#pmartin

***

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.