#klabanc

***

Kevin hasn’t been out for a night with his friends in several weeks, but the weather’s been colder and it’s not unusual for them to take breaks from socializing when work is intense. Dylan and Jake invite him out occasionally, but he’s just made his excuses and they’ve left him alone. Patty’s been on a bit of a tear lately, pushing them all to finish contract signings, and Kevin still feels a little awkward when they talk. It’s like there’s a secondary conversation layered under what they’re saying, but he can’t understand the words. 

He misses Patty desperately. He didn’t realize how much that relationship meant to him until it was suddenly gone. Patty hardly looks at him anymore, even when they’re face to face in a meeting. The only consolation is that it hasn't trickled down to his team.

The domesticity in his apartment would be a better escape from work if he could forget that his involuntary housemates are there to prevent him from getting attacked by a madman on the loose. 

Timo takes him to work the most often, but they all change routes frequently just in case. It’s a long subway ride with Erik some mornings. Kevin watches the tunnel walls flash past the windows and idly asks, “How come we don’t fly?”

The subway car is only half full this early, mostly businessmen on their phones.

Erik glances at him sideways, then shrugs a little. “Not really an option.”

“Like you’re scared of heights?”

“Like I don’t fly,” Erik says firmly. “My powers are strictly terrestrial unless you can come up with a way to make a complete shadow in midair over a city.”

“Oh.” Kevin ponders that for a moment. He’d just assumed, since everyone else seemed permanently stationed about a foot off the floor.

“Now Simmer,” Erik says conspiratorially, as they stand in unison for their stop, “he hates flying so he just won’t.”

“No, really?” Kevin leads the way up the subway stairs. “He can, but he doesn’t?”

“He’s completely competent,” Erik confirms. “But I don’t like the look I get when I ask him to fly, so we’re buddies on the ground.”

Kevin doesn’t think he’d argue with Simmer either. “Well, at least you’re not alone?”

Erik snorts. “With the number of guys underfoot, I’m never alone. Alright,” he says, pausing in the doorway. “I’ll see you later. Tomas is on shift tonight.”

Kevin half-waves as he ducks through the door and Erik disappears into a herd of equally neatly-dressed businessmen. 

***

They have an office meeting with some of the higher-ups. Kevin doesn’t actually have to say anything, he just has to pass Patty the file folders at the correct time while one of the guys in accounting goes through a slideshow about the next quarter. 

In all honesty, Kevin’s drifting a little, staring out the window. There’s a fair amount of dark clouds gathering and it looks like it will rain. Hopefully the route home tonight is not aerial. As much as Kevin has enjoyed flying with Timo, he doesn’t think it would be much fun in icy rain. Jake elbows him gently, pulling him back as everyone else stands and does the polite round of handshakes and small talk.

It’s a good meeting, for a given measure of good. There’s nothing particular about their approach to their work or their workload that needs to be altered. 

He does his share of politely nodding and shaking hands and then gathers the files for Pat and takes them down to the file room. Storing things this way is a bit archaic, but having digital and physical files has been helpful. You never really know when a power outage will hit, Super-induced or not, and you can’t lose data with the physical file.

Thinking of power outages makes Kevin think of storms, which naturally leads back to Timo. He’s been distracted lately, but he’s been happy. Even before they retired the whiteboard, Kevin was thinking it might be time to introduce Timo to his friends and coworkers. He hasn’t gone out with them for a beer in a while and it would be nice to take Timo to their local bar. 

He’s still daydreaming about Timo, smiling faintly when he almost runs Tim over in the hallway.

“Oh,” Tim says mildly. “I was looking for you.”

“Sorry, I had to return the files. What’s up?”

“IT had a question and I couldn’t answer it so they want you.” They step into the elevator together and Tim presses the button for the sub-basement. 

“Wrong floor, bud.” IT has an office in the first basement level, with a few roaming tech guys throughout the building. Kevin didn’t think Tim could get lost between floors, but the dude is severely directionally challenged.

When Kevin moves to press the button for the basement, Tim waves him off. “No, they’ve got a guy down there working on wiring. He wants to ask some questions about project specs and bandwidth. Nabby said it should be quick.”

“Alright.” Nabby’s always helpful when Kevin needs a hand and Kevin doesn’t have anything urgent to do, so he might as well give Nabby’s guy a hand. It probably won’t be quick because Kevin’s never met an IT guy who could speak plainly, but that’s okay. He wonders if Nabby managed to persuade the higher ups to hire another Russian. At some point, they are all going to have to learn Russian just to get tech support.

Kevin steps into the cold sub-basement and walks down the hall to the few offices they have down here, though they’re largely unused. He can hear Tim’s footsteps echoing on the smooth, unfinished concrete floor behind him and he turns to ask where exactly they’re supposed to meet this IT guy.

Except Tim’s gone. In his place is a hulking creature of rough stone. Kevin backs up hastily, but he’s too slow and the creature closes the distance before he can even scream. A cold, jagged hand covers his mouth, pushing him back into the wall hard, and then there’s nothing but darkness.

It feels like being drowned, crushing pressure so painful he thinks he might die. He can’t breath or see or think, every pounding heartbeat in his temples growing softer as he gets dizzy from the lack of oxygen. 

Distantly, he feels himself fall face first, hitting the ground with a shattering noise despite trying to catch himself on literally anything. He inhales desperately, blinking tears away in the low light. He can feel how the cement has split from his collarbones to his hips, cracks just enough for him to breathe shallowly. There’s still cement on his face, covering his mouth and part of his nose and cheek where the creature had grabbed him. His eyes and scalp seem blessedly unscathed, but anything that came in contact with the creature has hardened to stone, thin dress clothes an inadequate protection against Super powers.

He can feel his head pounding from the lack of air and he breathes very deliberately. If he inhales too hard the skin between the cement adhered to him pulls painfully, but if he exhales all the way, the plates of cement pinch his skin in the cracks. When he blinks again, there are boots in front of him. 

He whimpers behind his cement gag when one of the boots makes contact with his shoulder to flip him over onto his back. Haloed against a lantern light, a man with a short bushy beard stares down at him. The pale ginger hair glints in the  flickering light. 

“Who do you work for?” the man asks, more curious than accusatory.

Kevin doesn’t bother trying to answer. The man snaps his fingers impatiently and Tim steps over, looking perfectly normal. He taps Kevin’s mouth, none too gently, and Kevin feels the cement split across the seam of his lips.

“Who do you work for?” The man squats down, looming over Kevin. Tim wanders out of sight.

Kevin can’t think straight, dazed and confused. No amount of adrenaline could save him from whatever is happening here. “City Unified Data Administration,” he mumbles, slurring the words together.

The man catches his jaw and shakes him, ignoring his yelp of pain. “Don’t be stupid. Who do you work for?”

“Mr. Plattner?” Kevin tries again, feeling the cement jab and tear at his mouth. 

Something viscous and bright green drips from the corners of the man’s eyes, a sickening parody of tears. Kevin can feel his head swimming and his stomach turning. Whatever the man says next is lost to him as he tries to keep from throwing up. 

He drops his gaze and when he looks back, the man’s face is entirely clear, watching him avidly. “I d’n know what you want,” Kevin manages to eke out when the pressure inside his skull abates. 

The man rolls his eyes. “Well, if you insist.” He smiles and it is perturbingly even and pleasant. “It would have been nice to know, but it doesn’t matter. You’re just here to be the bait anyway. Chum, as it were,” he laughs, apparently amused by himself. “You sit tight, bud.”

He walks out of Kevin’s view and Kevin can’t quite move enough to see where he’s gone.

It doesn’t take long for Tim to show up again. He grabs one of Kevin’s ankles and unceremoniously drags him across the floor. As Kevin lifts his head enough to keep it from bouncing on the ground, he catches sight of where he is. It’s some kind of boathouse; it looks like it’s on the bay based on the water lapping at the edges. Tim drags him to a corner by the opening and pours cement over his lower legs, pinning him to the wooden boards of the side deck. 

“You can scream,” Tim offers blandly. “Patrick would hate that. Might make this all go faster.”

Kevin’s heart goes cold. They want to hurt Patty for some reason. They’re going to use him to hurt Patty. 

Tim takes a picture of him with a phone, flash too bright. Kevin winces too hard, curling away from the sudden light, and has to catch his breath when his neck stings. Tim leaves him there, helplessly flat on his back like a bug. Despite his lightheadedness he resolves to fight back somehow, to try and stop them from hurting Patty.  He doesn’t have his phone. He knows exactly where it is, top right corner of his desk, a place so far away now that it might as well be on Mars. He can’t call for help.

Still, he has to try something. Find a weapon of some sort, maybe a big rock, and try to hurt them enough that Patty doesn’t get hurt. 

The first step is to get free.

He takes stock of his own body. There’s cement all down his front with hardened bands across his back from where Tim’s arms reached around him. His ankles can’t move, trapped as they are, but his hands are mostly free. His left thumb and the edge of his palm has some cement on it, but it’s not particularly restrictive even though it is uncomfortable. 

He scans the boathouse. There’s an industrial skylight set into the roof, dusty from lack of use. He can see the darkening sky above, nighttime and a storm both swiftly approaching. There’s a lantern close to the door, bright enough that Kevin’s corner is not in complete shadow. There’s no boat in the water, just an empty dock. 

In order to get out, he has to get past the Supers somehow. He can’t go into the water with heavy cement on him and he certainly can’t make it into the rafters. So, through the front door it is. He just needs an opening.

He can only curl his upper body a little to watch the Supers, gingerly holding his torso still so he doesn’t stab himself in the neck or groin with the edge of one of the cement pieces stuck to him. They’re sitting at a small table by the door and he can hear them talking but he can’t make out the words.

They’re both so unremarkable. They look perfectly average, the same kind of background people Kevin passes on the subway or at the local bar. Or in his own office. 

They’re ignoring him for the moment, but now Kevin worries that there are more of them out there, waiting to hurt Patty. He doesn’t know why they want to use him to help trap Patty, but the sooner he gets free, the better.

He tries to pull on his legs to crack the cement  or reach down with his hands, but he can’t do much. Unlike the thin pieces adhered to his torso, the block on his ankles is thick and solid.

All he can do is wait, breathing shallowly and watching rain start to patter on the broad skylight. 

Eventually, the sound of the rain on the water drowns out even the quiet conversation between the Supers.

Kevin aches from neck to knee, bruised and sore from the concrete wrapped all around him, digging into his ribs and pinching the tender skin by his hip bones. His mouth is burning from the constant scabbing and reopening of the wounds, every exhalation lighting his lips on fire. He reaches up one hand to gingerly touch the corner of his mouth, where the concrete is digging in the most. He can feel the abnormal slickness on his fingertips, blood accumulating at the edges of the jagged concrete digging into his mouth. 

He holds his hand up to the lantern light, stomach lurching when he sees the way the blood has seeped under his fingernails. He drops his hand over the edge of the dock, letting the icy water wash away the evidence. 

Breathing is getting harder, the concrete feeling heavier and heavier. His muscles are starting to burn as he tries to breathe so slowly and carefully; he thinks ruefully that he’d have spent more time at the rink if he realized his cardio was going to be life or death.

He focuses on the sound of the distant thunder, the slosh of the waves brushing against the dock. He keeps clenching his muscles to try and keep blood flowing, but the cold is getting to him. He feels slow, like the cold has sunk into his brain. There’s a strange sensation, like sinking below the surface of the water for just a moment, and he startles, jumping slightly. But the rain on the glass hasn’t changed above him and the wooden dock is still worn smooth under his fingertips.

There’s a flash of blue-white lightning and an incredible crashing noise; Kevin flinches as the long skylight explodes into thousands of pieces, glass shrapnel flying everywhere. He brings his arms up a second too late, clumsily trying to shield himself, and screams when a wet hand comes out of the water and clutches his arm.

He lowers his arm slowly, heartbeat rabbiting. The dark man coming up out of the water next to him smiles. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He gestures to the side, dripping slightly. 

“Who are you?” Kevin tries to lean away, craning his neck up. None of the glass hit him and he knows better than to believe in coincidences, especially when there’s a clear semicircle of glittering shards piled around his body.

“Ward. I’m here to keep you safe.”

Kevin assesses him for a fraction of a second and finds him to be the least of his worries. He looks past him, looks for Timo. He knows that lightning, that afterburn brightness when he blinks. He could almost cry when he sees Timo there, lightning flashing against a concrete wall where there was previously no wall at all. Timo leaves that electricity flowing and turns to him; though his face is masked in blue light, Kevin knows he’s searching for him and he tries to sit up, to call to him.

Ward’s hand comes down on his shoulder as the lightning arcs towards Kevin, seeking him like a searchlight. It illuminates whatever barrier is around them, some bubble that does not warp or bend to the force Timo is using. “Hey, relax,” Ward says. “I won’t let him hurt you. We have people on the way to handle The Captain and they can take care of this too.”

“That’s my boyfriend,” Kevin snaps. “He’s not going to hurt me.” He wipes blood away carelessly, every word agitating the cuts around his mouth. “And I don’t know anything about you. He’ll take care of me.”

“That’s your...boyfriend?”

“Let me talk to him,” Kevin insists, trying to sit up. 

“Don’t move,” Ward says, frowning. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“He’s gonna get hurt! You’re distracting him. Fucking Tim is gonna get an advantage!”

“Tim?” Ward’s hands are gentle as he tests the concrete on Kevin’s chest. 

“Coworker. Kidnapped me to hurt Patty. My boss.”

“Patty’s fine,” Ward says gently. He’s interrupted by a lavender haze at Kevin’s feet, floating up through the boards. The lightning on the other side of the bubble ceases for a moment and Kevin can see again, the destructive force of the lightning on concrete evident. 

Simmer’s face flickers into view as he pushes himself up through the boards and Kevin has never felt so happy to see him looking thoroughly unhappy. Ward raises a hand, quick as can be, and it’s only Kevin grabbing frantically at his wrist that throws his aim off. Simmer swears vociferously when a bubble traps one hand, but it seems better than the alternative of having the bubble hit his face. 

“Stop,” Kevin hisses. 

“This one can’t be your boyfriend too.” Ward says with a sigh, not looking away from Simmer for a moment. He doesn’t shake Kevin off though, lowers his hand carefully. 

“God no,” Simmer grunts. “Just here to keep him safe while Blue Blaze fucks shit up.”

“Okay,” Ward agrees slowly. He waves his hand and pops the bubble trapping Simmer. “Common purpose then. Can you, by any chance, get him unstuck from this dock?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I’m going to let my team know we have non-hostile Supers here so they—“ whatever Ward was going to say is cut off by Jumbo ripping the front door and a good part of the wall straight out just as a fireball lands explosively in the middle of the boathouse.

Kevin grabs Ward again. “Tell them. He’s good. They’re helping. Don’t hurt them.”

Ward fumbles for some small black device and Kevin doesn’t hear a word he says because the giant hole in the wall Jumbo left is suddenly widened by Bigfoot. Even Simmer jumps a little at the noise, but he stays focused on where his hands are sinking through the concrete to Kevin’s ankles. It’s very quiet, but the block of concrete is suddenly not tethered to the dock.

“Okay, I need to immobilize him,” Ward says to Simmer, completely ignoring Kevin. There’s that sensation of sinking into water again, rising tides around his face, but it stops. He can’t move, but it’s somehow softening the pinching feeling when he tries to breathe. 

“You’re okay,” Ward says and Kevin really does believe him. He has a very open and kind face, strangely unworried by what is happening outside of this bubble, though Kevin can still hear the crashing noises. “I’m going to try and keep this from causing permanent damage. When the room is clear we’ll call for emergency services and they’ll take care of you from there.”

“No,” Simmer says severely. “Not waiting.”

“I can’t get a bubble between his skin and this hard material without risking serious blood loss,” Ward says evenly. “I’m just trying to stabilize him until real help arrives.”

“I’m the help,” Simmer says. “Can we get him out of here? I have to take this off.” He’s staring Ward down in his usual unnerving way, some urgency that Kevin doesn’t understand.

Ward frowns and then nods. “I can try.”

“We need to be somewhere safe and someone needs to hold him down.”

“Would another person holding him help?”

“Yes,” Simmer agrees. “Less movement is safer.”

“Okay. Paulie will get us out of here if you really think you can help. Hold on.”

“Hold on?” Kevin asks nervously, wishing he could move to look at Ward. He feels like the blood around his mouth is drying, stiffening. He hopes the scabbing is a good sign.

“You’ll be fine. I recommend, uh...”

“Ultraviolet,” Simmer says briefly.

“Ultraviolet, you sit down. We’re not going through the door.”

Kevin can’t convey how much he wants to know what’s happening with Timo, how frustrating it is that he can’t see. He closes his eyes as they move, the weathered rafters of the boathouse giving way to open sky. He’s feeling sick enough as it is without adding motion sickness.

The bubble is softening the pinching pain in his ribs, but he’s still breathing shallowly, trying to stay focused on what he can feel. It’s hard to feel present in the silence, nothing to grasp but the ragged sound of his own breath. He categorically refuses to pass out like a damsel in distress. He reminds himself that when he was fourteen he broke his ankle and he didn’t pass out or cry in front of his friends. What’s some slow breathing to a broken ankle?

“Hey, Kevin,” Ward says, “relax. I need you to stay still while we move you.”

Kevin squints, hoping they’ve stopped moving in such a dizzying way. Simmer and Ward’s faces have been joined by another, haloed by the dark night and the rain sliding over the unnatural bubble. The raindrops catch the light just enough that Kevin can see all three men clearly. The unknown man is wearing a dark plaid and he’s shockingly pale in contrast to Ward, face shrouded by a ginger beard. 

“Paul,” he says quietly. “You might know me as The Lumberjack, but some people nicknamed me Paul Bunyan.” He steps closer. “Wardo, keep the bubble. We’ll lift him.”

Paul takes Kevin’s wrists carefully and instructs him to just clasp his hands together over his stomach. He slips his hands under Kevin’s head and shoulders and lifts up and Kevin assumes Simmer has his other half because he can tell he’s being raised up. It seems like they’re on the beach by the docks, based on the streetlights Kevin can see. When they set him down on the long slope of sand to the sea, he can tell he was right.

“Okay, what’s next?” Ward asks. “I’m trusting that you have a plan.”

“Cut everything off of him that we can,” Simmer says steadily. “Then I’ll remove what’s stuck while you hold him still.”

“I have a knife,” Paul says. He reaches to his waist and pulls out a folding knife easily. “My apologies,” he murmurs to Kevin as he starts peeling Kevin’s shirt into ribbons, leaving the concrete-saturated pieces in place. 

“Any chance,” Kevin half-wheezes, “you can spare the belt? It’s new.”

“Not a chance,” Paul says, deftly moving down Kevin’s body, almost out of his sight. “Oh, good news: your choice of boxers over briefs saved you a hell of a lot of trouble. Nothing sticking there!”

Kevin huffs a weak laugh at that. Small mercies when he’s being stripped on a public beach. He’s grateful for whatever bubble is around him, protecting him from irritating grains of sand. It’s not warm in the bubble, so apparently Ward can’t change the temperature of a stormy night, but at least the rain isn’t falling on his increasingly nude body.

“Okay,” Simmer says. “We start here.” He points at Kevin’s chest. “This has to be very...very careful. Don’t let him move.”

“Okay.” Ward places his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, barely noticeable through the strange dullness of the bubble. “I’ll expose sections as you work on them, but I want to keep the edges blunted so he can still breathe without slicing himself up.”

Paul straddles Kevin’s hips gingerly and places one hand on Kevin’s stomach, a strangely heavy weight.

“You can hold him?” Simmer asks skeptically.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Paul says dryly.

Simmer nods slightly in acknowledgement. “Pin his left hand.” As Paul leans into him, Simmer takes Kevin’s right hand and wraps it around Simmer’s thigh where he kneeling next to Kevin. “While I work, no breathing,” he says sternly. “If you need to breathe, squeeze and I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“Ready? Hold your breath.”

Kevin holds his breath, going very still. He watches Ward’s face above him for a sign of how things are going. He can feel his lungs starting to ache when Simmer says, “Done.” He holds up a fragment the size of a quarter. 

Kevin’s heart sinks at how long this is going to take. 

“Again,” Simmer says. 

Kevin holds his breath. He closes his eyes hard, but Ward says his name. “Stay with me, Kevin. I need to see how you’re holding up.”

When Simmer gives him the go ahead to breath again, Kevin holds his hand up, asking for just a moment. Paul takes the time to cut away the fabric where it has been exposed. Kevin blinks at Ward, a little dazed. “You know my name.”

“Yeah,” Ward says, looking a little worried. “We came looking for you. Patty sent us.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t have time,” Simmer says.

Whatever he’s pointing at is enough for the other two to agree, pinning Kevin again. They shift as Simmer works, holding him down as close as they can to the spot Simmer is clearing. Kevin is lasting shorter and shorter amounts of time between breaks. 

He realizes why they’re trying to move fast very suddenly when Paul leans on his sternum to hold him in place and he screams involuntarily. His mouth fills with blood and they won’t let him curl up into the fetal position like his instincts demand. Paul moves back immediately, but Kevin can’t see much through the sudden haze of tears.

Someone turns his head to the side slowly, stroking along his hairline as he tries to breathe again, blood dripping down so far that Kevin can feel it on the skin under his ear where the concrete isn’t covering him. 

“I’m sorry,” Simmer says miserably, right at Kevin’s side. “You have burns.”

“This left some kind of chemical burn,” Paul explains urgently from some distance. “We need to get it off. It’s going to hurt, but if we don’t do it now, you will have nerve damage.”

“Ultraviolet was right,” Ward says. “We can’t wait.”

Kevin flails for Simmer, finds his hand blindly and squeezes hard. “Like the egg. Do it.”

There’s a beat and then Simmer repeats, “Like the egg.”

“Go,” Kevin grits out. “I’m ready.”

He holds his breath and waits for that excruciating burning pressure again. He’s braced for it so he doesn’t scream, but he can’t stop the tears. 

Through the blur he can see the flashing lights in the distance, the colors that show him that Timo is still fighting. He thinks he sees Melker’s red and Antti’s green too.

He floats a little, breathing only when he’s told. He thinks the cold might actually be a blessing, something to numb his skin where it feels like lava has been injected into his nerves. 

Strong hands grip his face and Kevin stares up at Paul.

“This’ll be the worst of it, I expect,” he says. “Can he breathe for this?” He looks over to Simmer.

“When I clear his mouth, yes.” He raises his hands, glittering purple, and hovers over Kevin’s face. “Eyes closed for this, please. Hold your breath.”

He works fast and although it leaves Kevin feeling like someone rubbed his face on a pile of rubble doused in acid, he’s grateful to no longer feel the phantom pressure of Tim’s hand on his face. He tests moving his jaw slightly and then absolutely stops doing that because it hurts like hell.

“You can breathe,” Simmer says, sounding calmer. Kevin hadn’t realized until now how tense Simmer was; he didn’t know he’d gotten to a point where he could even interpret Simmer’s tone.

He makes quick work of Kevin’s cheek and the edges of his nose while Kevin breathes through his mouth. Either the layer of dried blood or some bubble is making breathing hurt his mouth less. 

Simmer moves his way through Kevin’s extremities, first his hand and then his ankles and feet. Based on Paul’s approving noises, the protection from his leather shoes was decent. Kevin’s chest burns so much that he can hardly even register sensation elsewhere, so it’s helpful to have someone else’s perspective.

“The last bit is on his back,” Ward says. “Moving is going to hurt no matter what. How should we brace him.”

“Are you cold?” Paul asks, hand on Kevin’s forearm. 

He nods a little. It’s cold and it feels like it’s getting colder. The bubble around him only helps so much. 

“Wardo, bubble this.” Paul slips out of his flannel and holds it out. Ward waves a hand over it and it looks almost shiny in the low light. Paul works one of Kevin’s hands into the flannel, slipping it on him backwards. Ward does the same for his other arm so the flannel covers his arms and front. Whatever Ward did made it so the fabric doesn’t stick to his raw skin. It’s a weird sensation, all slick, but at least he’s not getting painful goosebumps on top of everything else. 

“Come here.” Paul leans in and makes Kevin wrap his arms around Paul’s neck and then pulls him forward. It hurts and Kevin’s vision goes slightly grey for a moment. When his vision clears, he’s well-braced against Paul’s shoulder, facing down the dark beach. He lets his head rest on Paul, but he’s uncomfortably aware that he’s leaving blood on Paul’s white undershirt. Behind him, he feels several hands cutting away what’s left of his shirt. There’s not much stuck to his back, compared to the front, but it’s enough that Kevin thoroughly curses Tim. 

“Last piece,” Simmer says. “If you need to breathe, pat his back and he’ll say stop. Don’t breathe now.”

Kevin holds still, a pine scent lingering even as he stops breathing. He can feel the way Paul has stopped breathing too, a matter of practicality that feels like solidarity.

He watches the lights flashing by the docks, wonders why no one has come to investigate. He doesn’t even know how late it is, too full of adrenaline for his own fatigue level to have any meaning.

There’s an explosion of light, and then the sound rolls down the beach a second later, and Kevin gasps, clawing at Paul’s back. The conflagration stands out against the dark night, whatever’s left of the boathouse rapidly turning to smoke. 

“We have to go now,” Ward says, but Kevin barely hears him. He keeps trying to move, to run or walk or crawl to where Timo was.

“I’ll take him,” Paul says, chest rumbling against Kevin as he holds him tightly. “You go!”

Kevin knows Ward is gone because the bubble pops around them and the rain is pouring down on his back suddenly, drenching him in a freezing shower. Simmer takes off, a purple blur, leaving Kevin behind.

Kevin rolls out of bed and scratches his stomach idly. He thinks Tomas is probably the one in the kitchen right now if he remembers the schedule correctly. Timo’s Super costume is piled loosely on the dresser and Kevin likes getting to see it there, the Super identity discarded in favor of intimacy.

He slips into the bathroom quietly, breathing in the smell of his own soap. The bathroom is still slightly foggy from Timo’s shower, so Timo’s fixing his hair by staring at a tiny patch of mirror he’s wiped clean. Kevin presses a kiss to Timo’s warm back, musing about how he really should get a couple more spare towels if Timo’s going to stay over so often. There’s a spark that stings his mouth and he jumps back with an affronted noise. 

“Babe,” Timo says, whirling around, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry,” he says frantically, cupping Kevin’s face. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Bud,” Kevin says from a numbed, tingly mouth,  “it’s ok. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pats Timo’s towel-covered hip gently. The sensation fades quickly and he kisses Timo’s downturned mouth. “Now go update the whiteboard.”

Timo slouches off despondently, muttering, “I still object to the whiteboard.”

Kevin leans out of the bathroom to watch as Timo erases the “6” under “Days Without ⚡️” and writes in “0” carefully. “You can object all you want, but you don’t get to touch my dick if there’s a chance you’re going to go full toaster hands on me.” They’ve had this debate more than once and while Timo vehemently argues in favor of his own self-control, he never does override Kevin. It’s not like Kevin is particularly enjoying the wait either, but he’s seen how strong emotions lead to literal sparks and Kevin has zero interest in having his dick electrocuted if Timo gets a little overexcited.

“Sorry, baby,” Timo says again, kissing Kevin in the doorway before he goes back to fixing his hair. 

“We’ll get there,” Kevin assures him as he strips down for his own shower. “It’s not like you’re lacking an incentive.” He steps into the shower and turns it on, adjusting the knobs a little cooler than Timo’s setting. 

Timo laughs a little at that and then Kevin can hear the faint sound of hairspray.  Timo’s hair products have slowly migrated over, first some hair gel and now conditioner and shampoo too. It makes Kevin’s small apartment more cluttered, but he doesn’t mind. They’re sharing soap now, some teak and sandalwood scent mix that Timo insists moisturizes and brightens skin. Kevin has kept his own shampoo though, unwilling to risk greasiness or dry scalp from changing his own hair routine up.

“Hey,” Timo calls, “do you want me to start coffee? Or should I wait?”

“Go ahead,” Kevin says over the noise of the shower. “I’ll be out soon anyway.”

The bathroom door shuts and Kevin rinses under the spray. His morning routine is much less involved than Timo’s, but Timo still manages to beat him back to the bedroom with an extra cup of coffee.

He drinks it absentmindedly while he pulls on his clothes and brushes his hair. Timo hovers above the bed, dressed and sipping his own coffee. 

Kevin thinks some of Timo’s mugs must have migrated over too, because it seems absurdly small in his hands. It should look silly, but somehow Timo’s relaxed attitude is making it work. 

He floatily follows Kevin to the kitchen, where Tomas is indeed standing in an apron, beaming over a stack of pancakes. They’re thin and perfect, like Kevin’s mom used to make. He remembers family gatherings with his cousins, burning his fingers by snatching a pancake before the others and gobbling it down greedily. Tomas has managed to unearth some Nutella and Kevin slices up some strawberries from the fridge.

It’s a good morning and Tomas looks pleased as can be when Kevin forces himself to have one more bite. “Thanks,” Kevin mumbles. “It reminds me of home.”

There’s a little pulsing warm glow of orange and Tomas floats up out of his chair a bit. “Yes? Good! We have to keep you strong!”

“Tommy,” Timo says, popping a strawberry slice in his own mouth, “I think you’re just going to make him round.”

Kevin smacks Timo in the arm. “If you take this away from me, I’m dating him instead.”

Tomas snort-laughs and moves to clear the dishes as Timo catches Kevin’s admonishing hand to kiss it. “It’s fine. A few extra strawberries won’t stop me from carrying you around, but it might be all I need to beat you on the rink.”

Tomas openly laughs at him. “No strawberries didn’t stop Erik from owning you last time.”

“Hey,” Timo says indignantly. Kevin pats his face and goes to help Tomas with the dishes.

Kevin can almost get used to the domesticity. It’s like playing house, if their house always had a rotating cast of friends crashing on the couch. Timo can’t always be there, but that’s okay. His team always is, making sure Kevin is safe from bodily harm and sharing their snacks.

***

A bristly kiss pressed to his shoulder pulls him out of sleep and Kevin rolls over with a soft noise. He can see Timo by the side of the bed, dressed, but rumpled. 

“Sorry,” Timo murmurs. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Training day.”

Kevin reaches up and pulls him into a sleepy kiss. “Have fun,” he yawns, pulling the covers up over his shoulder again. 

When he wakes up again, the Sunday morning sunlight from the window is warm and bright. He knows Timo’s out all day training, some regularly scheduled exercises Erik apparently mandates. Kevin doesn’t pretend to understand much of how their control over their powers works, but he has picked up bits and pieces just from cohabiting with a rotating cast of Supers. It’s not often, but occasionally they do leave him to his own devices for things like this.

He’s glad he bothered to put on pants when he finds Simmer in the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee machine. “Morning,” he yawns and Simmer nods.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Kevin stretches slowly and rummages in the silverware drawer for a spoon. He adds sugar to the mug Simmer hands him and waits for it to cool.

“You want eggs?” Simmer asks. “I’m hungry too.”

“Sure,” Kevin says agreeably, bending down and pulling a frying pan out of the cupboard next to himself. He sets it on the stove and leans against the counter. 

Simmer doesn’t bother opening the fridge; he just sticks his arm straight through the door, a lavender glow emanating from where his forearm intersects the door. Kevin watches as he pulls out eggs and sets them on the counter and then pulls out the butter too. They’re not quite at a point of joking with each other, not the way Kevin can do with Timo, Tomas, or Antti. If they were, Kevin might jokingly chide him for being lazy. How hard can it be to open a fridge door?

Simmer melts the butter in the pan and takes an egg delicately in one hand. Instead of cracking it on the pan or the counter edge, he just holds it above the pan, his careful fingers glittering faintly purple. He turns to Kevin and there’s a twinkle in his eye when he says, “Look.”

A fat droplet of yolk blooms at the bottom of the egg, sagging lower until it falls into the pan with all of the albumen following like a slick little comet. The eggshell is still perfectly whole, unmarred, when Simmer sets it gently on the counter. 

“How-“ Kevin starts, taking a half step closer.

“It’s my trick,” Simmer says, sounding pleased with himself. He picks up the next egg and does it again, yolk and whites seeping out intact without a single hole in the shell.

Kevin picks up one of the empty shells, feeling the uncharacteristic lightness, and abandons his coffee on the counter to trace the smooth shell from end to end. He whistles quietly. “Okay, that’s pretty cool.”

Simmer rolls his shoulders, satisfied and a little smug. 

Kevin drinks his coffee and watches the eggs become opaque until Simmer slides them onto plates. They both settle at the table in comfortable silence, unhurried.

Simmer finishes first and nods at Kevin. “You have plans today?”

“Not really. I was gonna call my parents at some point, but that’s about it. Maybe clean up around here a bit.”

“I’ll help,” Simmer agrees, standing and sliding his chair back.

Kevin stands with him. “How come you aren’t training?”

“Don’t need it,” Simmer says smoothly, turning on the faucet to scrub the egg pan. “I’m the best.”

“Oh yeah?” Kevin pulls the dishwasher open to load their plates and mugs.

“Have to be. I was the first one to get things under control. The others are still...” Simmer shrugs.

“How’d you get that good that fast, then?” Kevin might not have powers, but he thinks it’s still good to understand them. He wishes he could help Timo more.

Simmer places the pan carefully in the drying rack and stands there, hands dripping quietly into the sink. “I had to learn. I fell through the ice when we changed and the others pulled me out. For weeks, I would step on the sidewalk and get stuck, ankle or knee or hip deep.” He shakes his hands off and Kevin quietly passes him the kitchen towel. “My powers do not let me breathe underground, so I had to gain control. I had to practice and learn fast. So I did,” he says resolutely. Kevin can see that his steeliness is born of determination, stubbornness and perhaps a modicum of fear. 

Kevin feels bold enough to reach out and place a hand on Simmer’s shoulder. “And now they trust you to go rummaging around in civilians’ insides.”

Simmer’s mouth quirks in a sharp grin. “Not just civilians.”

Kevin stretches slowly and makes his way to the bathroom. “I wasn’t asleep that long. How bad could—holy shit what did you do?” He leans over the edge of the sink to peer at himself in the mirror and he can’t stop laughing. It looks like he rubbed a balloon on his head, stuck a fork in a socket, and then set the whole thing with hairspray. It’s ridiculous.

Timo leans in the doorway, mouth quirked with satisfaction as he watches Kevin try and manage his hair. It requires the heavy application of water and a comb, but Kevin does eventually get it under control even with one hand. He shakes his damp head and Timo catches him in the doorway so he can wipe away a stray drop of water rolling down Kevin’s temple. Kevin pushes him back into the doorframe gently and kisses him. 

“Come on,” Timo says finally, pulling back and blinking slowly at Kevin like some kind of large cat. “Lunch.” 

“Lunch,” Kevin agrees, leading the way out of the bedroom.

“Hey,” Erik says pleasantly when he sees them. “Food should be here in a couple of minutes.”

Kevin pulls out a chair. Someone has set the table with Kevin’s assortment of plates and forks. Timo sits next to him, draping an arm across the back of Kevin’s chair. Kevin leans into him, feeling his warmth. 

“Antti went to get the food,” Erik explains, still fiddling with the Super data. It looks like he’s zoomed in on the downtown area. “We had a discussion while you were asleep.”

“Oh?” Kevin wants to know, but with his luck lately, he’s also apprehensive. Maybe Erik is just going to try and lock him up until they solve this problem. He thinks they probably won’t kill him. At least, not in front of Ember, who is currently floating  above the fridge.

“Yeah, we decided that it doesn’t make a lot of sense for you to only know a couple people’s names. We agreed to equal risk for all of us, as a team.”

“Also,” Sunshine says cheerfully, “Firestorm can’t remember whether to use code names or not and it’s hurting his tiny brain.”

Firestorm puts him in a headlock and Kevin watches as they both sail lightly across the room until they bounce off the wall. 

“Enough,” Erik says gently. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the two of them separate. They’re both smiling, so Kevin assumes this happens often. “Now, you’ve met me. Blue Blaze?”

“Oh we handled that already,” Timo says, sounding smug. Kevin elbows him, but it does nothing to dent his smirk.

“Okay...Ember?”

“Hi,” Ember says with a wave, sinking down to the floor. “You can call me Tommy.”

“I’m Marcus,” Sunshine says, claiming the chair next to Kevin. “Whenever you get bored with Timo, let me know.” He laughs with delight when Timo flips him off behind Kevin’s head.

Firestorm takes a seat next to Erik as Tommy goes to answer the door. “I’m Melker.”

Erik looks expectantly at the apparently empty living room. “Ultraviolet?”

There’s a lavender shimmer and then Ultraviolet appears, stretched out along the length of the couch. He tiles his head to look at Kevin and there is just something unnerving about his eyes. “Simek,” he says curtly. “You can call me Simmer.”

“Hi,” Antti says, sweeping into the room with an armful of bags. “Food is here.”

There’s a flurry of movement and then the table is absolutely loaded with take out containers. Kevin recognizes half the food as at least adjacent to what his mother makes, so he parcels out a little of everything onto his plate. It only takes a bite to agree with Timo that is was worth the wait. He whispers as much to Timo and Timo looks perfectly delighted.

“You’re going to spoil him, Timo,” Melker says warningly. 

 “Oh definitely,” Timo agrees without thinking. Half the table erupts in laughter, but Kevin pecks a kiss on his cheek. 

Tommy says something across the table, something about bread and Simmer rummages in a pile of little boxes to toss a roll the length of the table. 

“Wait,” Kevin says, interrupting his own inhalation of the stew and the sausage. “Do all of you speak Czech?”

“No,” Marcus says. “Erik, Melker, and I speak Swedish. Antti speaks Finnish. Timo mostly grew up speaking German, but the asshole is also perfectly fluent in French.”

“Oui, je parle français,” Timo agrees, smiling beatifically even when Antti elbows him. 

“We speak Czech,” Tommy says gesturing at Simmer and himself. “And you speak Slovak, yes?”

“Kind of,” Kevin amends. “Waaay better at listening than speaking. A lot of the Slovak I know is just what you say at home, you know? I listened to my parents speaking all the time, but I never had to do academics with it or use it for work.”

“You’ll have to join us,” Timo says, looking fond. “We play a game to pass the time, trying to get the others to translate ridiculous sentences in their language.”

Kevin smiles. It sounds perfectly mundane, which they could all really use when they’re done trying not to get murdered. “So,” he says, “how did you all become a color-coordinated, all-European Super team? There’s no way that was an accident, right?”

Simmer snickers off to Kevin’s left but doesn’t elaborate.

“It was sort of an accident,” Erik explains, passing a box of roasted vegetables down to Tomas and taking the gravy in turn. “We were a men’s league hockey team. You know, community event for new transplants to the area, a way to maybe meet other people in the same situation. Hockey doesn’t require a lot of English, especially at that level, so it’s a good way to make new friends for a lot of us.”

“Oh, so how long have you known each other?” Kevin lets Timo pile more food on his plate. He hooks his ankle around Timo’s companionably.

“About three years?” Antti guesses. The others shrug agreeably. 

“So we used to practice at this small, rundown rink, on the outskirts of town. Kind of a shithole, but ice time was cheap and the rink was usually cleared by the Zamboni around the time we all got off work anyway.” Erik pauses to take a bite of his food. 

“There was an accident,” Timo picks up solemnly. He keeps staring at his plate, even as Kevin turns to look at him. “We were the last ones in the building. It wasn’t unusual. Sometimes the front counter employees would tell us to just lock up before we left; most of them were just teenagers. We were on the ice and the light rigging broke. All the lights came down in an explosion of sparks. When we woke up, everything hurt like hell and we were glowing in the darkness.”

“Except Erik,” Marcus says. There’s something in his eyes that makes Kevin stay silent. 

“Except me,” Erik confirms lightly. “The universe saw my ability to captain the hockey team and decided I needed to have a permanent team of idiots to boss around.”

Marcus laughs at that and says something in Swedish. Kevin can tell he and Erik are teasing each other about something, but it flies over his head.

Timo bumps his knee gently. “Erik blackmailed the owner into giving him the rink instead of getting sued. When this is all over, Erik will give us ice time if I ask nicely. I saw you had skates in your room.”

“I’m gonna wipe the ice with you,” Kevin promises with a grin. Timo looks appropriately delighted at the challenge.

It’s a quiet afternoon and Kevin would protest more if he wasn’t on dose two of pain meds. The thought of taking a day off fills him with anxiety, but he can admit that typing reports with one hand would be slow and futile. He does log in long enough to skim Jake’s latest work. It looks fine, just as he would expect. The Supers come in and out and Kevin beats whoever is in his living room at Mario Kart while mostly using one hand. 

“Okay,” Erik says over dinner (reheated stew). Everyone else got a glass of wine, but Kevin has stuck with water. He’s going to be achy enough tomorrow without a headache. Erik passes the bread to his left and continues, “The attacks have been very localized and in proximity to you alone. I think we can assume that our safe house is, well, safe still. We’re going to be chaperoning you directly to and from work.”

“And anywhere else,” Melker says with a small nod. 

“Until we get more information about the villainous Super,” Marcus says, “you’ll just have to be careful.”

“I’ll be careful,” Kevin agrees. Timo looks doubtful, but he can shove it. Kevin has looked out for himself in the city for years. 

“We’ll take shifts,” Erik explains patiently. “I assume you want Timo here for the night shift? The rest of us will switch off during the day.”

“No,” Kevin says, shaking his head. He can feel Timo going still next to him, but he keeps talking. “I want Timo on the same sleep schedule. He should sleep at night and take one of the day shifts when I can see him.”

“That’s disgusting,” Marcus says with glee.

“That’s sweet,” Tommy counters, but Kevin can barely hear him because Timo has cupped his chin and pulled him into a kiss.

“I’ll take you to work in the morning,” Timo promises. 

Kevin grins sharply, “And bring me breakfast? Antti brought me breakfast.”

Timo loops an arm around Kevin’s shoulders, gesturing expansively. “Obviously. You only have three stale pop tarts and I will not be having that for breakfast.”

Kevin can laugh at that, because it’s true. He hasn’t gone grocery shopping this week, so his food stores are down to the nonperishables; there’s three poptarts, two cans of beans, and a rather suspect packet of Tuna-to-Go. 

“You’re going to spoil me with breakfast?” he asks, half teasing. 

“Obviously,” Timo whispers lowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Kevin’s mouth.

“Oh come on,” Melker protests. “Not during dinner.” Simmer elbows him, but Kevin can feel his cheeks going pink. He likes these Supers, quite a bit, but not enough to parade a nascent relationship in front of them without any shame. 

Timo neatly lays out a handful of different plastic takeout containers, tapping each one with his forefinger as he explains. “Quiche, croissant, jam, butter, fruit, and,” he says finally, “coffee!”

Kevin grabs for the coffee immediately. Morning kisses are nice, but coffee will make him a real boy. 

“Ok, that’s perfect.” He squints at Timo over the cup. “How’d you get it right?”

“Antti,” Timo mutters, sulkily, divvying up the plastic cutlery. He looks up when Kevin rests a hand over his and smiles when he sees Kevin’s smile, the petulance melting away.

“So where should I start?”

“Have the quiche first, while it’s warm,” Timo suggests. “I’ll make a croissant for you.”

“I know how to eat a croissant,” Kevin says as he obediently opens up a container and digs in with a fork. It’s excellent, some kind of ham and cheese mix. Timo takes a bite of his own as he unwraps the croissant. 

“No, you don’t,” Timo insists after he swallows.  “Not the right way. You probably just bite it whole.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Kevin inquires, demolishing the quiche neatly.

Timo quirks a sharp eyebrow and slices the croissant neatly in half. That’s already wizardry because Kevin usually squashes them or shreds them if he tries to slice it. Timo passes his hand over the open croissant, lightly toasting it with tiny flickers of blue lightning.

“Well that’s unfair,” Kevin points out. “I don’t have toaster hands.”

“Toaster hands?” Timo laughs. “Wow, way to cut a guy down while he’s making you breakfast.” He pulls a face at Kevin as he grabs the butter. Mockingly, he says, “Hi, I’m Timo and my power is toaster hands.”

“I’m just ranking your skills based on how useful they are to me,” Kevin says primly. “You’re lucky I don’t just call you sparkly.”

Timo sticks his tongue out and Kevin muffles a snicker.

“See,” Timo says, as though explaining things to a very dense child, “first you put butter. Then you spread the jam. There.”

He takes Kevin’s hand gently and tucks the little jammy croissant sandwich into it. 

Kevin takes a bite, pretty sure he knows how croissants and jam taste. He’s wrong. He admits so freely. “This is great. Where’d you get this? The jam is so good.”

Timo looks unbearably pleased. “There’s a bakery by my place.” He picks up the paper bag and shows Kevin the logo, a little leaping orca. “Their morning selection is usually pretty good, but they’re also open late enough for me to get a slice of pie after my patrol if I want.” Then he mumbles something as he puts the bag down on the ground by his chair. 

“What?” Kevin kicks lightly at Timo’s chair.

Timo looks very put upon. “The jam is from home,” he says quietly. “I, uh, bring a lot back when I visit my parents. Preserves here don’t taste the same.”

“You brought me jam from home?” Kevin asks, suddenly touched. It’s one thing to be treated to breakfast by a handsome man, but it’s entirely another to have a handsome man share his precious jam hoard just because he thinks it will make Kevin’s breakfast better. 

Timo nods. “Do you like it?”

Kevin puts the rest of it down and grabs Timo’s hand with sticky fingers. “You are literally never allowed to bring it to me before work again because we do not have time for me to express exactly how much I like it.”

Timo’s eyes sparkle wickedly and he takes Kevin’s hand to his mouth to lick the faint red stains of sweet jam off of Kevin’s fingertips. 

It takes a moment for Kevin to recover, ears ringing. Timo asks his question again. 

Kevin shakes his head and reclaims his hand. “What?”

“Is your bag all packed?”

“Oh, uh, yeah?” 

“Then I know exactly how much time we have before we need to leave,” Timo says, leaning over the tiny table to kiss Kevin thoroughly. “Finish your breakfast.”

Kevin gazes skyward, wondering if some divine force might take pity on him. How on earth is he supposed to go to work and act sane?

***

It turns out Timo is wrong about how much time they have, mostly on account of Kevin having to kiss him goodbye. He at least has the satisfaction of knowing Timo is now just as jam-sticky as he is. He jogs downstairs from the roof access, thankful that his company is pretty loose on security at the upper level. Timo said he’ll be in the area and Kevin can just go back to the roof when it’s time to go home. 

He’s still smiling to himself when he tosses his bag on his desk and heads to the bathroom to rinse his hands and face. Who knew jam could get everywhere?

He washes his hands first, then takes a wad of paper towels and wets it to scrub at his face. When he’s done, he looks like he’s blushing, all pink and bright. He’s tossing the paper towels when the bathroom door slams open and Patty walks in.

Kevin stands there, one hand over the trash can, frozen and flabbergasted. Patty is dressed as neatly as he usually is, but he’s soaked from head to toe. There’s a faint sound of dripping as Patty freezes in the doorway, water streaming off of him to hit the tiled floors.

Kevin must make some noise, because Patty glares at him as he shuffles towards the handicap stall. “Do not ask,” Pat growls.

Kevin nods. “Do you need—“

“Get. Out.”

Kevin flees. He’s not proud of it, but Patty’s words were sharp enough without Kevin provoking him further.

When Kevin wanders into the break area, still distracted, he almost bowls Noah over. Noah sniffles at him and dabs ineffectually at his mug where tea has slopped over the sides.

“Jesus, bud,” Jake says, from where he’s munching on a doughnut. “Don’t take Noah out. He’s fragile enough right now.”

Noah flips him off and Jake laughs at him. 

“Listen,” Noah croaks. “I’m fine.”

“Go home,” Jake advises. “Doesn’t he look like he should go home?”

“Uh,” Kevin hesitates when Noah blearily glares at him. “Yeah, dude. We can cover for you for one day.”

“There’s no one here anyway,” Noah argues, then coughs quietly. “I won’t get anyone else sick and Patty needs us.”

Kevin wavers. “Just...let me know if you need us to take any projects off your hands.”

Noah sniffs and sweeps out of the room. 

“$10 says he’s asleep in a pile of tissues by noon,” Jake suggests.

“Only if we manage to dose him with NyQuil,” Kevin responds darkly. “Hey, what’s up with Pat?” Kevin rummages through his mailbox. 

 “No idea. He’s late today. I was the first one in. I brought doughnuts, but I might end up eating them all since there’s hardly anyone in. Do you think Patty’s sick?”

“No, I saw him,” Kevin says, waving Jake off when he offers a doughnut. “Drenched in the bathroom. Looked like he got caught in a rain storm on the way in.”

“Weird. Didn’t see anything this morning that would suggest rain. Maybe a pipe burst?”

“Dunno. Just...steer clear for a bit. He’s cranky.”

“I’ll leave him one of the maple doughnuts,” Jake says, frowning slightly. “That always cheers him up. Hey, have you checked Dylan’s project? He was almost done before he got sick and I figured we could finish that portfolio today for him.”

“I’ll take a look,” Kevin says. “We can meet after lunch today to finalize it, if that works for you.”

“Sure. I’ll make an event on Google Calendar.”

Kevin nods agreeably and goes back to his desk to settle in. Taking a day off work has put him slightly behind schedule, but he’s organized enough that his projects should still meet their deadlines. He emails a couple of scientists they’re contracting with and sets up a data request template for Patty to take to the city engineers. 

It’s the mundane, steady work he enjoys and excels at, so the morning passes quickly. Tim stumbles in an hour late, with bags under his eyes and Noah finally caves and goes home. Dylan texts Kevin a heart when Kevin says he’ll finish the portfolio for him. 

Kevin goes to ask IT a question about getting the login credentials for updating one of the client databases, but ends up leaving hastily. There’s an enormous line and one lone man sitting behind his desk, looking increasingly peevish. 

They’re working with a skeleton crew at this point and Kevin’s starting to feel a bit paranoid about germs. He wipes his desk down after lunch and is momentarily disgusted by how dusty everything is under his monitor and keyboard. Maybe he should clean it more often.

He and Jake go over Dylan’s file pretty quickly. Dylan isn’t the fastest worker, but he is meticulous; it doesn’t take much for them to organize the portfolio and sign off on his recommendations. Kevin leaves the file in the folder on Patty’s closed door. He hasn’t seen Pat since this morning and frankly, he’s not sure he wants to. Maybe by tomorrow, Patty will be normal again.

Kevin checks on Tim when he’s done. As the de facto leader of their little team, just by dint of seniority, he feels responsible. Tim looks just as miserably tired as Noah did earlier and Kevin quietly fixes four typos he sees. 

It’s a weirdly dull day in the office. All managerial meetings have been canceled. The break room is a ghost town. Their floor is particularly devastated by whatever flu is going around, but the whole office seems rather short on warm bodies. Still, the quietude doesn’t mean Kevin isn’t busy. 

For once, Kevin finishes work on time. He could stay later, but his shoulder hurts and he’s getting hungry. He closes out his computer and packs his bag. Everyone else is packing up too, looking tired. Jake gives him a little salute and grins, the only one of them still in good spirits after a long day. 

Kevin leaves them all there and makes his way upstairs to the roof. The sun is setting already, rust-orange shadows stretching across the windy roof. Kevin turns in a half-circle before he spots the flash of bright blue light.

“Hey,” Timo says, pulling up just short of Kevin’s reach and beaming broadly. “How is your shoulder feeling?”

“Sore,” Kevin says, frowning slightly. It’s a relief when Timo drifts closer and presses a warm kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay though. I tried not to mess with it too much today.”

“How was work?” He wraps his arms carefully around Kevin, waits for Kevin to hold on tightly, and then floats them both up. 

“Weird,” Kevin sighs. “Got yelled at by my boss because I stared when he came in dripping water everywhere and half my team is still out sick. I got a lot done today, though. I think our team is still going to meet all the deadlines.”

“Sounds like hard work,” Timo says sympathetically. “You’ll be pleased to know,” he hums as they drift along steadily, “that Antti volunteered for the night shift.”

“Why am I pleased?” Kevin mumbles, tucking his face into Timo’s shoulder. He likes that Timo doesn’t go too fast and make him feel airsick or cold. “Wait, no, that came out wrong. I’m not unhappy but—“

Timo laughs, ribs shaking against Kevin’s hands. “No, no, he just wanted to take the shift and I know he probably brought all his snacks. Just watch some of the American sitcoms he loves and eat some snacks and unwind.”

It does sound relaxing, Kevin has to admit. Still, he’s unhappily surprised when Timo leaves him on the balcony. “You’re not staying?”

“I have to take my turn to patrol and then sleep,” Timo says, standing on the balcony railing, looking very distant. He bends nearly in half to cup Kevin’s face and kiss him. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. If you’re nice to Antti,” he teases, looking deep into Kevin’s eyes, “maybe I’ll even bring more jam.”

He sighs and goes back to sorting his data. He really needs to get a place closer to work, given how often the Supers use the train lines for villainy and heroics.

He wonders as he’s printing his final report, whether the Super on the train today was the same one who scared the shit out of him the other night. Maybe he should have maced the dude again.

He stacks the report neatly and leaves it on Patrick’s desk. Patrick can double check the figures in the morning, but Kevin’s pretty sure the Seattle project is going to go underwater in the next year.

He grabs his bag from his cubicle and jogs downstairs. The night watchman nods companionably as Kevin walks out into the night.

Kevin walks fast, down the grimy sidewalks towards home. The weather’s getting colder and his sport jacket isn’t much protection.

“Need a lift?” a voice asks from the vicinity of his left shoulder and he does not scream. Or jump. Or swing wildly at the source of the voice.

When he’s done reacting in a very calm and normal way, the Super is staring at him again, one eyebrow raised. Kevin hates that eyebrow.

“What? Exploding a train wasn’t enough fun? You had to try and explode my heart?” Kevin’s tired brain has no filter, no common sense.

“Hey,” the Super frowns. “I wasn’t trying to fuck up the train. I just had to block the controller signals that were going to get people hurt. Someone hacked in. We stopped it.”

“We?” Kevin doesn’t know if he actually believes that story, but he decides to keep walking. Home isn’t going to magically get closer.

The Super floats along at his elbow, grimacing. “I had a partner on the train. He’s the one who figured out what was happening.”

Kevin stops in his tracks. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah! No nobody was hurt today, it was just messy.”

Kevin snorts. “You peeled a train. I think that’s a little more than messy.”

The Super’s eyes flash bright blue for a moment and then fade. “Well, now I’m not offering a lift,” he says snootily. He doesn’t leave though and when Kevin keeps walking, he follows. “So how’d your presentation go? With the board?” He keeps floating along at Kevin’s side, casually not making eye contact.

Kevin is man enough to admit to himself that this is nicer than walking home alone. “It went well. Tim almost spilled coffee on my poster, but I dodged in time.”

The Super laughs quietly. “The board liked it?”

“Yeah. I’m not one of the most senior analysts, but I have a good manager and the company generally likes the work I do.” Kevin turns a little to face the Super. “So do you have a cool name?”

The Super opens his mouth and then shakes his head. “We have code names for ourselves, but we don’t even have a page in the city wiki page yet.”

“Awwwww,” Kevin mocks gently. “Keep peeling trains and you’ll get there someday.”

The Super shoves his shoulder, fingertips zapping him lightly. “You are so fucking rude. How have you never run into a super villain who turned you into a hypnotized drone? I was led to believe the city was full of very competent villains, just waiting to prey on whatever civilians annoyed them.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, bud.” Kevin shakes his head. “Mostly, our villains fuck with public transportation which is both expensive frequently and life threatening occasionally, but not usually limited to the most annoying citizens.”

“Lucky you,” the Super snarks.

“Hey,” Kevin realizes slowly, “does that mean you’re not from the city?”

“No. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Fine, be secretive. This is how you end up with no Wikipedia entry.”

“Blue Blaze.”

“What?”

“That’s my code name. Is that cool enough for you?”

Kevin shrugs. “That’s actually not bad. We had a villain last year who called himself the Mighty Duck. He just turned into a giant duck and tried to eat the ferry every time it left dock.”

Blue Blaze laughs. “Really?”

“Yep. Mr. Shark and The Cobra had to trap him so people could get to work.”

Blue Blaze shakes his head, his ambient glow highlighting his unfairly striking cheekbones. “Jeez. Alright, come on. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.” He offers his hand.

“I thought you weren’t offering a lift,” Kevin yawns.

“Well, I owe you,” Blue Blaze says. “Wouldn’t want you to think I was one of those terrible public-transit-hating villains.”

“Mmm,” Kevin agrees, taking Blue Blaze’s hand. He keeps his eyes open this time, ignoring how tenuously he is balanced along Blue Blaze’s body. “At least if you get killed by a supervillain, the mayor will call your family and insurance will probably pay out. But if the E train goes down and you’re late to work, your boss will just ask you if you know what time it is and whether you intentionally missed the quarterly review and make you stay late to fix the reports someone else wrote badly.”

The broad chest under him shakes and when Kevin peeks up, he can see the hint of a smile even with the Super’s face turned away. “Did you intentionally miss the quarterly review?”

“I fucking wish,” Kevin groans. “It sucks, but it definitely beats watching some Russian robot shut down six city blocks and eat train cars. Mad scientists are the worst.”

“I’m beginning to think all of your problems would be solved if you just worked from home.”

“If only,” Kevin sighs as Blue Blaze sets him on the pavement. “The boss is a real stickler for teamwork and cooperation.”

Blue Blaze shrugs. “That’s nothing. My boss insists on twirling his mustache and laughing when he thinks he’s come up with a great idea.”

Kevin laughs a little as Blue Blaze floats up and away. “Wait,” he says suddenly. “You have a boss?”

There’s no answer, though Kevin knows the asshole can hear him. Is his boss a cartoon villain? Is he a villain? Some kind of anti-hero?

“Oh shit, yeah, I don’t want to get eaten. How far does the perimeter go?”

“They’re moving it out to twenty blocks. Your station is definitely out of bounds.” Kevin groans. That’s going to make a huge mess of traffic. Indeed, down the block, Kevin can see fledgling Supers working in tandem. Bear is moving pedestrians while Whitecloud herds a few cars along gently. “Some people are just going home, but I know a few of you have to get to work. I can take you around the long way faster.”

“Sure,” Kevin agrees. “Any chance you can drop me down the block instead of at work? Today’s my day to bring in breakfast and I wanted to get some bagels.”

Giant, shaggy shoulders shrug. “No problem.” He slowly reaches down and Kevin lifts his arms so Bigfoot can just pick him up. It’s always weird to be encased in a giant hand, but it is more comfortable with his arms free.

“Hey,” a voice says sharply. “Leave him alone!”

Kevin blinks in surprise. Blue Blaze’s lightning is less prominent in the sunshine, but he’s fully glowing. It hides his face and shows the giant crackling ball of energy raised over his head.

He’s thankful Bigfoot isn’t given to fits of jumpiness because his hand doesn’t move at all. “Just moving him away from the hot zone, bud. You have a problem with that?”

Kevin shivers a little at the timbre of his voice, but gamely waves at Blue Blaze. “It’s okay. He’s a friend from work.”

Blue Blaze shifts in the air, looking uncomfortable, but he does put away the ball of lightning.

“If you’re itching to fight,” Bigfoot says much more pleasantly, “there’s a Devil on the bridge and I’m sure Jumbo would love the help.”

Blue Blaze hesitates, but eventually drifts away, moving much more slowly than Kevin’s seen yet.

“Why’s Jumbo on bridge duty?”

“PR,” Bigfoot complains. “We have to take turns being big and smashy in public.”

Kevin laughs at that, holding on carefully when Bigfoot sets him atop one broad shoulder. They end up picking up quite a few more people headed to the business district. One woman actually works at the bagel shop Kevin is headed for and they chat as Bigfoot lopes along.

Kevin’s one of the last to get dropped off, but he has enough time to grab an assortment of bagels. He steps outside the bakery and Bigfoot is still standing there. “Bagel?” he offers a bit stupidly.

“Oh, no. I’m a carnivore.” Bigfoot shrugs casually.

Kevin keeps his thought about how terrifying that is to himself. “Oh. Okay.”

“Come on,” Bigfoot says and Kevin gets the distinct sense Bigfoot is laughing at him. “Might as well take you all the way.”

He scoops Kevin up and lets him sit cross legged in one broad palm. It’s only a few giant strides to his building and Bigfoot bends down slightly to peer at the windows. “Sixth floor?”

“Yes?”

Bigfoot taps a large finger very delicately against a window frame. The window opens inwards and Bigfoot slides Kevin in carefully.

His boss stares at him, having hastily stepped back so Kevin wouldn’t land on him. “Good morning.”

“Hi, Pat, sorry. Devil on the bridge this morning and Bigfoot offered to take me in.”

“How nice,” Patty says. “No, no,” he waves Kevin off, “I’ll get the window. You take those bagels to the staff room and save me a cinnamon raisin one.”

“Tell him thanks again,” Kevin calls as he jogs out of the corner office.

The tv is on as usual in the break room and his coworkers are ambling around, getting their morning coffee and clocking in.

“I got bagels!” he announces as he slides in.

There’s a quiet cheer as people gather around the table and rummage through the box. He grabs an everything bagel for himself and a cinnamon raisin one for Patty.

“Okay,” Noah says, turning away from Dylan and pointing at Kevin. “Is the New Jersey Devil always on fire, or is this new?”

Kevin peers at the tv screen and winces as Jumbo gets knocked into the river briefly and then gets up again to punch the Devil. “He’s usually on fire but it’s very...black and red? I don’t think he’s usually on fire and blue.”

“That’s what I said,” Noah says triumphantly. “And Jumbo’s power is to get huge, not set people on fire.”

“But why would a superhero set someone on fire if they were already on fire?” Dylan argues pointedly. “Maybe it’s another supervillain boosting the Devil’s powers.”

Kevin takes a closer look. There’s definitely a blue glow around the Devil’s flames. Hard to say whether it’s Blue Blaze, though. The city is full of colorful Supers.

“Rude,” an amused voice says from somewhere above him. There’s a warm glow, like butter, and then he’s dry. 

When Kevin looks up, there’s a hovering blob of yellow light directly above him, somehow diverting the rain. 

“Thanks?” Kevin says, squinting slightly.

“A friend suggested I check on you,” the glow says in a softly accented voice. “He also said you were rude, but it wasn’t personal.”

“You’re one of Blue Blaze’s teammates?”

“Ah,” the disembodied voice says, pleased, “he mentioned me.”

“Uh, sorry,” Kevin cringes, “not really. He just mentioned some of his team might come and check on me.”

The light ripples, pools of golden light shifting, and then Kevin can see a face peeking out from behind the yellow rays. It’s a very sharp, angular face, but a smile transforms it. “Sunshine,” the Super says, glittering at Kevin. “That’s my name. Sunshine.” There’s something about him, something that makes Kevin less cranky. 

“Kevin,” he says offering his hand to shake. He assumes that’s polite and he nearly melts when the Super clasps his hand and warms him suddenly. 

“So if you haven’t been talking about—Blue Blaze’s handsome friends, what have you been talking about?” The Super flips his long hair dramatically and Kevin laughs, feeling lighter. 

“Mostly our days,” Kevin admits, continuing his slow walk home. The yellow glow over his shoulder dries the path in front of him somewhat and keeps him warm. “What infrastructure he’s been protecting from villains and how much I hate the trains.”

“I don’t think it’s the train’s fault that Gritty exists.”

“Well, it wasn’t the train’s fault when Blue Blaze peeled it either, but I still had to walk home.”

Kevin’s a little surprised when the Super laughs, face crinkling. “You’re blaming him for that?”

Kevin shrugs awkwardly. “I mean...I saw it.”

“Nah, that wasn’t his fault. He didn’t fix it, but it wasn’t his fault. Firestorm melted all of the solder holding the train together.”

“Do any of you know how to use your powers in a safe and sane way? Are you in a Self Control for Supers program?” Kevin asks, mostly teasing.

“If you’re not nice,” Sunshine says flatly, “I’ll sunburn you and you can see how well I control my powers.”

“Terrifying,” Kevin says dryly. 

“Ah well, see if Blue thinks you’re cute when you’re all red and peeling.”

“He thinks I’m cute?” Kevin asks, stopping on the sidewalk. 

“I said nothing,” Sunshine says, shaking his head. His hair does not seem to obey the laws of gravity, floating up around him like golden rays. “Come on, bedtime for little businessmen.” He swoops down and picks Kevin up bridal-style, ignoring Kevin’s surprised yelp. Without saying a word, he speeds off, carrying Kevin to his apartment building without a delay. 

The wind is cold and sharp and Kevin ducks his face away when it makes his eyes water.

He’s completely disoriented when he’s plopped on the sidewalk and he almost falls over. Sunshine nods, apparently satisfied, and waves at Kevin as he flies off.