#magic illness

Whumpee had been flicking in and out of a phantom state for years now. These days it got so bad she would go hours without the ability to make contact with anything around her. The longer she went the worse her body reacted when she got back.

Though, she moved forward and gotten into a number of hobbies, her favorites being hand sewing and embroidery. It was far from the easiest thing she could have picked, but she was able to do it. The braces kept on her wrists posed an issue, but she made it work.

Whumpee's friend decided to join her in the effort. He even made a point to practice at home when he was unable to come visit. Friend was always doing his best to keep her company, even though it clearly pained him to see her in such a state.

"Whumpee?" He probed, a hand resting on her arm.

She jumped slightly, eyes wide as she came back into focus, "Hi, sorry."

Friend leaned back, hand still on her arm, concern tracing his brow, "You were flickering for a moment there."

A bout of anxiety siezed her. She didn't want to phase out with him here. She'd done it so many times lately. Whumpee couldn't take another evening of this.

"Hey, Whumpee, look at me." His voice was gentle, but the command was clearly there. She turned to him and tried to focus on his presence, "We're going to be alright. You can do this. Now," Friend lifted his hand and tapped her needle hand, "You were giving me advice on my backstich."

Whumpee followed his movement, took a deep breath, and tried to figure out what step she was on, "I- yeah. Yeah. Backstitch. You had a line, can I- can- I- ah..."

An intense wave of brain fog washed over her. She couldn't quite think, the only thoughts making it through being those of grief. There was still so many hours left in the day, why today? Why now?

Friend took her project from her fingertips before placing a gentle hand on her back. He'd done this enough times to understand, giving her a hand to hold. It always started in her chest, the numbness spreading outwards in waves.

She always felt drugged, her movements and thoughts sluggish. They'd discovered a few things about what happened when she phased out. Nothing truly medical of course, they could never explain it properly. But ever since they did it the first time, she found music would make the process faster.

Before, her thoughts would get distorted horribly and it felt like hours before she finally passed out. But now? Now she knew it was only a few minutes, her songs giving a good time reference. I was reassuring, something to reference as she slipped between dimensions.

"There you go. You're doing great," Friend encouraged, only letting go of her hand momentarily as he secured her brace.

They were important, making sure her ligaments didn't stretch or compress too much upon return. She'd already lost most function in her feet because of it, though they'd been able to save her hands, a fact she was eternally thankful for.

Friend hummed along with their favorite song, holding her hand with both of his until she could no longer make contact with him.

----

Carter had been collecting books for him since Henry had confided in him. Books and papers, old and new, speculating and expounding and detailing the curious workings of the power nestled in his blood. They’d been useful, helping Henry work out the intricacies of control, simple spells, basic divination and meditations. Carter had been throwing him books on theory and history now. He was lucky Henry was a voracious reader since making good his escape.

As grateful as Henry was for it all, he wondered how Carter had managed to dig up all of it. He assumed he’d exhausted the extent of the college’s library and archives.

There was one written centuries before and reprinted in the 1960s. The musings of a Welsh mystic about all things magic related -- theory, philosophy, meditation and practice, beauty, art, artifice, any whim she chose to follow at any moment -- but the key point is her ideas about a core in magic users. It proposed a well of power within each user, a sunk specific place instead of scattered throughout the blood and bone marrow. Safer, perhaps. Less likely to drain out at one injury.

It left a signature, a trace tying someone’s power to themselves and themselves alone. It sent thin tendrils out to relations -- friends, family, romantic partners -- connecting them regardless of distance or memory. It could be damaged, severed, shattered, no matter the resilience inherent.

Henry splashed his face with more water, his fingers trembling as he gripped the edge of the sink. He was hot then cold, woke up soaked in sweat in the middle of the night, was wracked with strange bouts of exhaustion throughout the day. There was no warning. All signs pointed to that.

When a connection severed, if not acknowledged, it could sap a user. Depleting their well of power until they all but dried out... and died. 

Carter had shown it to him, told him to tell June immediately. That had been a week ago, but Henry still hadn’t told her. If Carter was right -- and Carter was rarely wrong when it came to research or Henry -- this could kill him. And Henry was letting it. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. He didn’t want to tell June or Caleb, or anyone else for that matter. He didn’t want to admit that the life was draining out of him.

Connections could be severed through many ways, not all of them devastating. Lost love, dissolved friendship, moving from one job to another. New ones could form in their place, but some severings didn’t allow for it. Disowning, death, memory loss.

Memory loss, Henry mused. He pushed two fingers into the dark crescents under his eyes, pinched the skin over his more pronounced cheekbones. Of course it was memory loss.

And there was the core of his reluctance. The real reason he couldn’t admit it to anyone, least of all himself. It couldn’t be fixed, perhaps repaired but not fixed. Not completely. 

Nathan pushed Kit’s head back and rubbed something wet on Kit’s arm as he stood with a sigh. Kit glanced down and saw bright red, oily blood. Blood? Kit reached his hand up tentatively to his face. Blood ran from his nose and coated his lips and must have dripped onto the villain’s hand while he was inspecting Kit.

“I was hoping to have more fun with you today,” Nathan muttered, irritated, running a hand through his hair as he turned his back to the hero. Kit watched him wearily, tilting his head back slightly and pinching his nose to try and stem the flow of blood. He didn’t understand. Couldn’t this bitch heal people? Why wasn’t he— “Yes,” Nathan interjected and Kit stiffened. He forgot the bastard could read his thoughts. “I can heal you. But the most plausible reason for your nosebleed is that your brain has been subjected to too much mental strain.”

“You don’t think it could have been your attack dog throwing me down the stairs or beating me yesterday, no?” Kit snapped, but there was no real bite to it. Despite his forced sleep he was exhausted. He hated how he always woke from it too, sluggish and tired like he had a restless night’s sleep, but this time was ten times worse, like a hangover after a pub crawl. Fuck…

Nathan looked over his shoulder at Kit and pinned him to the spot with his dead eyed smile. “You’re so lucky I can’t hurt you right now, little Hero.”

It should have been a relief, but the words sent shivers down Kit’s spine. “What? … I mean, I’m not complaining but—”

Nathan scoffed and paced up to the large windows that overlooked the green, perfectly maintained garden – or grounds, Kit should say.

“You are so clueless. I don’t know how Oskar finds anything likeable about you.”

“Why?” Kit asked before he had the sense to stop himself. “Jealous, prick?”

In a flash Nathan was in front of Kit again, silver eyes the darkest Kit had seen them, darker than concrete, or gunmetal or slate and Kit jumped back with a primal fear. His legs suddenly under him, pushing him up and his arse on top of the sofa’s back, his back hitting the wall, hands up ready to defend himself. The movement was too quick, too sudden and a wrathful ringing shot from his spine into his skull and Kit cried out, slumping forward.

A hand grabbed his wrist while another grabbed his shirt and pulled him down onto the couch again as Kit made sounds of groaning protest mixed with hisses and gasps. Nathan jerked him forward and slammed him down, so he was forced to lie flat on the sofa again.

Metal eyes swirled with malice that — to Kit’s shock and horror — was the second scariest thing happening to him at that moment. “Fucking lie down, and stay down,” Nathan hissed.

Kit frowned up at the villain, the shrieking pulse attack dying down the less he moved as he stared up in confusion. Nathan didn’t use his abilities to compel him to stay down. He seemed to do everything in his power to show off his abilities, so why not now? The answer was there somewhere, in his mind, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to reach it, it was too far away or obscured by heavy steel wire bristles with the consistency of cotton and the opaqueness of marshland fog. The more he tried to reach for the answer, the harsher the pain flared.

Nathan stepped back once he sent a warning look to Kit, and Kit didn’t really have any fight in him to protest his forced position. Not that he wanted to either. It seemed to be the only thing that didn’t jostle his brain like it was thrown in a washing machine.

Once Kit’s pain subsided, he silently took in the villain by the fireplace. He turned his back to Kit again, refusing to show him any expression that may flitter across his features, but his muscles were wound tightly, his grip on the mantel piece white knuckled as he stared into the flames licking against wood. Kit glanced at the fire itself and groaned as a thin blade of pain stabbed into his eyes and raced into his skull like he was having a migraine.

He lifted the blanket and threw it over his head before he asked from beneath the covers, “where’s Rosey?”

He heard a huff of annoyance, and then a disgruntled: “he’s in work.”

Kit frowned. He knew that obviously Ambrose had to work, and he must have a good job from how big his fucking house is, but it made him seem more… human. Less monstrous. Still, Nathan knew Ambrose, so maybe this was a time for Kit to get some information on his past tormentor…

Wait, past tormentor? Are you forgetting that he forced us to sleep here the last time we saw him?

The thought swirled in his mind like a plug being released from a sink, the water glugging and hypnotic to watch as it rushed down the drain. Ambrose was the reason Kit was here in the first place… well, no, that’s not true either. Kit’s a hero, it’s his job to fight villains and he knows the consequences can sometimes be… uncomfortable. Like daily torture and being held against his will, he knew well enough from Omen, but—

If Ambrose is such a bad person, why does he insist on staying here with a man he clearly dislikes?

Kit groaned as his thoughts sped through his mind, bombarding him with too many questions and no answers. If his thoughts could pick a side whether Ambrose was good or not that would be helpful, but he couldn’t even force himself to think, his brain felt like it was burning over a cold fire and he just wanted to sleep.

“Uh,” Kit began, licking his lips. He winced at the sound of his voice echoing in his skull. God he could really do with some painkillers. “So, what does Ambrose do?”

Nathan scoffed. “You don’t know?”

“Well, we’re not exactly best friends.”

“And yet he’s willing to stay here with a man he ‘clearly dislikes’ for you,” Nathan repeated, his tone hard. Kit sighed. The mind reading shit was getting exhausting. Maybe he should just think instead of speaking from now on since all these bastards can hear his thoughts anyways.

He heard Nathan sigh. Then footsteps approach. He peeled the blanket down and peered over the edge to keep the villain in his sights. But Nathan wasn’t really paying him any attention. Instead, he walked towards the armchair where Rosey sat yesterday and settled into it heavily, smoothing the lines on his forehead with his fingers.

He looked… tired. Not as menacing as before.

“I can still kill you, Kit, don’t push me.”

“If you kill me, then Rosey leaves,” Kit replied softly. Curious silver eyes met his blue and frowned. “And I know you don’t want that.”

Nathan sighed again. “No. You’re right. I don’t.” He raised his chin to inspect Kit, his gaze roaming Kit’s face critically before something changed in his features and he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs and clasping his hands between his knees.

“But you know what? I think we could help each other, you and I.”

“Why would I ever help you?” Kit asked, genuinely baffled. Was this man okay? I mean, obviously not but…

Nathan tilted his head, a smirk on his lips. “Well, you want to know more about Oskar, and so do I. I’ve been out of his life for years, I don’t know what kind of person he has become, and you don’t know what he was like years ago.”

“You mean, you want me to give you information on him so you can manipulate him easier?”

A storm flashed across Nathan’s face like lightning and disappeared just as quickly. Kit’s heart jumped in his chest for the moment it was there, and he hated himself for being so fearful of the giant fuck in front of him.

“Not manipulate,” Nathan hummed, amused now as he leaned back in the armchair. “More like… elucidate me on what kind of things he’s interested in now. I only want what’s best for Oskar.”

“Okay, well I don’t know what elucidate means, dickhead, but if you really wanted what’s best for Ambrose, you’d let him make his own decisions, and not have to hold me hostage to get him to be near—”

Too far.

Kit had gone too far.

In a blink a hand wrapped around his throat and slammed him further down into the couch, until Kit felt the wooden frame beneath the cushion dig into his spine. A burst pulse beat strummed through Kit’s nerves, and he gasped but there was no air as Nathan tightened his fingers around Kit’s neck. Kit grabbed his wrist, clawing at it with his nails but Nathan didn’t seem to care, not even when Kit drew blood.

“Just give me a reason, you child. One fucking reason to keep you alive. I have plenty for why you should die.”

Kit gasped and writhed under the villain, bringing his legs up to kick at him, but Nathan batted them away easily and climbed on top of Kit, continuing to choke him until Kit’s eyes began to roll back.

Rosey… hate you… I die… Kit forced himself to think as his vision blackened around the edges. Fuck. Fuck! He was going to die. Nathan was going to kill him and he’d never be able to tell everyone who the real Supervillain was; he’d never be able to clear Mentor’s name and– Oxygen rushed into him and he gasped, his voice rasping desperate coughs as he sucked in too much air at once, wheezing as he grabbed his throat gently and tried to soothe the bruises that were no doubt starting to form already.

Nathan’s lips turned up in disgust as Kit struggled to catch air in his lungs and regulate it around his body again. “You are nothing,” Nathan hissed, leaning down until his face was inches from Kit’s. Kit tried to turn away but Nathan grabbed his cheeks and turned him back to face the monster above him. “Do you understand? Oskar will get bored of you, like he gets bored of all his toys and throw you away when you seize to be entertaining.”

Kit coughed, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to focus his gaze. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Is that what he did to you?”

The punch wasn’t expected. Instead of going for his head, Nathan slammed his fist down into Kit’s gut, between his ribs and he curled up on instinct, expelling whatever breath he for too short a time with an oomph.

“I can’t hurt you, Kit, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find other ways to make you suffer.”

Kit curled around himself, trying to quiet his thoughts, but he couldn’t help wondering what the hell Nathan thought a punch was if it didn’t fall within the realm of hurt.

Nathan clicked his tongue against his teeth as he looked down at Kit and shook his head before climbing off him. He didn’t get much relief because in the next moment Nathan grabbed Kit by the arm and yanked him off the couch. Unprepared to be dragged and with his legs still caught in the blanket, Kit yelped as Nathan dragged him off the couch, his knees, thankfully, hitting the ground first before Kit could slam headfirst onto the wood.

“You’re fucking pathetic,” Nathan snarled as Kit slammed his free hand out to catch his upper body while Nathan kept a firm grip of his other arm. “Get up.”

“Okay, alright. Just give me – ngh fuck, okay!”

Kit crashed into Nathan’s torso as he yanked the hero up suddenly. Kit put his free hand out to grab Nathan’s shirt and steady himself on his feet. The world spun in colours of deep forest green and dark mahogany floors and the burning, searing heat of the flames coiled within Kit’s stomach, mixing with nausea, threatening to climb his throat and spew its contents if he wasn’t careful.

He screwed his eyes shut as he gripped the giant’s shirt in a white knuckled grip and tried to catch his breath. Something warm dripped over his lips but he was too overwhelmed to realise what as he panted, “please, just give me… gimme a minute, please.”

Nathan didn’t reply, but he didn’t yank Kit again which he was grateful for. “You’re pathetic.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Kit replied, trying to stand upright on his own, but it wasn’t working very well. His legs felt like they were new, and hadn’t been used yet, still trying to adapt to his body. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he saw a pool of blood on the floor below him and he frowned. Blood… what… what the fuck have they done to him? Why was his nose still bleeding? He didn’t…

He lifted his head slowly to look into Nathan’s face. His jaw was clenched, eyes hard, and he looked like he wanted to beat the shit out of Kit, but there was something else too. Something concerning him, but when Kit tried to search for the answer his brain flared like throwing flour onto a fire and Kit cried out.

Something solid went under him, keeping him up and for a moment Kit thought he was back on the couch, but he was still holding Nathan’s shirt, grasping it tightly. Nathan stepped in and grabbed the skin under Kit’s eye and pulled the eyelid down, while pulling the top one up. He frowned and stepped back, dropping contact and turned away, running his hands through his hair and sighed.

“Fucking babysitting… this is not what I had in mind when I agreed to let you stay here,” he seethed, but not to Kit. The solid weight holding Kit up tilted him back slightly, pushing against Kit’s calves until he was sitting on an invisible chair in the air. Distantly Kit realised it was Noble’s power Nathan was using to pick him up, and he wanted to be sick. “The things you do for love, hmm?”

Kit blinked stupidly as Nathan headed for the door and started carrying him along, his hand splayed as he levitated Kit to follow him. Kit groaned as the world passed in his periphery vision, making him queasy. He closed his eyes at the motion, listening to Nathan grumble about he had to look after Kit, as if it was an inconvenience that Kit broke under the strain of the mental torture Nathan and Jude put him under.

And Ambrose.

Kit frowned at the voice in his head. The one that sounded suspiciously like his own. Just angrier. No, no… Rosey was protecting him, he was helping him.

Your nose didn’t bleed until Ambrose commanded you again, right?

A deep furrow formed between Kit’s brows, blaring the pounding of his headache. No, he answered. No, Rosey was trying to protect me from whatever Nathan was going to do.

Yeah, the voice snickered viciously. Keep telling yourself that. God… you’re exactly what he wants you to be, you know that? You’re his perfect little puppet now, so wrapped up in his strings that he’s got you thinking you can still have independent thoughts, draw your own conclusions. That you have a choice; free will.  

“I can,” Kit mumbled, reaching his hand up to his temple. A hiss escaped his mouth at the heat from his temple mixed with the freezing temperature of his hand.

See? Not even any blood in your hand, just empty, hollow wood. Perfect to mould.

“Shut up,” Kit said listlessly, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. Grey eyes appeared in front of him and Kit blinked, trying to focus. Lips moved above him, and someone was speaking but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart and the voice in his head.

But Ambrose already made you into what you are, didn’t he?

“’m not… ‘m me…” Kit protested.

Grey eyes flashed red and Kit jerked back as the world slowly melted away, leaving him face to face with the same eyes that terrified him more and more everyday he saw them.

Kit’s face peered down at him and grinned wolfishly, like he could just devour Kit in a single bite. Kit flinched back but he didn’t get far. The red eyed version of Kit smiled wider as he started circling Kit. Kit’s breathing picked up as he tried to turn and keep the red eyed monster in sight, but he couldn’t move. His body too weak to obey him, to listen to him.

“Look at you,” the other Kit said, his voice distorted as if spoken through an old radio, his voice booming like lightning strikes smashing the ground. “So vulnerable. Your precious Rosey just left you like this, Kit.”

“S-shut up,” Kit managed, trying to get any vantage point but his body wouldn’t respond. Why wasn’t Nathan saying anything? Surely, he could see this other Kit too, right? Unless… unless he was doing this, getting into Kit’s head trying to make him see–

Kit threw his head back and screamed as a searing heat dug right between his eyes. The pain was blinding, scorching any remnant thoughts in his head except the need to get away, to escape the pain.

“Would you look at that…”

Kit grasped his chest as his heart boomed too fast in his chest, his cheeks were wet, but with blood or tears he couldn’t tell. What was going on? He… he…

“I can touch you, isn’t that interesting, Kitty-kat?”

All heat vanished from Kit’s body at the words as those red eyes appeared in front of him again. He didn’t know what to do, how to fight something in his head, but he knew someone who spent far too long inside it and he reached out.

“A-Ambrose,” he whispered desperately. The scorching hand slammed its palm against Kit’s skull, and it seemed to go through it and set off the inferno in his brain.

“Naughty, naughty Kit. You’re not playing fair. This is between me and you,” the other thing purred, but Kit could sense the irritation in its distorted voice. “But fine. I’ll take your Rosey out first if I must, and then I’ll come back for your body, hmm?”

The world seemed to collapse on top of Kit, darkness descended like a shutter on his vision as the world dimmed, but before Kit was swallowed, he heard his mirrored voice speak again; “and I’ll make sure to leave better marks than Ambrose did on your body, trust me.”

Kit went limp, dead weight in Nathan’s hold and he stared, mercury eyes narrowed. Jude panted next to him, hands on his knees. “Did you hear anything?” Jude asked, straightening. “Fuck… I’m too hungover for this kid, Nate.”

“No,” Nathan growled. “All I heard was static.”

“But that’s not… the kid was only able to resist you when you used Ambrose’s power right? He wasn’t immune to mine.”

Nathan pressed two fingers to Kit’s pulse and waited, despite the heat radiating from the boy’s body. A weak rhythm rose to meet Nathan’s fingers, but when he pulled them away two impressions of his fingerprints were left. Two little milky ovals surrounding by angry red skin like Kit was sunburnt.

“What do we do? We can’t heal him.” Jude said, walking around the far side of Kit’s limp form. Nathan ran a hand through his hair and turned away, cursing.

“We call Oskar.”

*****

Continued here

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