating, nearly phosphorescent.  Blind?  No, he wan’t blind, but hell if he was seeing clearly, either.

“Bli--” he stopped, unsure what to answer first, but like before, he couldn’t not answer.  That color, that glow, was pulling him, pulsing with the same rhythm as the blood in his own veins, and his voice disobeyed its owner in favor of a new master.  “Because you said my name,” he admitted, and felt his body shake with the confession.  This was not how things were done.  If this was his brother, he was fucking it up just as he had early on.  If he wasn’t, he had already put himself in more danger than he ever had with humans.  But he had to be, he had to be. 

tv meme: male characters - Alec Hardison - Leverage - [3/40]

Hardison narrowed his eyes at Blake. Metal was nasty, but no one else ever thought or said that. “Are you making fun of me?” His voice sounded odd too, his face looked like it had lost colour. He had, up until now, thought of Blake as a good man. Sure, he didn’t know him very well, but he’d come to him for an honourable job – finding his brother, whom he clearly cared about, without requesting anything else despite clearly knowing that Hardison could be hired to steal for him if that was what he wanted. 

But between the random intense questioning about his family history, which was none of his damn business, his random abstract defence of his birth family when he didn’t know shit about them, and now this strange stunt with the box of coins… Hardison steeled himself. “Alright, what’s really going on here? You’ve been acting increasingly weird this afternoon, I’m starting to think maybe you and I should conclude our business relationship because we’re not a good fit. What are you playing at?”

Yeah, this wasn’t going well.  Rubbing his palms together, Blake found he couldn’t get any bit of his body to settle.  There was an inch against his skin, as if he could feel the girders of the building like they were in the room next to him.  With nerves unsettled, the city was cutting into his air.

If he wasn’t careful, he could lose this contact.  Regardless of the truth, he needed Hardison’s help.  And if his growing suspicions were as correct as they seemed, he couldn’t lose Hardison.

None of that mattered, though.  He’d already spoken Blake’s name--his request couldn’t be fully denied.

Needing the counteract the emotions his words had brought to Hardison, the hurt and sting in his eyes that felt like daggers to Blake’s skin, the anger he internalized whether or not the words were truly being spoken by his brother, he scrambled to his feet once he had the space, shaking his head.  “No,” he countered, “I’m sorry.”  His heart was pounding, a sensation to which he was not accustomed in the slightest, and it itched at his skin.  “I–”

Pausing, he nearly smacked his own head at the sudden realization.  He needn’t pester Hardison with questions, questions that may or may not pay off with satisfactory facts and information.  Holding up a finger to signal a pause in the exchange, he fumbled his way into the backpack he kept on him at all times–though not always as a backpack–he pulled out a smaller, leather bag, in which was a rubber box about the width of his palm.  “Would you mind opening this for me?” he asked, not looking directly at Hardison until he was handing it to him, hoping the quick shift in subject matter would keep him from asking too many questions until he’d done it.

Hardison looked at Robin him in confusion when he suddenly ran away and then ran in another direction toward his bag. “What are you – ?” He took out some kind of weird black box and held it out to Hardison, who took it on reflex. It was weird, hard and soft at the same time, not a texture he’d expect from a normal box. He furrowed his brow. “What?”

Making sure the box was indeed closed, he took it from Hardison and latched it securely before tucking it carefully back in the leather pouch. Even so, his fingers shook at being so close to the metal. It was always a risk, carrying it with him, but it was nonetheless necessary.

“Uh, shit, no…”, Shadow now understood why Natalie carried a purse everywhere, “But after I stash you someplace, I’ll get you some, all right?” 

The few blocks it took to find that one abandoned building Shadow crashed a few times was a bit of a struggle, Shadow was strong when he wasn’t in his physical form but as a normal teenager, he was starting to flag by the time he kicked open the side door. “I think this place used to be one of those shitty knick knack shops. It got robbed and the owners had to close, but it’s a good enough spot to cool our heels till you feel better.” 

Shadow practically dropped John in the corner and winced. “Sorry, dude, you’re heavy. And before you say it’s all muscle, sure it is, but maybe cut back on the midnight snacks, huh?” He managed a weak smile, it was shitty humor but really that was all of Shadow’s humor.

John tried his best to support his own weight, and from his own perspective, it felt as if he did, but he was logically aware that there was no way he was actually supporting himself.  There was, of course, also the direct evidence of how slow their progress was, but John was hardly coherent enough to actually quantify that.

No stranger to the types of squatting locations any number of the city’s kids inevitably found, John wasn’t surprised that they ended up in an abandoned shop.  Presented with closer walls, John did his best to hold a hand out to help guide them, but the pain in his ribs prevented him from being very useful.  As such, he went down hard, grunting at the impact, wincing at the way it rattled upward from his bottom and hips all the way through to his shoulders.  “Fuck,” he ground through his teeth, not at Shadow, but in general.

“I know man, I know.” 

Jesus, just seeing the bodies seemed to fuck this guy up… was this how normal humans were supposed to respond? Shadow stepped in close and offered his shoulder for support. 

“You don’t have to say anything, let’s just get you out of here. I know some places to hide out, perks of spending all your free time running around on the streets. Let’s just go and get you fixed up, we can talk when you feel up to it, all right?” 

For a second Shadow doubted his decision to kill those creeps. But only for a second. They would’ve killed Nightwing, Three Eye would’ve been annoyed to have lost someone he found interesting, and Shadow had every right to step in and stop it. 

Even if it did seem to upset the hero. It was the right (and only) decision to make.

Something in the back of John’s brain nagged at him, questioned how Shadow was so calmly helping him, but it was put temporarily to rest by both the knowledge that the city’s street kids went through far more than most knew as well as just pure exhaustion from his head injury.  One thing at a time.  There were no sirens yet, but that wasn’t surprising in this part of time.  Even so, they needed to move.

Lifting an arm over Shadow’s shoulder brought a lightning strike of pain across his chest, a strong indicator he’d at least cracked a couple of ribs, but it was necessary as he leaned some of his weight on the kid’s frame.  He would have nodded in agreement, but just the thought of jostling his head any more than he had to made him want to pass out.  Instead, he just let Shadow lead him away from the alley, away from bodies strewn behind them, away from the way their forms sat unnaturally.  He couldn’t see them any more, but the look of them wouldn’t leave John’s head as they made their way off.

All right, I saved his life, now I should get going.

Instead of doing that, Shadow found himself returning to where he’d left Nightwing, jogging up and acting like he was out of breath. “Hello? Something going on over there?” He called out before ‘seeing’ Nightwing.

“Nightwing!”

He ran to his side, not faking the concern on his face. “Jesus Christ, you don’t look so good man… is that a dead body?” He turned his head and grimaced. “What the fuck happened? Are you okay?” 

Working as Three Eye’s spy made him an excellent liar, but it didn’t stop a little twist in his stomach as he felt like he was lying to a friend. Damn it, he really should’ve just kept going.

“Stay back--” he started, not wanting to risk an innocent party getting involved with the fight, despite the fact that the fight seemed to be rather dramatically... over.  His vision swam as he worked to get full breaths, the world not settling even as his weight rested on the building behind him.

...wait, that voice...

“Kid?...”  A few hard blinks confirmed that it was, in fact, Shadow there in front of him, not just a concussed delusion.  “I... I’m not exactly sure,” he admitted, grunting with the effort of dragging himself further upright.  A harsh wince stole over his features when his ribs protested mightily.  “Something... something happened, someone else, I... I didn’t...” did I?   Shaking his head, he stopped.  “I need to get out of here,” he admitted.  He hadn’t killed these men, he wouldn’t have, he couldn’t have.  But if he were still there when any other authorities arrived to investigate, there would be no manner of explaining that it wasn’t him.  He didn’t need that, and neither did the city if he were going to be any sort of symbol.

Now where was that damn superhero?

Someone passing by might assume it was the shadow of a bird from above as it rolled over the ground, but if anyone really paid attention, they’d see how it avoided any direct light. But really, who paid attention to the shadows?

The noise of the fight drew him, although this wouldn’t have been the first fight Shadow been to that night… but it was the first that had Nightwing. Shadow expected to see a great battle with Nightwing whooping ass and saving the day. Instead, it was Nightwing getting his ass whooped… and probably worse was coming, judging by the knife one of the thugs flipped out.

Shadow hesitated for a second. Really, he shouldn’t get too involved, he’d already toed the line by talking to Nightwing a couple times. 

But it was only a second before the shade rose from the wall as a solid silhouette. The guy with the knife never even knew what hit him. Shadow yanked him back and gripped his neck before sharply twisting it to the side. A deafening crack and the creep dropped like a sack of potatoes, knife bouncing away. 

He grabbed one more before the men reacted, giving his neck a similar twist. That geared their butts in action, one of the men screaming like a little girl as they tore off into the night. Shadow gave chase, finishing one more of them off before letting the last two go. Let them tell stories about a poltergeist, a demon; it wouldn’t be the first time. As long as his face wasn’t on camera Three Eye wouldn’t chew him out.

With a sigh and a roll of his shoulders, Shadow returned to the light, once again appearing as your average teenager. 

Beaten back against the wall, dizzy enough to feel as well as see the alley start to turn and twist in on itself in his vision, John blocked another swipe towards his head when he saw the glint beneath the faded street light.  Next one in line had a knife, and John knew even before weight shifted in those shoulders that it was bound for his stomach in the space of a breath.  His own shoulders were being held fast.

Summoning all of his effort proved for naught, as the man with the blade suddenly shifted his momentum, sharply.  He flew backward, seemingly all on his own, letting out a startled cry before going completely, and unsettlingly, silent.  His head turned to the side, and John could hear the crack that had to be his neck as he dropped.  What the--

Another man to John’s left was yanked away, his head the same, and John’s bleary vision refused to focus on who could have grabbed hold of them.  Movement was there, but not a body.  Blinking rapidly and scrambling to his feet, John made to grab the next man near him, but he stumbled back and ran with the other two.  Movement followed them, and John heard another short-cropped scream as he worked to get his feet under him.  The night was still spinning around him, and nothing he was seeing or hearing made sense.

John Blake (nolanverse)