#pt 16

Wes nibbled on the granola bar, the taste like sawdust in his mouth. His gaze was fixed on the closed bedroom door, his entire being tuned to the silent space where Danny and Sam were. Every few seconds, he’d glance down at his hands, now clean and his shirt no longer the bloodied one he had earlier, but his brother’s soft grey T-shirt.

Wally watched him from his spot on the floor, his own guilt a leaden weight. He wanted to bridge the chasm between them, to say the words that clawed at his throat, but the moment felt too fragile, too sacred. Any sound louder than a breath might shatter the precarious peace, so he stayed silent.

It was Garfield the one to speak, his voice soft, gentle. "He's tough. I've seen a lot of people take hits, but the way he was fighting that... that burn... he's stubborn." He offered a weak smile to Wes. "Stubborn is good. It means he wants to stay."

Wes gave a jerky nod, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. Stubborn felt like too small a word for the force of will it had taken for Danny to crawl up those stairs, to give them instructions while his body was being torn apart.

The bedroom door clicked open, and Sam emerged, closing it softly behind her. Every head turned toward her. She looked tired, the fierce energy that had propelled her into the apartment banked into a watchful ember.

"He's stable," she announced, her voice low but clear, a balm to the room's frantic anxiety. "His breathing is even, and his color's a little better. He’s just… sleeping. Really sleeping."

A collective, shuddering sigh of relief passed through the room. Victor’s shoulders, which had been held at a tense, ready angle, slumped minutely. Roy let out a heavy breath and finally took a seat on the couch by Tim’s side, who closed his eyes, the rigid line of his posture finally relaxing as he leaned his head back against the cushions. Wally slumped forward where he sat on the floor, his forehead nearly touching his knees, while Garfield released a long, soft sigh, the sound filled with the weight of the night.

Sam’s eyes scanned the room, landing on Wes. "He's out for the count. You should get some actual rest. You look like death warmed over."

Wes was about to refute, but Sam's look—a flat, unwavering stare that promised no room for argument—stopped him. He let out a long, defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping as the last of his resistance bled away. He turned his tired gaze from her to the others in the living room.

“Are you gonna stay for the night?” Wes questioned, his voice hollow.

Wally flinched at the directness, his own guilt reflected in the hesitant hope in his eyes. “You… Ok with that?”

A humorless, breathy sound escaped Wes’s lips. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his fingers trembling slightly. “To be honest? I don’t give a fuck, Wally.” It didn't sound angry, just bone-deep tired, scraped raw. “After all the bullshit I’ve been through just this week…” He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything from the fake dating to the explosion, “…I don't have anymore fucks to give.” He stated it simply, a fact as plain as the exhaustion etched on his face. All he wanted was to be back in that room, to see the steady rise and fall of Danny’s chest for himself. He stood up.

Wally winced, standing and taking a half-step forward, he just couldn’t wait another second “Wes, look, I’m so—”

“Stop it.” Wes’s voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the apology before it could form. He finally lifted his head, meeting his brother’s gaze directly, and Wally was struck by the profound hurt in his eyes. “I know why you did it. I know I was awful. I know what I did is bad.” He closed his hands into fist to still their shaking, his knuckles white. “But I just wanted to spend a week or two with my brother, who I haven't seen in person since I was twelve. I wanted to just… have a good time with what I have left of my family.” His voice cracked on the last word,’ and he had to pause, swallowing hard. “Because it seems I don't even have that anymore.”

He took a shaky breath, pressing on. “Danny is… he’s wonderful. He doesn't take shit from anyone, but he’s patient and kind enough to walk you through your bullshit and let you make amends. To let you try to be better. And that's what I’m doing.” A tear finally escaped, tracing a clean path through the lingering grime on his cheek. He wiped it away with a rough, impatient swipe of his hand. “You think I don't feel awful for what I did? You think I wouldn't want to tear my own skin off sometimes? To curl up and cry in a corner? I understand that to an outsider, it looks unforgivable. It was. But you…” His voice broke again, thick with emotion. “You aren't a stranger, you are my brother. And you wouldn't even talk to me. You just kept looking at me like I was a stranger, kept avoiding me. I just wanted my brother, but all I got was hostility in my own home.”

He took a final, shuddering breath, looking away from Wally’s devastated face. “I do understand why. But it still hurts.” His voice was a whisper now, all fight gone. “This past week was awful. I’m tired. And the first day Danny and I finally got a break… this happened.” He gestured weakly towards the bedroom. “So no. I don't care if you stay or go back to wherever you spent last night. I’m going to sleep.”

Without another look, he turned and walked to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. Sam watched them for a moment longer, her expression a glacier of disapproval, before she turned and followed Wes into the bedroom.

The living room was left in a silence heavier than before, the click of the latch resonating like a gunshot. 

A broken, choked sound escaped Wally. The ground was no longer there, just a void that was sucking him down, unbalancing him, crumbling him. He swayed on his feet and his knees gave out. He didn't slump onto the couch; he folded, collapsing back onto the floor, his face burying in his hands as his shoulders shook with silent, ragged sobs.

The other Titans were paralyzed, forced to watch the direct consequences of their actions once again

Roy felt like he was protecting his friend from the reality of his brother being a monster, that him being harsh was a deserved punishment for Wes actions, like it was his right to do so. But he was wrong. They all were wrong, 

Now, he saw that what he’d done was help Wally drive a knife into his own brother’s heart. His hands, usually curled into ready fists, hung limp at his sides. "Wally..." he started, his voice rough, but the name was just a helpless exhale. There was no comfort to offer. He had helped destroy this.

Tim was utterly still, pale as a ghost, his wide eyes fixed on Wally's shuddering form. The brilliant, logical framework he’d constructed—the stalker, the victim, the necessary intervention—lay in ruins, and the rubble was a broken family. This wasn't a mission failure; it was a personal, human catastrophe he had engineered. He had been so focused on the puzzle of Danny and Wes that he’d treated Wally’s brother as an abstract variable, not a person. The shame was a hot, nauseating wave. He had been so clever, so sure. And in his arrogance, he fucked up badly. He didn't just blindly accuse Wes and become another bad experience to him and Danny, he was the reason one of his best friends was now crying and sobbing inconsolably on the floor. The nausea flared up his throat again, but he swallowed back down. Wally needed him right now, but he didn't know what to do. For the second time that day, he didn't know what to do, how to help, how to fix this mess. This wasn't something he could investigate, something he could just solve on his own and call it a day. So he just stood there, untethered, watching his friend crumble in front of him powerless.

No one spoke. There were no more strategies, no plans. The silence in the living room was filled only with the sound of Wally's grief and the deafening weight of what they had done.

_________________________________________

Inside, the air was still and cool. The only movement was the soft, steady rhythm of Danny's breathing from the bed. Wes was standing by the bed, watching him, with his arms locked around his own torso straining to keep the pieces of himself from coming apart.

Sam closed the door and leaned against it, the wood a solid presence at her back. She watched the tense line of Wes's shoulders for a long moment before she spoke, her voice low but clear in the stillness. "What was all that about?"

Wes didn't turn around. In a flat, exhausted monotone, he explained, the words spilling out as if he was too tired to even filter them.

"They've been watching us since they got here. Not like, casual watching. Watching watching. Tim followed Danny to the mall—Danny knew. He felt it, then watching all the time it freaked him out so bad he had a panic attack. That's actually why he asked you to meet that day." He let out a shaky breath. "And they weren't just watching him. They were watching me too, and kept trying to stand between us. All the time” He shuddered “Victor would just... stand there, in doorways, blocking the room. Roy would make these little comments, under his breath, just to get under my skin. And Gar... he'd swoop in the second I tried to talk to Danny, drag him away for some stupid reason."

He finally turned to face her, his eyes haunted. "And then they did their own... investigation, I guess. And they're some kind of IT consultants. They dug up my old blog, and found the pictures, the posts... all of it. The stuff I deleted years ago. They pulled it out of the digital grave and held it up like a smoking gun." He ends up spatting, some of his lost energy coming back with indignation.

He wrapped his arms around himself again, a self-soothing gesture that did little to calm the tremor in his hands. "They decided I was a monster. A stalker. And they decided Danny was my victim. So they drew a line right through this apartment. They'd put themselves between us, physically. Wally wouldn't let me near him, always touching Danny, talking over me, handing me things like an afterthought. It was a... it was horrible. They made me feel like a stranger in my own home."

His voice dropped to a broken whisper. "And then they confronted me. Wally and Roy. They laid it all out. They called me a stalker. Wally said... “His gaze unfocused, and he swallowed hard. "He said something hurtful." A fresh tear traced a path down his cheek and he turned away from Sam uncomfortable "He looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was a disease. And then Danny walked in, and they shoved him behind them like they were protecting him from me." He huffed and humorless laugh. “Guess you can imagine how that went”

He let out a wet, shaky sigh, wiping his face with his shoulder, dampening the sleeve of Wally's shirt—a bitter irony that wasn't lost on him. "And even now... after all that... when Danny was bleeding out on the floor and all I could do was hold him. I was so, so scared... he was the only one I could think to call. I didn't know who else to call."

Sam’s lip curled, a flash of pure, undiluted fury in her eyes. "They're self-righteous pricks," she cut in, her voice a low, sharp blade. "They did the exact same thing to Danny that they accused you of—they watched him, they followed him, they decided who he was without his consent. The hypocrisy is fucking staggering." She was silent for a moment, a storm of conflicting emotions warring behind her eyes. "And I hate that you had to make that call," she said finally, her voice tight. "I'm so fucking angry, on his behalf and on yours, that after everything they put you through, they were your only option." She looked toward the bed, her gaze softening for a fraction of a second at the sight of Danny's steady breathing. "But I am also... god, I'm so grateful you did. They saved his life. That's a debt I can't ever ignore, even if I want to strangle them with my bare hands for everything else."

She turned her fierce gaze back to him. "You were in an impossible position, and you did the one thing that mattered. You put his life above your pride, above the hurt. And that's the only reason he's still here." Her gaze softened and so did the hold in her crossed arms. “For that, Thank you.” She blinked away tears and took a breath. “You went there with him. You stayed by his side. You saved Danny's life and that's something I can't thank you enough for.” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, smiling wetly at him.

This seemed to drain the last of Wes's defenses. He finally turned fully to face her, his expression one of utter shame. He was talking to his real girlfriend, someone that was actually close to him, and cared, and loved. The weight of that felt crushing. "I didn't do shit, Sam.” He looked away ashamed “I heard the explosion," he began again, his voice gaining a ragged edge as the memory overwhelmed him. He hugged himself tighter. "I ran in and he was just… there. On the floor. Crawling. Leaving a… a trail. I couldn't do anything. I just froze." He looked at Sam, desperate and lost. "I’m always just watching him. What's the difference between the kid with the camera in the shadows and the guy who freezes in the doorway? I'm still just… watching."

Sam listened, she dropped her hand from Wes' shoulder gently and crossed her arms. This time he didn't move to comfort him. Instead, she gave him the hard truth, like  a veteran soldier to a new recruit.

"Wes, you called the right people," she said, her voice flat and certain. "You got him out of that house. You held his hand while he was... like that.” Her voice was choked, but she kept going, knowing she had to say this and that Wes needed to hear it “You knew about his kit. You administered the one thing that could save him." She took a step forward, her gaze pinning him in place. "You think that's nothing? That's everything."

Wes flinched, wanting to argue, but she pressed on, her voice gaining a hard, experienced edge. "Tucker and I spent years feeling exactly how you feel right now. The paralyzing fear. The helpless rage. Watching him walk into danger and knowing you can't follow, that all you can do is wait and hope he comes back in one piece." She finally uncrossed her arms, her expression softening only a fraction into something like grim solidarity. "You learn to live with it. It never gets easier, but you get stronger. You become the person he can collapse in front of, because you're the one who knows the score, and you're the one who won't fall apart."

She wasn't offering forgiveness for the past. That was a separate ledger. This was a validation of his present, a grim induction into a club nobody wanted to join. She was handing him a new role: not the observer in the shadows, but a new pillar in the storm.

Wes stared at her, the truth of her words seeping through the cracks in his guilt. He hadn't been useless. He had been the first responder, an anchor of sorts. The realization didn't erase the past, or the pain, but it began to build a foundation for the future right on top of the wreckage.

_________________________________________

Awareness returned to Danny not as a gentle dawn, but as a slow, painful tide of sensation. A deep, throbbing agony radiated from his side, a sickening counterpoint to the sharper, stinging pains mapping his arms and legs. He was aware of weights on the bed, warmth on either side. The soft, steady rhythm of one breath was close to his ear; another, more ragged, came from further away.

He cracked his eyes open. The room was dim, pre-dawn grey filtering through the blinds. Sam was asleep on the bed beside him, in her black pajamas, curled on her side facing him. Her hand was resting lightly on his arm. On the floor bedside, Wes was also asleep, slumped forward with his head and arms resting on the mattress, one hand curled near Danny’s. They both looked wrecked.

The sight anchored him, pulling him fully into the present. The apartment. Wes. The searing, alien pain that felt like his very cells were being unmade.

The lab.

The memory slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. He hadn’t just been careless. He’d been arrogant.

He’d slipped into Fenton Works with the usual practiced stealth. The house had been silent, but the lab… the lab had hummed with a new, aggressive energy. On the central workbench, surrounded by the typical chaotic scatter of tools, was something new. It wasn't a blaster or a shield. It was a core, of sorts—a pulsating, crystalline device hooked up to a tangle of wires and the massive Fenton Thermos prototype. The "Ecto-Annihilator," they’d called it. A name he’d dismissed as typical Fenton hyperbole.

He’d seen the blueprints. The theory was to create a concentrated, "pure" anti-ectoplasmic field designed to destabilize a ghost’s core, forcing it to dissipate. He’d planned to do what he always did: subtly re-route a power conduit, introduce a critical flaw.

He’d reached for the main power relay, his fingers phasing just slightly to bypass the housing. And that’s when it happened.

The device hadn’t just been overloaded. It recognized him.

A feedback scream—not through speakers, but through the very ecto-energy in the air—had torn through the lab an instant before the blast. It wasn't just an explosion of metal and electricity. It was a wave of that intended "anti-ectoplasm," a violent negation that sought out what he was and tried to erase it. His ghost sense had erupted from him in a panic a second before impact, a desperate, involuntary shield that had likely saved his life by meeting the wave head-on. The resulting cataclysm was what saved him, his own energy fighting against a weapon designed to destroy it.

That’s why the burn had been corrosive. That’s why it had fought the medical aid. It wasn't a burn in the human sense. It was a piece of the Annihilator’s intended effect, lodged in his flesh, actively trying to unmake the ghost in him.

A cold dread, separate from the pain, settled in his gut. His parents' inventions had hurt him before—bruises, electrical shocks, rashes, lacerations, actual burns, you name it, he had it. But this was different. This was the first time their work had looked at the ghost in him and responded with deliberate, targeted abrasion. They weren't just building traps anymore; they were building a specific, intelligent poison. And he had walked right into the dose.

And his parents… He remembered the silence of the house. They hadn't been there. They’d built this thing and left it armed and unattended. The recklessness of it made him feel sick. The idea of his mom, cheerful and covered in grease, asking him about his day, or his father handing him a new batch of fudge hours after building a device that could have literally dissolved him from the inside out, was a cognitive dissonance that threatened to crack him in two. What if they had asked him to be there when they tested it? What if they decided it was one of the things to ask him to help with? 

He had to sabotage their work to survive. But now, surviving their work felt like a war he was losing. How many more times could he walk into that lab before his luck ran out? Before they finally built something that deleted him on a molecular level?

He looked at Sam, her presence a steadfast comfort even in sleep. He looked at Wes, who had stood guard in his own way. He had a life here, fragile and complicated and real. A life his parents, in their loving, oblivious fervor, were getting better and better at obliterating.

The explosion in the lab hadn't just torn up his body. It had blown a crater in the fragile truce he’d built with his own existence. The walls between his two worlds were crumbling, and the fallout was going to burn everyone he cared about. He couldn't keep going with this, he couldn't keep trying to let his parents in his life when they, unintentionally, were actively trying to destroy it.

He closed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing down, heavier than any physical pain. The fight was no longer just about keeping a secret. It was about preventing an inevitable, home-grown apocalypse with his name on it. And for the first time, he wasn't sure he could win.

A low, pained groan escaped him as he tried to shift, the movement tugging viciously at the burn on his side. It was a small sound, but in the silent room, it was enough to alert anyone.

Sam’s eyes flew open instantly, her reflexes overriding sleep. "Danny?" she whispered, her voice raspy. Her hand tightened on his arm. "Are you with me?"

On the floor, Wes jolted awake, his head snapping up. Disorientation flashed across his face for a second before it was replaced by stark relief and concern. "You're awake. How... how do you feel?"

"Like I got into a fight with a shredder and lost," Danny gritted out, his voice rough with sleep and pain. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it felt more like a wince. The simple act of breathing was a conscious effort.

Sam was already moving, her practiced eyes scanning him. She gently peeled back the edge of the bandage on his side, checking the dressing. The sight of the angry, blistered flesh beneath the silvery mesh made her jaw tighten, but she nodded. "It's not getting worse. The green is gone. It's just a... a normal, terrible burn now." She said, pursing her lips and rearranging the bandage.

Danny looked from Sam’s worried face to Wes’s exhausted one. “How long was I out?” “A few hours. It’s already morning,” Wes said, his voice low and looking at the window, noticing the stray rays of sunlight filtering through it, and the back at Danny. “You… you gave us a scare.”

The memory of the terrifying, corrosive burn actively eating him alive made him shudder. 

“The lab…” Danny began, but Sam cut him off.

“We know. Wes told me what he saw.” Her jaw was set. “What was that, Danny? It wasn’t a normal burn of an EctoRay.”

Danny took a shaky breath, the image of the pulsating core clear in his mind. “It was a new weapon. They called it the Ecto-Annihilator. It’s not a trap. It’s… it’s designed to target a ghost’s core. To erase it.”

Wes paled. “It knew what you were.”

“It recognized my energy,” Danny confirmed, the truth of it tasting like ash. “When I tried to sabotage it, it reacted. My ghost sense went off right before it blew. It was trying to unmake me.”

The room was silent, the implication hanging in the air. This was a new, terrifying escalation.

“They’ve crossed a line,” Sam said, her voice cold. “This isn’t just ghost hunting anymore. This is… genocide.”

That horrifying word was the final straw. It shattered the dam holding back a lifetime of fear, resentment, and desperate love.

"Why?" he choked out, the word feeling like ground glass in his throat as he looked from Sam to Wes to the ceiling, his composure crumbling. "It's always them."

"Danny..." Sam started, her voice softening.

"They built a weapon that can erase me, Sam!" The words were a ragged whisper, filled with a terror he never allowed himself to show. "And they probably don't even know I was there! They're at some convention or in another hunt, I didn’t even know they weren't home until I went there. They are out there completely oblivious that they almost murdered their son, Again"

Wes looked stricken. He knew things were bad, Danny closed off at the minor mention of his parents, and logically, he knew it wouldn’t be pretty with them being hunters and him their specific prey. But it felt wrong to see how raw it made Danny feel.

"I moved out to get away from this," Danny continued, the words tumbling out faster, fueled by a pain deeper than any burn. "To have a life where I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder in my own kitchen. But I can't escape it. I'm tethered to them by this... this stupid, loving sense of responsibility! I have to go back! I have to make sure they haven't blown themselves up or poisoned themselves with ectoplasm-tainted coffee!"

His voice began to rise, losing its shaky quality and gaining the sharp edge of long-suppressed fury.

“I never had a say in any of this” He whispered brokenly, causing both Sam and Wes to flinch. “I moved out, tried to take my life in my own hands and guide it toward what I actually want… and still… I go back there because I love them, and I fear that me leaving will be the cause of them dying. I know how they are and I know they are a danger to themselves.”

There was a heavy silence. Sam squeezed his hand, her own eyes glittering with unshed tears. She understood this conflict better than anyone—the love that warred with the sheer, self-preserving need to run.

“But they are also a danger to you, Danny,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. She wasn't accusing him; she was stating the terrifying, inescapable fact that lay at the center of his entire existence.

Danny let out a shuddering, wet sigh, all the fight gone out of him. He closed his eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the grime still on his temple.

“I know…” he whispered, the admission sounding like a surrender. “I know.”

In the quiet that followed, Wes, who had been a silent witness to this raw confession, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but firm.

"Then we protect you," he said. Both Danny and Sam turned to look at him. He wasn't the scared, guilty kid from the hallway anymore. He was the one who had held Danny together on the kitchen floor. "That's the job now. We can't change your parents. We probably can't stop them from building things. But we can make sure you don't have to walk into that house alone. We can be your lookout. We can be the ones who drag you back when your sense of responsibility tries to get you killed." He looked at Sam, who gave him a slow, solemn nod of agreement. "You shouldn’t carry the weight of their safety and your own by yourself anymore. Not if you have us."

It wasn't a solution to the impossible problem of his parents. But it was a promise. A new foundation. The war wasn't over, but for now, he could breathe a bit easier, finally letting himself rely on others. He hated putting his friends in danger, but maybe, having them by his side would be safer for everyone than walking alone in the dark.

_________________________________________

           “(Y/n), we’re mafia members, not some lowlife thugs.” Mingyu said with a chuckle.

           “Right…” you rolled your eyes, “of course, how silly of me.” Mingyu gave you a look but said nothing. “Good luck with everything, even though I’m pretty sure this is all illegal. Just come back to me safe, okay?”

           “Well, know that you’ve told me that, I have no choice but to come back unharmed.” Mingyu said with a cheeky smile.

           You and Seungkwan watched as they drove down the long path, and eventually disappeared into the woods, while Jihoon headed straight for his “office” as he called it.

           “Seungkwan, what are you going to be doing here?” you questioned after silence had finally settled into the house.

           “That’s a secret.” He said with a smirk before disappearing into his room as well. Then, you were met with complete and utter silence. A quiet, still, empty silence you hadn’t heard in months. With thirteen boys in the house, there’s never silence, from snoring at night, to yelling during the day, and the constant background music playing, there is never silence. You hadn’t realized just how much you had missed it. The first thing you did? Sleep of course. Because why not. You woke up around lunch, bored out of your mind. At least when the guys were here you had someone to talk with. Sitting around the house like this was excruciating. The once blissful silence had become stifling.

You tried to listen through the walls to Jihoon’s office but heard only the clicking of keys. No sound came from Seungkwan’s room, leaving you alone for sure. You snuck into Mingyu and Wonwoo’s shared room and pulled a few books you had never read before and settled down on the couch to read. Jihoon only came out of the office once, he shuffled into the kitchen, grabbed a donut, and shuffled back to the office, not staying a single word. You heard a few crashes from his office not long after that but didn’t bother to go investigate. If something during the mission went wrong, you didn’t want to be anywhere near the short boy.

You fixed yourself a small, late lunch, then returned to your book. Nothing much seemed to be happening, that is, until late afternoon. All of the sudden, Seungkwan busts out of his room, dressed in a sweater and pulling on his long tan coat before flying out of the front door, hopped on a motorcycle and tore down the road. Curses erupted from Jihoon’s office, and you decided it would be best if you retreated into your room. Hopefully everyone was alright. The thought of Mingyu was constantly floating around in the back of your mind after that. The sun had finally set and the moon shone brightly outside. Your peered out of one of the front windows and saw a small light coming towards the house, which you assumed was Seungkwan coming back. You moved from the window and around the house, cleaning up little things here and there since you had nothing else to do. You threw yourself down on the couch, waiting for Seungkwan to come through the front door. You hoped that he would finally be free and the two of you could talk, you were even willing to cook up some sort of dinner for him if he wanted. He never came however. Instead you were met with creaks in the house

That was a lot more creaking then the house usually made on its own though. Maybe Jihoon had come out of his office for dinner? You stood up from the couch and slowly headed towards the door leading to the rest of the house. You peeked your head around the corner and saw no one. But what you did see made your heart jump into your throat. The front door was open. Wide open… any normal person would have stayed put. If the front door was open and you could hear someone moving around, not good to go blindly walking in. Then again, it’s not like you could call the police if anyone had broken into the house. You didn’t even know where the dang house was, let alone bring the police straight to a mafia base? Not smart.

You snuck further through the door a little further to see if you could catch a glimpse of whoever was in the house if anyone at all. Your heartbeat seemed to be right in your ears, and you felt as if your breathing was now the loudest thing on earth. You tiptoed around, hoping to at least get to the stairs and rush up to Jihoon’s office unnoticed and some backup. After all, someone breaking into a base of a mafia by themselves doesn’t really stand a chance at all. If there were others…now that’s a different story. You had almost made it to the base of the stairs when you heard someone whisper your name. you physically jumped upon hearing it and whipped around to see none other than Hoseok standing there. Your Hoseok…Monsta X’s Wonho, standing in Seventeens base home.

           “What are you doing here?” You whisper, not moving an inch from where you stood.

           “I came to get you.” Hoseok whispered, moving closer towards you.

           “Uhhhh… no thanks?” you whispered. “you need to go, Jihoon’s still here!”

           “I know, that’s why you have to come quick, he won’t notice for a while if we go now.” Hoseok whispered in a rush, already making a move towards the door.

           “Hoseok, I’m not going to leave.” You stated.

           “Why? They kidnapped you, I’ve been planning to come get you today ever since the ball.”

           “Because even if I do get out, I can’t just go back to my normal life. Not now, not ever. I’m stuck like this forever now, there’s no point in running away.”

           “But you could at least come with me and stay with someone you actually know. The other guys in my gang are super nice.” Hoseok explained.

           “But Seventeen is just as nice, I like it here with them. Plus, if you take me, that will just ruin the relationship between the two groups.” You whispered, still worried Jihoon would come down and find Hoseok in his house. “How did you even find me?”

           “I’ve been tracking you for years now. I knew the exact moment you got tangled up with seventeen. I knew when Mingyu kept coming to your café that something was up. I should have pulled you out before anything happened but I was too late. It was a bit harder to find you after seventeen had taken you to their base, but I found you eventually.” Hoseok explained, moving away from the door and closer to you once he realized you weren’t going to follow him.

           “Wow, that’s…that’s really creepy.” Was all you could say.

           “Look, I didn’t come all this way to leave without you, (y/n).” Hoseok said in almost a growl. Now you were starting to get a little freaked out. The Hoseok you knew in high school was so different from the Hoseok you were seeing now. It was starting to scare you. You were contemplating running up the stairs to get to Jihoon, but right as you were about to bolt up the stairs, Hoseok grabbed your arm, yanked you back and clamped his hand over your mouth. You tried to break free but he was to strong compared to you. There was no way you were going to be able to break free. You thrashed around, hoping that your thumbing against the floor would catch Jihoon’s attention, but you had the feeling he had his headphones on to fully focus on their mission. Amidst the horrible feeling of being betrayed by your once close friend and not being able to break free, you were being kidnapped again. You shouldn’t have even been kidnapped once, why did you have to say again. Before you could put up even more of a fight, a cloth was held against your face. You held your breath for as long as possible while you tried to pull your face away from his strong grip, but eventually you had no other choice but to breath into the cloth, leading you to black out not much longer.

           When you woke up you were met with a very familiar feeling. The familiar feeling of waking up sore, confused and very, very unhappy. You had been kidnapped yet again. However, this time you felt a little calmer than before. You didn’t wake up in a car this time around though. You woke up in a bed in a rather small room. You sat up and rubbed your temples, becoming painfully aware of the throbbing headache. You rolled out of the bed and headed towards the door and were surprised when you found the door to be unlocked. You slowly opened the door and poked your head out and glanced around. You could hear people talking downstairs, but other than that there was nothing else. The halls were empty save a few shut doors and big windows. You slowly crept over towards the stairs and peered over the railing, trying to get a better view on where you were. You couldn’t believe you had gotten kidnapped again. Right under Jihoon’s nose as well. Was Mingyu going to think you ran away? Both him and Joshua knew you had been thinking about it… were the going to come look for you? Would they even bother to look for you? It’s not like you were technically part of their gang, in all honesty, you were essentially dead weight to them. Maybe Seungcheol would be glad to finally have you off his hands.

           You stood at the top of the stairs, contemplating what you should do. Should you stay in your room and refuse to come out, try and make a break for a door or window and escape, or just walk down in and see all the members of Monsta X again. Eventually you decided to go downstairs and just see what happens. If you saw a place to get out, you’d go for it. Even if you had no idea where you were, getting out would be a good start. If you didn’t find a way out, maybe you would be able to get in contact with seventeen somehow through one of the members. If these two gangs really were as close as they’ve said before, there should be a way they contact each other. Maybe you would be able to get a message to them and let the seventeen members know who had you. Whether your idea was complete impossible and dumb, it was better than anything. Then again, you thought as you slowly crept down the stairs, if Hoseok could track me so long, seventeen should be able to find me, right? After all, if Jihoon really was as good as tracking and Joshua said he was, shouldn’t he be able to find you? So many thoughts were swirling through your head you hadn’t even realized you’d already made it to the room were all the voices had been coming from. You stood in the frame of the door as you stared at seven boys, who were looking back at you.

           “Oh, you’re up.” Hoseok declared.

           “Yah.”  You replied, all nervousness leaving you and becoming replaced with annoyance. “Take me back home please.”

           “Home?” Hoseok repeated. “How did that place become your home?”

           “Probably the same way this place became your home.” You said, frustrated.

           “Then you should easily be able to adjust to this place and make it your home. You’ll be happier here, honest.” Hoseok declared.

           “Yah right.” You said before turning and heading upstairs. However, something caused you to stop at the foot of the stairs and listen. A little bit after you had left the room you heard hushed voices talking.

           “Wonho, I still don’t think we should keep them here.” A voice said.

           “I know what they mean to you, but maybe you can just let them go back to their normal life? They don’t have to go back to seventeen…” you wanted to stay around and here the rest of their conversation, but upon hearing the scrap of chair legs and footsteps you quickly launched yourself upstairs so no one would find out you had been listening in on their conversation. You sat down on the edge of your bed and ran your fingers through your hair. It’s not like anything bad was happening to you, but god you wanted to leave. You wanted to go home. Not your original home, no, you wanted to go to your home were your family was. Where Seventeen was.

  They broke into the town in the early morning when people were starting to get out and go about their daily tasks. In a city such as this, there were two objectives: to replenish their supplies and to search for any mutants. Dan was always in charge of the latter. Stray mutants could be anywhere, from locked away in a prison to living life normally, their powers either so weak that they could be easily hidden, or ones that weren't obvious at sight. Jordan could have lived in a city, going about normal life and no one would ever question her. Dan wondered why she didn't.

  He scowled, walking a little faster. That wasn't him, he knew why Jordan didn't stay with the humans. They were cruel, they massacred mutants, she was better off with others of her kind.

  He stopped at a fountain, still running despite the cold. He held his hands up, closing his eyes and imagining it frozen. Solid ice, held up only by its own stubbornness.

  He opened his eyes. The fountain was still going, not even a little bit of it frozen.

  Dan kept walking, keeping an eye out for anti-mutant propaganda. He turned into a busy street, and watched each person carefully, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  He hated them. The humans, living their lives normally while Dan was forced to migrate, walking from city to city in the cloak of darkness, never being able to call anyplace a home besides the tent he folded and unfolded day after day after day. At one time, he'd lived a life that was almost normal. He was an outcast from society, but he was still a part of it. And they couldn't even let him have that.

  He made his way all the way through the busy street and turned a corner, pretending to know where he was going. He followed the street until it lead to a dead end, with graffiti art covering the walls.

  Dan knelt next to some of the text, trying to read it but it appeared to be in a different language. The only word he could pick out was 'mütantes', which he could guess was mutants.

  He stood and turned around, and for the first time, realized he wasn't alone in the alley.

  Four masculine looking figures blocked his path. One stepped forwards and barked at him in a language he didn't speak. But he could interpret: 'You don't belong here, so we're going to capture you/kill you/feed you pancakes until you explode.' Dan didn't know what the threat actually was, but he knew a threat when he heard one.

  He looked around the alley. Some tools were strewn to the side, and he walked over slowly, his hands raised in surrender. The human leader shuffled, not quite sure what to make of it.

  Dan picked up a wrench from the tools, feeling it, but it was too short. He considered just hefting the whole box when something underneath it caught his gaze. He moved the box and pulled the long, black crowbar free, testing out its weight in his hands. It must have been some sort of metal because it packed a significant amount of weight.

  Dan turned and swung. The crowbar hit the first person in the head and they fell backward, unconscious. Dan reared the metal bar back again as the other three men scattered, and he swung it over his head, hitting another one of them as they cried out in the other language.

  Dan grinned. His powers were gone, maybe temporarily, maybe... long term. But he wasn't weak. He had his cause, and he would fight for it until his last breath.

  For the first time since the incident, he felt like himself again.

  There was blood on his face, he realized, but he didn't care. Dan grinned, the grin of a madman but he didn't care because he was tired of being taken care of, tired of being weak and tired of being helpless. He was a force of nature.

  Even without his powers.

 Someone shouted his name, and Dan swung one last time, downing the last person, their hands on some sort of communication device from their belt. They fell limp, and a person talked frantically through the device in that other language.

  Dan straightened, checking that all of them weren't moving. Only then did he turn and look Mandy in the eyes.

  She was standing still in shock. "What happened?"

  "They cornered me." Dan knelt and used the fabric of one of the men's cloaks to wipe the blood from his crowbar.

  Mandy knelt, and carefully pressed his ear against one of the human's chests. "He's dead."

  Dan didn't say anything.

  "You killed them."

  "I know." Dan hooked the crowbar in his belt, hiding it under his cloak. "We need to go. They called for backup, I don't know how much information-"

  "Okay." Mandy stood, brushed off her own cloak, and took one last look at the bodies before looking up at him. "I'm sure they deserved it."

  Her tone was so full of malice and anger that Dan wondered what the humans had done to her. Their camp full of mutants was a camp full of stories no one dared to tell, memories of anger and injustice that has been swirling around for so long without an outlet that eventually, the anger became benign and turned to a grim sort of outlook. Dan didn't have that outlook because he still had that anger, and was willing to use it to get revenge. Phil didn't have that outlook because he refused it, instead insisting upon being caring and happy, spreading literal warmth wherever he went. And Mandy didn't have that outlook either, perhaps because all of her scars were too fresh. Humans had done her a great injustice, and she still had that fresh anger, the sense of /How dare they?/

  They hurried out of the alley, and literally collided with someone. Dan was about to retrieve his crowbar when he felt the burning touch, and stepped back, processing his face. "Phil!"

  "We have to go," he was saying, "Something with Jordan. We've been found out."

  He grabbed Dan's hand and pulled him towards the alley when Dan almost shouted: "Wait!"

  "What?"

  "It's a dead end," Mandy explained, giving Dan a look. "Come on, this way!"

  With Mandy leading, the sprinted away, their hands still intertwined. Phil's touch was very warm, but not painful. Dan took it as a good sign, that if he still had some resistance to temperature then maybe his powers weren't completely gone after all.

  They ran at full speed, cloaks billowing behind them. Mandy lead them through the streets with a painful amount of familiarity, taking them on the back roads that kept them out of the large crowds of people. Finally, they found their entry spot- a hole in the city wall where a few of the large stones had been reduced to confetti that read 'happy birthday!', courtesy of PJ. Mandy slid through first, as lithe and agile as a fox, and Dan and Phil quickly followed suit. They barreled into the forest, still sprinting as Mandy drew her bow and notched an arrow in it, glancing behind them to make sure they weren't being followed.

-----

  The creek was small, but it had cold water that moved relatively fast, which were both good signs that it was clean. Dan and Phil sat by it, and Phil dipped his fingers in the water before carefully wetting Dan's cheek. "Who cut you? Your cheek is still sort of bloody."

  Dan didn't answer, instead staring at the stream as Phil continued to wash off the blood. Finally, he pulled up the edge of his cloak and wiped the last of the blood away, revealing Dan's normal skin, devoid of any scratches or cuts. "Oh," he said as he realized.

  Dan played with the crowbar next to him, trying to line it up so it was perfectly perpendicular to the stream. "They were humans," Dan explained.

  "Was it self-defense?"

  Dan inhaled. "You could call it that?"

  He exhaled as Phil rested his head on his shoulder, as if he was too tired to even hold it up anymore. "Okay," he said quietly, as if giving in. "Let's just call it self-defense then."

  They stared at the stream, the clear water trickling over smooth stones, only a few centimeters deep at best.

  "I made myself a promise," Phil started, still staring at the water. He radiated warmth, and Dan never wanted him to move, never wanted to be without that warmth again.

  "Yeah?" he said, a little more quietly than he'd intended.

  "Mm-hmm. I said that if you survived- the whole frostbite thing, after you passed out and we weren't sure if you'd be okay- I said that if you survived that, I would let you teach me to control my powers."

  Dan considered this. "And you still want me too?"

  "Yeah. I... I don't know. Part of me wants to learn. I've always admired you for your control, I don't know if you knew that. But I find it pretty amazing. You just... you could always bend the cold to your will, and though I didn't always agree with it..." he took a shaky breath, "I do think it's pretty amazing."

  Dan always could bend his powers to his will. The past tense ached, like a sore muscle that had just been worked a little too hard. Dan swallowed dryly. "Thank you."

  He rested his head against Phil's, sighing. He didn't deserve Phil, deserve his wholesomeness and kindness and the way he radiated love just as easily as he radiated heat. He truly didn't deserve him.

  But he had him anyways.

Next Chapter -->

The silence in the apartment after the bedroom door clicked shut was a physical presence, thick and suffocating. It was broken only by the ragged, choked sounds of Wally’s sobs as he crumpled into himself on the floor. The Titans stood frozen, spectators to a devastation they had engineered.

Roy’s hands, usually curled into fists, hung limp at his sides. The conviction that had fueled him—the righteous anger at protecting a victim—had evaporated, leaving behind the cold, hard truth: he had helped his best friend drive a knife into his own brother’s heart. “Wally…” he started, but the name was just a helpless breath. There were no words.

Tim was pale, his logical framework lying in ruins around him. He had been so clever, so sure of the puzzle. He had reduced a man to a variable, a brother to a threat, and the result was this human catastrophe shuddering on the floor.

It was Victor who finally moved, his large frame seeming to diminish in the oppressive atmosphere. He walked to Wally, not with words, but with a simple, solid presence. He knelt, placing a heavy hand on Wally’s shaking shoulder. It wasn’t absolution; it was an anchor in a void.

“We should go,” Garfield said, his voice uncharacteristically small. “We… we shouldn’t be here.”

It was the only thing left to do. They gathered their scattered belongings from the living room with a quiet, grim efficiency. There were no goodbyes. As they filed out the front door, the last thing they saw was Wally, still on the floor, being gently pulled to his feet by Victor and Roy, his face a mask of utter desolation.

The latch clicked shut, and for the first time in days, the apartment was truly, terribly quiet.

—

Inside the bedroom, the air was still. Wes stood rigid by the bed, his arms locked around his torso, holding himself together. He was dimly aware of Sam leaning against the door, a silent sentry.

“They’re gone,” she said after a moment, her voice low.