Cargo
AKA Bear plays with someone else's toys for a little bit and throws them in the torture nexus for fun and games.
Notes:
Not my usual fandom, but sometimes those hyper-fixations come outta left field and headslap you into the stratosphere. This fic is based in the Hero For Sale AU belonging to @whisperwritingstuff (WhisperNorbury on AO3) and @varanereOO (Varanere on AO3), specifically their enemies-to-lovers variant, and takes place somewhere nebulous before chapter 17 of the second fic, "this catastrophe(dance with me)". Extremely highly recommend it, updates twice a week and there's a ton more being posted on tumblr. Seriously, give them a look, you won't regret.
This isn't my cleanest work but I'm still quite pleased with it. Likely a part two coming with a lot more comfort after the hurt. Hope y'all enjoy!
Summary:
CuteGuy's always been a hot commodity. Well loved by the people, desired by heroes and villains alike, he's mostly held himself apart from it all. After all, he has Scar, and he kinda-sorta has Vex, so what more could he want from someone else? Well, some people don't enjoy waiting for things they want, and they've waited to get CuteGuy in their clutches long enough. After all, a commodity like that has to go for more money than they could have hoped for right?
All Grian had wanted to do was calm down after another argument with Vex, take some space before he said something that would really put him at odds with the villain that he somehow found himself routinely sharing a person and space with. A patrol, an evening to himself. It should have been simple.
It was anything but.
Warnings: Discussions of Mature Themes, Major Character Injury
AO3 Link
Scar's not even sure what caused the fight this time. Things had been going so well! They'd been lying in the couch nest, Grian and Vex had been cuddling - unprompted even! - and being that kind of softy-soft that Scar knew they both felt but refused to show without lots of pokes and prods. Scar had been contentedly sleeping, kneading away at a muscular blue-gray thigh before raised voices had shocked him to wakefulness with a startled “reow!”, just pulling back his finger claws in the nick - hah! He saw what his brain did there - of time to prevent a mess.
A delicious mess, but one that would have Grian fretting over his ruined nest for days. Maybe he could convince them to have a repeat of that first night they’d come to visit after catification? Grian hadn’t minded ruining the nest that way very much at all. No! Wait! He had to stop whatever was happening between Grian and Vex!
In the time he’d been thinking the argument had gotten out of hand. Grian was out of the nest, wings mantled and ruffling with barely contained rage, taloned feet digging into the carpet of the living room. Vex was up as well, shoulders squared, voice taking on that familiar cold, calculated tone that he'd heard across a battlefield for years, but never here in the lair they'd come to share, in the quiet moments where it was just the two or three of them.
Bad! BadBadBadBadBad!
He's between them between one breath and the next, tail lashing as his hands fluttered, desperately trying to figure out how to stop them, babbling soothing nonsense. He just needed to separate them, give them a moment to calm down and then they could go back to what they were doing, or even talk about it even if they really wanted to! Maybe he could distract them? See was always great to get the mind focused on something much nicer, not having to deal with all those big feelings.
Behind him Grian loosed a hissing growl with his feathers rattling together, the noise Scar just knew meant he was on the verge of a full on explosion, and he was moving before he knew it, body-blocking Vex, arms out to protect as much as possible, ears pinned and tail bristled. Like Grian was a danger that the other needed to be protected from. In front of him Vex's pale glowing eyes widened, his mouth dropping open in a small show of shock, shoulders falling in his surprise.
The silence behind him was deafening.
He curled his fingers into his palms, tail resuming his agitated swishing, thinning his lips and looking helplessly at the man in front of him. Why had he done that? Why had he done that? Grian wasn’t a danger to any of them in any meaningful way, not off the battlefield. Sure he poked and prodded and pushed boundaries, but he’d never raised a hand in actual violence against either of them since that first night all those weeks ago, when he’d crashed through the balcony doors, thinking he was simply going to be “rescuing” Scar from another kidnapping at Vex’s.
He sucked in a deep breath, forcibly righting his thoughts as best as he was able, scrabbling at them like he would marbles spilled from a box, turning on his heel to look at Grian, trying to soften his face, open his posture, make Grian feel like he hadn’t just jumped in front of their biggest nemesis to protect him from his own partner.
Behind him, Grian’s wings were suspiciously flat, tucked close to his back, and his aural wings were pinned so far back that they were settled behind his ears. His face was glass like, rigid and pale, and even as Scar watched the avian made the visible effort to release all the tension in his muscles, standing easy and straight, purposefully as non-threatening as he could make himself, the picture of open geniality.
Instead of soothing Scar’s fears, Grian’s stance sent every alarm bell ringing in his head, a sense well honed by years of familiarity screaming in the back of his mind. Because for a normal person it might have been signs that they were calming down, trying to take a step back and let the situation settle before it got (any further) out of hand. But this wasn’t Grian calming down, no, this was him shutting down, drawing forth walls of politeness and stilted fake calm, the perfect diversion as he drew so far into himself it would take weeks, maybe even months, of work to get him back out from it. The last time Scar had seen this he and Grian hadn’t spoken for a month and almost dissolved their working relationship before Lizzie stepped in to make them sort themselves out.
While he might not have understood the whole gravity of what was happening between them, Vex seemed to understand that something was wrong, and he shifted on his feet, looking between the two of them and seeming to fish for some words that wouldn’t reignite the argument. The room in the air was heavy, settling over the three of them.
“I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back later.” Each word carefully spoken, drawn from behind carefully concealed teeth, a death knell disguised as deescalation, and Grian spun on his heel, talons clacking along the floors as he bypassed the hallway to the elevator, instead heading straight for the balcony doors. He opened them with a calm that belied the rage that Scar knew was simmering just below the surface and stepped into the sun.
There was no great flap of wings or twisting twirl that the avian seemed to love for his takeoffs, no showing off or making a show of it like he usually might. Instead he climbed, one foot over the other, onto the balcony’s railing and simply stepped off between one blink and next, leaving Scar and Vex standing in the rapidly chilling living room, alone but for each other and the awful creeping anxiety of a situation well out of their control.
~~~
The first place Grian landed after departing Vex’s stupid evil villain idiot lair was his own apartment. It probably wasn’t the safest place to stay for any extended period of time, it was almost certainly the first place Scar would look for him when if he would even be bothered he came looking for him. He had no intention of staying long though, just long enough to grab his uniform before he would fuck off again.
He didn’t want to be stuck here, in one of the easiest places for the other two men to find him, or even at Lizzie’s, because she could and would force him to talk about his feelings. Mumbo was technically an option, but the man would absolutely bother him to resolve things with his partner, even if he wouldn’t call Scar on Grian himself. At least out on patrol there was no way for Scar to track him unless Grian let him, and maybe beating up some criminals would take his mind off the absolute shitshow that had happened less than a half hour ago.
Stupid Vex and his stupid evilness and his stupid inability to realize how fucking lucky he was to have someone so blindly devoted to him and his stupid idiot penchant for saying or doing things first without realizing how much damage he could and even was doing. And stupid Scar and his stupid forgiveness and his unbelievable bad taste in men - not that Grian was technically immune from having slipped through the guard on that one but you’d never catch him saying that out loud - and his soft spot for worthless idiot supervillains-
He cut his thoughts off with an angry trill, feathers ruffling audibly as he forced himself to draw in a few deep breaths. No, he was not going to spend the rest of the night focusing on Scar and stupid fucking Vex. He wasn’t going to focus on how nice it had felt to have them in his nest or think about Scar kneading the skin between his wings until he wanted to melt into a puddle or how soothing Vex’s heartbeat under his ear was, lulling him into some of the best sleep he’d had in weeks-
He threw himself into his bed and let himself scream for a moment, wings battering the bedding as he tried to get rid of the pent of anger still simmering in his chest. The argument wasn’t even his fault this time! He’d just wanted Vex to be careful about trying to direct Scar or choose what he ate or when! It was already so hard to get the other man to eat with any regularity and, as much as Grian hated to admit it, Vex had a way of getting Scar to cooperate on that front (and that totally didn’t make him feel like a failure piss him the fuck off) so he needed the man to be smarter about that shit.
He lay there a moment and let himself feel bad for himself before shaking himself physically and rolling off the mattress. He swapped his mask for a clean one, slipped on his uniform and grabbed a communicator from the locked box he had hidden in the walls of his closet. He finished tying his shorts just in-time to hear a key in the lock, squirming out the window of his own bedroom like a fugitive when he heard Lizzie’s familiar voice calling out for him. He caught a draft of wind on the way down, whooping happily as the warm late afternoon wind scooped him up and carried him high into the air, flapping his way further into the city.
He waited until he was a good little way from the apartment before settling on a roof, kicking his feet over the edge as he set his communicator to “patrolling”, thumbing through the app to get the lay of the land. It wasn’t the very best device, because the hero organization considered Grian too hard on them to give him the newest models except when they wanted him to test them, but it worked to let them know who was out and about, and to let them know if anything required attention. It looked like a quiet day; no villains spotted, just a few minor crimes, Ice King and Queen Cobra were on standby(almost certainly sipping tea somewhere because Ice King apparently ran on the stuff) so he tabbed his marker to the lower east side and tucked it back into his pocket.
It was easier to push his own thoughts deep enough to be a later-Grian problem when he was patrolling. Flying over the winding maze that was the industrial-residential mix of this portion of the city, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, stopping to stay hi or break up suspicious groups left little room for thinking on anything other than what he was doing. The late spring afternoon sun warmed his wings delightfully and he tossed a few flips and twirls in, both to amuse himself and to show off a little to the groups of school kids he flew over.
His communicator dinged a few times, the tiny chimes that meant more heroes and their partners were starting their patrols, and he tightened his flight pattern, not wanting to deal with Terrafirma and their dramatics tonight once the notice he was nearby rang through, settling for flying repeating loops over the parks and schools. He stopped in a tree long enough to watch a birthday party, trilling his appreciation when he was chucked a tightly wrapped burrito from a passing food cart. He even dipped down to sign an autograph and take a picture with the birthday girl.
Had you told Grian a few years ago that he’d be a vigilante that most of the city adored, partnered to the number one hero, he would have laughed in your face. He might have believed you if you said he was barely tolerated or even a minor villain or even just slaving away at the dead-end job he’d had at the time. Following Scar into this nonsense had been a spur of the moment thing, an act of desperation that had worked out. And while crowd work was more Scar’s - or HotGuy, since they were trying to separate the personas a little more- thing, he apparently wasn’t immune to being liked. Or the free food.
He lit upon the edge of a building, peeling back the foil on the burrito, kicking taloned feet in the air as the flavor of juicy pork and spicy beans flooded across his tongue. Damn, he’d forgotten how hungry he was! He chirred a happy little noise, wings fluttering with his pleasure as he ate and basked in the setting sun. He should probably put some thought into where he was going to crash for the night; if Scar had already called Lizzie on him then she was sure to be keeping an eye on his place for his return, so that was out of the question. Mumbo was out as an option as well, now that he was in costume. He could probably crash in one of the safe houses the organization had scattered around, since Scar never bothered to remember where any of them were, and he could swing by to grab his spare civilian clothing from his locker while he was grabbing a key.
Settled on a course of action he finished off his free food, licking the juices from the tip of his claws, aural wings flickering as he heard a scuff on the roof behind him. He tensed his legs, readying himself to flip off at a moment’s notice, and tilted his head back, catching a glimpse of dark spotted fur lurking in the HVAC behind him. The figure paused, though judging by the wide toothy grin that split across its face it wasn’t upset to be caught out.
“Miss me, pretty bird?”
He groaned loudly, wrinkling his nose in exaggeration. “I thought I smelt something rank! That time of the month already, Howler?” There was a cackling laugh, the hulking form of the hyena-hybrid villain departing the shadows, shambling into the light. Howler was a minor problem, all things considered, more dangerous to property than person and with a penchant for fire that almost rivaled Deepfrost. Like a decent chunk of the hybrid population, he looked more animal than man, but unusually for a hybrid the full moon always brought out an almost unprecedented bloodlust in him. Howler was one of the few foes Grian could meet on an even playing field, free to stretch his wings and put as much talon into his attacks as he wanted, knowing his opponent not only wanted it, but expected it, and gave as good as he got. He was always a favorite to run into, though Grian wouldn’t call it something he looked out for, simply reveling in it when it happened.
There was another cackling cry and Grian turned his head fully, barely suppressing the surprised chatter that wanted to slip past his guard, pulling his wings in tight. Howler looked terrible, his fur patchy and darker than usual, his eyes a bloody red and his teeth long in his jaw, foamy saliva dripping from his grin. He moved in a grotesque shamble, like he couldn’t quite coordinate his body into doing what he wanted, and his claws drug deep furrows into the metal of the roof, the screeching noise drawing a shudder from Grian.
“Ohh so unkind to me! I’ve missed you while I’ve been gone, pretty bird! Missed you just so much!” Another mangled laugh and Howler was in front of him, close enough that he could feel the hot rancid breath of the villain on his face through his mask, smell the scent of iron and rotten meat from where the other towered over him. He pasted a grin on his face, feeling his fun brawl slipping away in the face of something being very, very wrong with the other, and he pulled himself to his feet slowly, surprised but relieved when the other actually let him.
“Have I ever been nice to you, Howler? You’re like a little puppy I can’t get rid of! If I’m too nice I’ll have to take you home, and I simply don’t have the space for a mutt like you.” There was a low, rolling growl from Howler and Grian spread his wings in threat, tilting his head with a wide smirk. He didn’t want to poke too much, but maybe if he could bait the other into fighting before he could fully devolve into whatever state of psychosis that seemed to be plaguing him then he could stop something worse from happening. The growl tapered off into a raspy chuckle, the villain leaning in uncomfortably close.
“Met some interesting people on my travels, pretty bird. Asked me all kindsa questions, ‘specially about you. Real interested in meeting you, yes they are!” He cackled wildly, one clawed hand coming up to wrap around Grian’s wrist, not so tight he couldn’t pull away when he tried, but tight enough that it hurt regardless. The other clawed hand slipped into the shredded remains of his belt, pulling up a small vial with a little red pill in it, which he uncorked with his teeth and tossed back, gnashing it with his teeth and coloring the foam on his lips a shining crimson.
There was no great transformation, no explosion, no horrid screaming like Grian half expected. Howler’s muscles and patched pelt rippled, his teeth and claws grew and the red of his eyes fairly glowed, casting his face in a monstrous glow.
“C’mon, pretty bird, you’re coming with me.”
~~~~
Cub sighed silently to himself, adjusting his position on the couch as best as he was able with Neit laid across his chest, fingers idly rubbing over a calico ear. Neit hadn’t said much since Ari had left the lair, forgoing dinner to cling to Cub like the other man was the only thing keeping him anchored in place, looking miserable and unhappy. Part of Cub was angry at the avian for his part in upsetting Neit, but another part of him was distinctly aware that the escalation was his own fault this time. Thinking back, Ari had been right, and coming from a place of concern and had been wound up by Cub’s confusion and resistance to the other man’s point of view. He was usually better than that, this wasn’t one of his better moments, but what was done was done.
He’d wanted to go after Ari, but Neit had stopped him. Apparently when the other man was like this then chasing after him, especially if you were the one who’d gotten him in that state, was the exact wrong thing to do. Neit had sent a message to a mutual friend of his and Ari’s and then pulled Cub onto the couch beneath a mound of blankets, having not moved since.
He was half tempted to see if he could get the other to eat, or even move to the bed, but his earlier attempts, even going so far as offering unlimited cake, had gotten no response. He sighed again, pulling Neit closer, wincing a little as both his phone and implant suddenly pinged with the tone he’d set for urgent messages, eyes flickering to his phone briefly. Emergency message from Tango, and he couldn’t help the unease that curled along his spine. Very few things would cause Tango to send such a message, and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing what it was. He grabbed his cell, making a show of opening his text app even as he pulled the actual message up behind his eyes. It was a short message, just a few words, but the unease kicked up another notch.
“Channel 8 news. NOW.”
He thinned his lips, gently tossing his phone aside and fumbling for the remote, turning the TV from its still-paused movie scene to the local news. The noise was instant and jarring, startling Neit from his spot to look up in confusion, both their eyes lokcing on the screen. It was drone footage of what Cub thought was a school, and the ticker across the bottom proclaimed a full on knock down, drag out brawl between CuteGuy and Howler that had been going on for almost twenty minutes by that point. The reporter, a young man huddling in the crowd below the fight and shouting into the microphone, lacked the usual enthusiasm that most reporters had when covering fights between villains and their foes. Rather he, and the crowd all around them, was looking more and more fearful and as Cub watched the drone footage continue he couldn’t hold back the “mrewl” of distress, echoed closely by Neit.
CuteGuy and Howler were locked together as they rolled across the roof and left swathes of blood and debris in their wake, Howler’s teeth sunk deep into CuteGuy’s calf and CuteGuy’s finger talons deep in a patch-furred shoulder. Both were covered in wounds and blood with their costumes torn, and it was obvious that CuteGuy was flagging, the buffeting of his wings against his opponent getting weaker and weaker even as they watched from their spots on the couch.
The reporter was declaring that help was still more than ten minutes out, Ice King and Cobra Queen stuck in their own fight and only just getting free to cross the city, leaving CuteGuy on his own.
Neit was already up, scrambling for the bag that was forgotten on the floor tucked into the corner between the living room and the kitchen, the uniform the Ari had tucked into the bottom of the bag appearing in shaking hands. His own uniform and armor were on the floor below, but there was no way he’d be allowed to join the rescue. It would never be allowed for Vex to rescue CuteGuy, at least not like this.
It would be up to HotGuy.
Neit was fastening the traces of his armor when the noise from the broadcast reached a fever pitch of frightened and shocked screaming, the drones zeroing in as close as possible from where they hovered. Howler twisted his body in a distinctly non-human way, flinging CuteGuy on to the ground with horrific cracking thud. Howler was on him so fast Cub couldn’t even begin to hope to track it, fanged jaws wrapped around the entirety of the arm the avian brought up to guard his face. Howler cackled loudly, a sickening sound wet with blood and drool, and then bit down, filling the room with the sound of splintering metal and shattering bone.
CuteGuy wailed, the sound pure fear and agony, and a massive clawed hand gripped his face, raising his head up high enough that his cries choked off before slamming it down with another meaty thud. The avian’s head lolled, almost as if he was dead, and for one heartstopping moment Cub thought they’d just witnessed Ari’s murder live on tv. But Howler leaned down, sniffing along a pale neck before his face broke out a twisted grin. The hulking villain rose up, dragging the limp body of his foe with him, and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of rice, skipping out over the rooftops.
The drones lost sight within a minute, leaving Howler to escape unimpeded with his victim, and Cub watched mutely as the broadcast switched over to the studio and their conjecture on what Howler was doing with CuteGuy and why the villain had escalated so violently out of his usual patterns.
The only sound in the room was the shattering of the drywall as Neit drove a gauntleted fist through the wall.
~~~
Grian swam in and out of consciousness, barely aware enough to track bits and pieces of what was happening to him. At one point he briefly woke just long enough to feel warm fur under his shoulder, metal and tiled roofs passing like a sandy blur past his vision before agony pulled him back under a haze of red. Then he was in a white room, a dozen moving shadows over him while fire sang through his veins. He screamed and thrashed, tied down flat with no thought to the horrible burn and twist of his wings, and then there was a loud noise and a sting in his cheek, his head thrown to the side before a rough hand was pressing something cold and sweet smelling over his face. He cried as black dots slowly crawled across his eyes and harsh voices chased him laughing back into unconsciousness.
The next time he swam up from the darkness he was more aware but sluggish and slow. All his wounds pulled and screamed with pain as several pairs of rough hands shoved him about, pulling on his limbs and wings and he squawked and screamed, thrashing and biting as his limbs were pulled into heavy, uncomfortable restraints, thick bands of leather binding his wings together with a creak of bone and a fresh wave of agony. The voices laughed at his pain, heavy blows raining down on him as he still tried to struggle in his binds until they seemed to grow bored, thick fingers knotting in his hair to hold him still. Something cold and painful settled over the lower half of his face, buckling and locking just above and below his ears with thick leather straps, and a heavy band of metal circled his neck, leaving him to watch blearily as it was fastened to a pinion in the floor in front of where he’d been forced to kneel.
His tormentors stepped back, masked men in plain black clothing, and one off to the side whistled in appreciation.
“Man he sure is a sight like this. No wonder the auctioneer wanted him so badly. Shame about the injuries though. Hard to play like that, inn’it?”
Another snorted, derision clear. “Not for these freaks. They like ‘em roughed up. S’why they only patched him up enough to make sure he didn’t keel over. He’s already drawn several pre-bids.”
Bids?
Terror curled in his gut, his eyes widening as he thrashed in his restraints, the jangling of his chains background noise to the delighted laughter of the men before him.
“That’s right, pretty bird! Hope you enjoyed your last night of freedom because wherever you’re headed all your nights belong to your new master! Only another day left for you.” They laughed amongst themselves as they left him, closing a heavy wooden door and plunging Grian into a strange half-light, leaving him alone to his racing thoughts. He was being auctioned. Sold to the highest bidder for whatever sick fantasies whoever paid the most for him could imagine. In a day he’d be whisked away, probably to never be seen or heard from again unless he was lucky enough for his body to turn up somewhere once his owner got bored of him.
All because he’d left Scar after that stupid argument with Vex. If he’d just sucked it up and gone to Lizzie or Mumbo, if he’d just stayed in the lair, sulking in a separate room, he’d have never been out in that fight, would not have been patrolling without backup, and maybe he’d be home, drinking tea and watching movies with Joel and Lizzie or watching Scar lead Vex through the steps of making some dinner or another, watching the villain bend to the other man’s will in a show of obedience that he still couldn’t tell was trap or genuine. He couldn’t believe that the last memory Scar was going to have of him was him screaming at Vex and shutting down, storming off instead of handling it.
He slumped to the floor, tears burning at his eyes and burying any brief flicker of anger below devastation and agony. He was completely trapped, chained to the floor like an animal at the mercy of people who had none to spare, slated to be sold.
He curled up as tight as his bonds would let him and closed his eyes, desperately wishing for rescue.
His only answer was the creak of metal and the chill of the concrete against his skin.
~~~
Cub rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes burning as he blinked at the screen in front of him. It had been three days since Ari, while on patrol as CuteGuy, had been defeated in battle and kidnapped. There was no sign of him, no sign of the villain who'd done the actual kidnapping and no ransom or any signs of who had him now. The hero organization had all hands on deck, scouring the city from top to bottom in search of the missing vigilante, going so far as to make a publicized broadcast offering a monetary reward for information or, better yet, CuteGuy’s safe return. Neit had thrown himself back into being HotGuy with a fierce determination borne of his desperation, searching until he was dead on his feet and Cub or Lizzie or someone else forced him to take a break.
Cub had not been idle in that time. When he wasn't taking care of an exhausted Neit, he was using his not inconsiderable influence in the less savory parts of the city and its underbelly, clawing into all the little nooks and crannies that the heroes couldn't get into. Impulse was helping as much as he was able, trawling all kinds of black and dark web traffic and monitoring any number of questionable websites, looking for anything that might be helpful. Tango had been going from place to place, spinning honeyed threats in Vex’s name to various groups and gangs, leaning on them for information and promising lavish rewards for anyone who assisted, the unspoken shadow of his ire and wrath hanging in every word.
Vex himself had been visiting various villains, capitalizing on his many years of working to climb to the top of the hierarchy and his well established claim on both HotGuy and CuteGuy to draw more assistance to the hunt. Most of them simply thought he was livid at having his toy taken from him but a select few, older villains who put more stock in the complicated relationship between archnemeses, were only too happy to direct some of their resources towards the search.
Now, three days later, the amount of information they did have was painting a grim picture. Howler, the kidnapper, had disappeared from a scheduled cruise two months ago, boarding in one port and departing for a land excursion but never returning to the ship. He’d returned a little less than a week before the kidnapping of CuteGuy, behaving erratically but seemingly uninjured. The kidnapping was the first time anyone had seen him in costume and he hadn't been seen since. There were quiet whispers, bare things passed between tongue and teeth a dozen times before coming to rest, that inquiries had been made of CuteGuy off and on over the course of the last year, though what interest or purpose those inquiries held remained shrouded in mystery.
Finally Tango brought them a bit of information that was fairly invaluable, gleaned by a crew of smugglers on the docks. They'd been cagey, not wanting to be known as snitches but even less wanting to bite the hand that fed them, waiting a whole day to come forward. They'd been contacted a few days before the kidnapping and offered a very large sum of money to discreetly move some “sensitive fragile cargo”, code for trafficking people. They didn't know how much, only that they would be given a designated pickup spot that Friday, at that point only sixteen hours away, and would be tasked with moving several crates to various locations.
Cub had been livid as the picture was painted in his mind: Ari, desired for his good looks or his exotic plumage or the chance to break his wild and free attitude, stolen through violence and sold away from his home, from Neit, from Vex.
He would not allow it.
With that information in hand, Impulse had been able to narrow his search, focusing on various auctions and websites. It was sickening, even to them as villains who'd harmed and murdered people before, to see that many people listed like so many cattle, pictures of men and women and children, humans and hybrids, decorating websites that extolled their various skills and uses. Had pulling back his violence in deference to HotGuy's distaste for it softened him that much? Or were their depths of villainy even he wasn't willing to explore?
Their search so narrowed, Impulse had found the listing six hours later, grim faced as he pulled it up on a tablet with Skizz, Doc and Tango reading over their shoulders.
The picture was hard to look at, twisting something deep in his chest. Ari looked...defeated. A pale shadow of the bright beautiful man who lounged on his couch and ate his fruit and challenged him every step of the way but still, when Cub was very very lucky, yielded for him so beautifully. Exhausted, miserable, in agony, his dark eyes hazy, his face pale and drawn. His wings were bound, he was chained to the floor of whatever room they had him in and his arms were pinned to his sides, bandages visible through the ropes and straps. They'd stripped him of his shorts and decorative top, leaving him only in his thin bodysuit, ripped and bloody though it was, and his mask had been ripped away, his identity protected only by the remnants of khol and the fine dusting of deep purple-black feathers around his eyes. For fuck's sake they'd muzzled him, silvery steel visibly digging into his cheeks and jaw where they'd strapped ot tight to his skin.
He was marketed as “multi-use”, his description calling attention to his combat prowess but also focusing unnervingly on his physical attributes, claiming what a great feat it would be to bring the vigilante into their collection. There had already been over a dozen pre-bids, the last of which blinked a glowing two point five million dollars. Ari was the only listing, the site claiming he was a special edition auction.
Cub had to excuse himself briefly, Skizz and Doc's murmured commentary on Ari's medical needs(Dire, clearly being kept barely alive) and Impulse and Tango's chattering on next steps crowding into his head, competing with his own spiraling thoughts until everything was subsumed in a layer of static buzz, drowning all rational thought. He just needed a moment to breathe, to refocus, to pull on a mask of professionalism to cover his rage and horror. He'd known that he'd grown attached to Ari, not just as part of a package deal with HotGuy, but as his own person as well.
He was brash and loud, confident into overconfidence sometimes, with jagged sharp edges and a tongue that cut if you weren't careful. He was distrustful of Vex, paranoid, and prone to outburst. But beneath that, once you earned the right to see it, he could be soft and thoughtful, remembering little things that others might pass over. He was inquisitive and intelligent and sometimes Cub thought the other could see right through him. He challenged Cub, not just physically but emotionally as well, forcing him to earn every yield and every softening in a way Neit did not.
Neit was a gift given freely to be treasured, but Ari was a conquest to prove himself worthy of holding.
Slowly the thoughts fizzed out, leaving only cold calculation and determination in their place. He would get Ari back and then he would burn out every trace of the people who'd tried to take him, root and stem.
Which led him to now, watching the auction pass by silently, the others waiting in the background for any new development. The plan was simple; with time too short to track down the place Ari was being kept, they would have to win the auction. Cub had nearly unlimited wealth and with Impulse's skills the ability to track where the money went. Auction so won, he would get Ari back and then they would follow the money, using the trail to destroy every single entity involved along the way.
Bidding had been fierce at first once the actual auction had begun, the numbers quickly rising from the last pre-bid of three million dollars to an almost staggering fifteen million in the first half of the hour. Cub hadn't wanted to risk being outbid and had placed a very final thirty million. There hadn't been a single bid since, though he remained ready with another higher bid in case someone tried to slip in at the last moment for an upset.
Ten minutes left.
Five minutes.
Three.
A ding, a bright “Auction Closed” notification appearing on the screen in front of him, followed shortly by another notification.
“Bid accepted. Sold to User V2986 for $30,000,000. Please contact to arrange payment and shipment.”
He'd done it. He'd won Ari. He was one step closer to bringing the avian home.
Behind him the others cheered and breathed a sigh of relief, and Cub allowed himself his own moment to breathe before diving back in. There was a link that Cub's scans showed led to a simple dummy chat app. It was a plain thing, with a few fields to show the wire info for the money. He set Impulse on the transfer, tagging it so he could do what he needed to, and there was a brief “ping!” before the chat window changed, offering him the option to pick up or arrange shipment of his merchandise.
How thoughtful of them to lead him right to where he needed to be! Now he could have the pleasure of watching Tango torch the place and everyone in it to the ground in person!
Pressing down his disgust at referring to Ari as merchandise he chose the pick up option, watching as a loading wheel popped up for a moment before the chat closed, a single pop-up in its place. An address, half an hour outside the city and a time five hours in the future. There was a phrase below that, presumably a passphrase to be let in, and he quickly memorized the whole lot, before the popup deleted itself.
He sat back for a moment, centering himself. Five hours wasn’t a lot of time. Skizz and Doc needed to get the medical lab and Ari’s room ready for him, he needed a car and a driver but most importantly he needed Neit. He needed someone there Ari would recognize, would feel safe with, because Vex and Deepfrost showing up was not going to ease his fears at all.
He had the brief thought that, maybe, having Ari be afraid would sell the whole thing better, making their escape unmolested more likely. He didn't want to risk the traffickers starting something if Ari, rightfully so, acted relieved to see them. Not to save the traffickers or any such thing but rather because he didn't want to risk a brawl around the already gravely injured avian, especially when he couldn't move or defend himself.
Perhaps....
Yes, that might work. He'd need to run it by the others, especially Neit, first but there was a perfect tool sitting back at the concave. He rose to his feet, stretched himself out and turned to the others behind him, face stony and resolute. He had an avian to bring home.
~~~
Grian slumped in his bonds, listlessly tracking the goings-on around him. They’d moved him to another room a little while ago, somewhere large and open with a bank of computers along the one wall, thickly frosted windows on the other side casting the room in orange-gray light. There was a lot of talking going on, the voices blending together with very little distinct or loud enough to pick out. He caught a few phrases: “way higher than expected”, a sharp whistle followed by “now THAT’S a price tag if I ever saw one”, a dark chuckle as another simpered “told you! They love it when the pretty ones get all roughed up and cry. Freaks.” and on and on, floating in and out.
The awareness that they were talking about him was a dim, quiet thing, any anger at the thought instantly drowned by wave after wave of exhaustion and desolation. He was hungry, he was cold, he hurt all over. No one knew where he was and judging by the jeering and cheering going on around him he’d been successfully sold. Rescue wasn’t coming. Even if he wanted to fight, there was no point in it. Not yet anyway.
Booted feet passed into his vision, the tip of one nudging forward until he roused enough to flick his eyes up at his tormentor. The man was grinning down at him, all sharp teeth and flickering leonine tail. “You’re a hot product, pretty bird! Your new owner paid a pretty penny for you. Thirty million, signed and sealed!” He chortled, and Grian huffed, letting his head fall limp again. At least he cost whichever dickhead had bought him a good amount of money, if nothing else.
The man seemed to lose interest pretty quickly with the lack of response of his captive, clicking his tongue in disgust before treading away, leaving Grian to his thoughts. It was like pulling spider webs to try and gather his racing mind into some semblance of order. He missed Scar already, wanted nothing more than to be home, curled up in his nest with the other man, running his claws through soft brown hair while rough fingers worked on his wings. He wanted to be at Lizzie’s, buried under mountains of those thick soft blankets she had, sipping drinks and painting nails while Joel and Scar argued in the kitchen over the best way to make cookies. He wanted to go to his stupid office with all the stupid ergonomic changes Mr. Fan had been making like the perching bars and the wing chairs. Fuck, he even wanted to be back at Vex’s stupid lair, in his couch nest while the two idiots watched disney movies and made dinner.
He wasn’t going to get any of those things again though. None of those or anything else. His whole life now was leather straps and iron chains and cold concrete, and even those would go away shortly, and he would be subjected to whatever his new...owner had in store for him.
He didn’t bother to stifle the tears this time, letting them track down his cheeks. It made it so hard to breath with the metal muzzle clamping his jaws shut and part of him hoped it might be enough to suffocate him if it went on long enough, but other than the laughter of his captors there was no reprieve to be had for him. At least the muzzle meant he was quiet in his despair.
So he laid there, fading in and out of awareness until rough hands grabbed him, forcing him to his knees and shaking him until he blinked fully awake, staring around him. The light from the windows had faded, leaving the place only illuminated by old industrial lights, and many of the men had vanished, leaving Grian only with the man with sharp teeth and another in a fine, pressed suit.
“Chin up, pretty bird. Your owner’s pulling up and you wanna make a good impression, don’t you?” Sharp-tooth forced Grian’s body up, a knee in his back forcing him to bow his chest out while the bands around his wings and the straps around his arms were tightened. Sharp-tooth seemed to revel in Grian’s pained whimpering when the restraints dug into the injury on his arm until Suit snapped at him not to damage him further. Sharp-tooth murmured something that might have been an apology to Suit before finishing his last minute adjustments, hovering at Grian’s back to keep him from slumping over again.
None of them moved for a solid little while, and Grian felt himself just beginning to drift off again when there was the sound of several pairs of footsteps coming down a hallway. A door to the side opened and Grian watched as a group of people entered one after the other. Another henchman in black clothes with antlers sprouting from his head, a person in a suit talking animatedly as he walked backwards to lead in the last three.
It took a moment for Grian’s brain to catch-up to what he was seeing, blinking his eyes repeatedly, slow and confused. The first of the trio was very clearly Deepfrost, with his icy blue hair and the coldflame tail whipping behind him, his heavy dungeon master's robes trailing along the ground, his face a mask of distaste. The second was a woman, tall and willowy, with flowing dirty blonde hair and fluttering moth’s wings. She was dressed in a plain dark pantsuit and was carrying a briefcase, looking bored and uninterested. The last though, the last he knew in an instant. Familiar blue-gray skin, layered silver armor, glowing eyes.
Vex.
His breath froze in his chest, Sharp-tooth mistaking it for terror if his little giggle was anything to go by, and Grian wrestled briefly with the thought that maybe he simply had suffocated and this was a hallucination he was experiencing in his final moments, or some prelude to his time in the afterlife. There was just no way Vex of all people had bought him.
No way he was that lucky.
A tiny part of him whispered that, perhaps, Vex himself had set this up, an easy way to get rid of Grian to have unlimited access to Scar, but even his fever-addled mind was able to throw that out in short order. Vex was looking at the men around him in thinly veiled disgust and Grian was familiar enough with the fey to recognize the set of his shoulders, the flicker of his fingers at his hips as he desperately wanted to curl his hands into fists, the strange flat tone to his usually distorted, giggly voicemod. Vex was pissed.
Grian shuffled a little, getting a warning tap of Sharp-tooth’s boot to the laceration on his hip and he couldn’t bite back the pained whine that tore through his clenched teeth. Vex’s head snapped over to where they were, wings raising up and rattling loudly.
“Mind yourself with my things.” The threat was clear in his voice and Sharp-tooth backed off, this time the apology he gave tinted with actual fear versus the one he’d given Suit not even five minutes ago, and while Grian balked a little at being called a thing he was glad of the intervention, of the gentling of the hands holding him in place.
Vex and the suited men exchanged words for several moments, too quiet to hear, with Deepfrost and the woman chiming in occasionally. Papers were signed, changing hands several times, before a small keyring was handed to Vex, the second suited man backing away with several solicitous bows and simpering comments, grinning all the while until he was out of the room. Left with his two captors, a villain, a random woman and the man who now technically owned him left Grian wondering what would happen next. Would he be released? Would he be allowed to return home, when only a few hours ago such a thing seemed impossible?
Or would Vex make him disappear? Take him away from this place only to cage him somewhere else, break him down until he was more pliant, until he was something more to Vex’s liking? He kept insisting that he liked Scar just the way he was, maybe Grian would be as lucky? Allowed to wander around the lair and be comfortable, so long as he did as he was bade? Would that be so bad?
A hand on his neck pulled him out of his meandering thoughts, forcing him face to face with glowing eyes. Vex was staring at him with an unreadable expression, using his grip to turn Grian’s head this way and that. While his grip was deceptively gentle, it probably looked rough, and he whined a little as the motion shook his already dizzy brain in his skull. So distracted by his nausea he almost missed the tapping of clawed fingers on his throat, the pattern almost lost in his surprise.
Trust Me.
Scar had to have taught that to Vex. That was the tap signal they’d come up with years and years ago, after too many times kidnapped by villains or planned sneak attacks where someone wanted to do something stupid and didn’t want to give it away. If Vex was trying to let him know something, but his brain was too sluggish to figure out exactly what, and his brain refused to turn over. Instead, he simply let his head fall against the villain’s hand, the only kind of affirmation he could give without giving away the game. Vex seemed to get it though, waving the woman with the briefcase over, which she opened to reveal a familiar loop of lace and leather. He sucked in a breath, fear swarming through his veins for a moment before that cool hand on his throat was tapping again, the other reaching for the mind control collar.
There was nothing he could do. He could only let Vex tilt his head up and fasten the collar with a final sounding click.
*
Cub watched Ari slump flat to the ground with the collar secure, tears rolling down his cheeks and muffled sobs slipping past the muzzle over his face. Whether it was relief, terror or something else, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps a mix? He took a step back, tilting his head and affecting amused disinterest at Ari’s breakdown while Tango and Pearl milled behind him, awaiting further order.
If Cub thought the picture on the auction site was bad, it had nothing on seeing Ari in person. He was dirty, feverish to the touch, and Cub could smell the waft of infection about several of his injuries already. All the fight and energy had clearly been drained out of the other before the collar had been put on, but now it looked like there really was nothing left of fight in him. It was heart wrenching to see the usually vibrant avian reduced to whimpering cries and trembling.
Briefly, he was glad he hadn’t chosen to use the dud collar. The one he’d chosen had been the model before, just enough electrostimulation to induce calm, to keep his already damaged muscles lax, the other functions temporarily disabled. Ari would hate even that little bit of control being taken from him without his consent, but Cub couldn’t be completely sorry for it. Any little bit of comfort he could provide for the avian at the moment was his priority at the moment, just under getting the other out of this place and just above torching the whole thing.
He snapped his fingers and Pearl strode forward, attentive, perfectly playing the part of the well disciplined henchman. “Bring him to the car. Put a sheet down so he doesn’t dirty the seat.” She sketched a quick salute and went forward, neatly bullying the trafficker who’d been hovering over Ari’s form to pull the bound avian into her arms, striding out of the door without needing direction. Cub barely kept up the masquerade while he finished speaking in terse tones with the traffickers, eventually managing to extricate himself, Tango at his heels. Every single step down the halls felt interminable, like he was never going to get out of the damn building, and it took everything in his powers not to simply phase through the walls to hurry things along.
Eventually though he was stepping out into the cool night air, the breeze brushing against his face around his mask. The town car was waiting, Etho hovering near the door and looking particularly severe as he held the door open, allowing Cub to slide into the back before shutting it behind him. Cub leaned out the door, glowing eyes staring into the flame-red of the Blaze-hybrid outside. “Deepfrost? No survivors.”
The grin that split Tango’s face was all malicious glee, and Cub watched embers and frost smoke dance across the man’s fingers as he turned away, intent on destruction. Order given, Cub rolled the window up, turning to Pearl and Ari as Etho pulled away. Pearl had managed to bundle Ari into a wrap of blankets and had the avian tucked into her lap, her own moth wings fluttering with unease as she pressed a hand to his forehead.
“He’s burning up badly.” Her voice was quiet and calm, trying not to worry either man, and Cub drew in a deep breath before nodding and fishing the keyring from his pocket. It took a little maneuvering to get the blankets down enough to access the various leather straps and the padlocks holding them shut but between the two of them they managed to free his arms and legs, carefully rubbing over his limbs around the bandages to try and encourage bloodflow. The arm that Howler had bitten was deeply bruised and misshapen, a half-hearted splint holding it in place, and Cub hissed a little when he felt the coolness of the avian’s fingers. Still vital, but alarming.
He bypassed the wing bands for now, Doc wanted Skizz to oversee their removal to avoid any chance of permanent damage more than he already was in danger of, and settled into the seat. He didn’t even stop to think, shedding off his upper armor until only his undershirt remained and then pulled Ari out of Pearl’s lap, settling the man with his ear against Cub’s heart. The sound seemed soothing if nothing else, judging by the way Ari nuzzled closer with a weak coo, and he fiddled with the last key, finally getting it into the padlocks holding the muzzle shut. He could have phased it off, but Ari was always cagey at best about his phasing and was absolutely not in a space to have any additional unpleasant surprises. Instead he settled for working the straps loose and pulling the muzzle away, chucking it to the floor.
Ari’s face had deep cuts and creases where the muzzle had dug in with its lack of padding and cruel fit, and Vex carefully pressed a thumb around the skin, frowning at the heat rolling off his cheeks, his ragged breath against his chest. He really was in quite bad shape, wasn’t he? He wrapped the blankets tighter around him, tucking Ari’s head under his chin.
“You’re alright, man. You’re alright. Just a little longer. Neit’s waiting for you, just gotta hold on a little longer.” Ari snuffled and wriggled for a minute, but what little energy the appearance of his rescuers had given him had deserted him, leaving him shattered in the aftermath. Cub ignored Pearl’s knowing look as he thoughtlessly ducked down, pressing his lips to a feverish forehead, fingers resting low on Ari’s back, rubbing mindless circles.
Doc’s clinic was almost forty-five minutes from the abandoned steel mill that the pickup had taken place in and every one of them felt endless. Neit was texting him every few minutes for updates and Cub was doing his best to answer him but at a certain point there was only so much he could tell the other. Neit wouldn’t settle until he’d seen Ari himself, and that would only happen once they got to the clinic.
“Just hold on a little longer.” He whispered against heated skin, closing his eyes briefly at the soft chirp of Flock he got in return.
If he kept murmuring to the man in his lap and couldn’t tell whether it was to soothe Ari or himself? Well, no one had to know.
