Still, the roof tops are fairly boring at this time of day, before the real weird Supers come out and long after any civilians are working up high.

Erik’s been on Timo recently about practicing, so Timo decides that’s as good a way as any to pass the time. He’s gotten better for sure, good enough to feel the conductive channels through the thick concrete, electrical wires and metal pipes. Erik claims that he wants Timo to be good enough to feel someone’s exact brainwaves, but that’s a bit of a reach.

He hasn’t told Kevin about that particular goal because he thinks it sounds deranged, but Kevin’s been very supportive of Timo practicing. Timo assumes that’s because he enjoys Timo’s growing control; it’s made rolling around in bed a good deal less hazardous for all of Kevin’s sensitive bits.

Timo frowns and texts Kevin again. There’s no answer. He texts the group chat, asking if anyone else has heard from Kevin.

His earbud crackles to life. Erik’s voice comes softly through as he directs, “Wait for Antti and Tomas. They’re in the area. Let them go in dressed normally and ask the front desk. Call Kevin and see if he answers. He probably just got caught up in work again.”

“Okay,” Timo acknowledges, hitting dial on his phone. It rings, but to no avail. The voicemail sound beeps in his ear and he falters. “Hey, babe, where are you? I’ve been waiting for you for about fifteen minutes. You’re worrying Tomas. It’s fine if you have to work late, just call me back and let me know.”

He hangs up and stares at the screen for a moment, watching minuscule rain drops fall on the glass. He calls again and gets sent to voicemail again.

He turns to his team. “Erik?”

Erik’s voice comes through his ear bud. “I switched your comm off while you were on the phone. Tomas and Antti are in the building, going up to Kevin’s floor. Simmer’s nearby somewhere. They were all grabbing dinner together before I called them in.”

“Tomas is with Kevin’s coworkers,” Antti says suddenly. “I’m on my way to the security office to see if there’s anything They might have seen.”

“Be careful,” Timo and Erik say together. Antti doesn’t audibly scoff, but Timo still winces. He hates when they treat him like he needs protection. He’s competent, Timo knows, but he was also their team rookie long before any of them had powers. It makes some things more complicated.

“They thought he went home,” Tomas says slowly, quietly. “His bag was still at his desk. I saw it.”

“Okay,” Erik says calmly, like Timo’s heart isn’t in his throat. “Sweep the bathrooms and then—“

“We have a problem,” Antti interrupts frantically. “I’ve got three security guards in the hall who are knocked out. One of them is bleeding from the back of his head.”

“Get out,” Erik says, voice hard. “Both of you out now.”

“Wait,” Antti says, “I’m already here. The office door is open.”

The rain is coming down harder now, dripping down the back of Timo’s uniform and chilling him as he crouches there on the roof. The uniform is waterproof, but his hands and head are exposed and getting increasingly cold. He feels cold inside too, fear stealing his breath away.

“There’s a lot of screens,” Antti says slowly. “I don’t know see how to rewind it, but there are a decent number of cameras spread throughout the building. A lot of them are in common areas, so if Kevin was in a bathroom we wouldn’t see him going in or anything probably?”

“Here,” Tomas’ voice breaks through. “Give me one minute.”

“I’m not giving you any fucking time,” Erik repeats. “Get out.”

There’s silence and then quiet cursing through the comms. “It’s the Super from before,” Antti says. “We’re leaving, Erik, but the hallway to the security office had cameras and the Super hit the guards and didn’t even bother to hide any evidence. He just wanted them silent while he did whatever he was going to do.”

“He was in the elevator,” Tomas says. “Going down. Then they both disappear from the video.”

Timo hears Antti arguing with Tomas distantly, something about the guards and medical help.

Timo leaps off the roof, pushing up to get a better view. He waits to see if Tomas and Antti make it out, hovers there impatiently. There’s too much noise in the city to hear any individual, even with enhanced senses. He taps his fingers together to feel the electric sparks, over and over and over.

There’s a ripple in the darkness below and Erik’s voice rings in his ear sharply. “Timo, get down here.”

Timo lands, too hard, sees the concrete give way slightly under his feet. “What?”

“The others are on their way, but we’re getting started now. We have to search from the last known location and we have to be careful. We don’t want to spook whoever has him.”

Erik waits until Timo stops bouncing on his toes. “Tap into their electrical supply. See if you can find any areas that don’t seem to fit, maybe drawing too much power or too little.”

Timo looks around for a conductor and sees the utility box on the street. It’s as good a place as any to really dive into the city’s grid.

It’s not hard to reach into the city’s pulse, tracing the wiring outward strand by strand. It’s slow work, requiring focus. He’s not really seeing anything, not nearby at least.

“Anything?” Erik’s hand on his shoulder startles him. When he looks around, Antti and Tomas are outside, standing behind Erik.

“No, nothing.”

“Okay. Antti, was there anything on the external security cameras?”

“No, no, like I said, they went in the elevator and went down and then never came out. At least not somewhere with cameras.”

“Okay, so probably underground storage or parking or something. Simmer and I will check it out.”

“I’m coming with you,” Timo blurts out, gripping Erik’s arm too tight. Erik stares at him, too long, and then sweeps him into the shadows.

The dizzying feeling never gets better, but Timo’s used to it. He knows to breathe slowly when they walk out the other side, steps echoing on some basement area paved with stark concrete. There’s no one around, but they’re still trying to be quiet. Simmer slowly comes into view, just behind Erik’s shoulder.

“Well,” Erik says very tightly, “not much guesswork here.”

Timo follows his pointing finger to see the three muddy footprints leading to a slight fold in the concrete wall. “Shit.”

“I’ll go,” Simmer says abruptly. “I’ll see where they went.”

“What?” Erik and Timo speak as one.

“I can go through the wall. Not like that Super obviously, but I can feel my way through.” He places his hand on the wall and sinks it in. “I can tell where it’s been disturbed.”

“No,” Erik says, hand wrapping around Simmer’s free wrist swiftly. “It’s too dangerous. You won’t be able to breathe.” And Timo’s heart stops because that means Kevin wouldn’t be able to breathe either.

“Most walls are a foot. I can find the way. We just need a direction and then we can go.”

“Please,” Timo begs, voice hitched with unshed tears. He doesn’t know which one he’s begging.

“Take Timo back. Meet me on the other side of the wall.”

Erik closes his eyes for a moment, squeezing Simmer’s wrist. “Okay.” He shakes his head. “But one wall at a time and you back out if you can’t feel the other side.”

“Go,” Simmer says, twisting his wrist free, eyes focused on the wall in front of him. Timo can see him squaring his shoulders and he knows what this is costing Simmer, understands the risks he’s taking.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like you’re scared of heights?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first step is to get free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ward. I’m here to keep you safe.”

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

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

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

“That’s your...boyfriend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop,” Kevin hisses. 

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would another person holding him help?”

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

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

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

“You’ll be fine. I recommend, uh...”

“Ultraviolet,” Simmer says briefly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can hold him?” Simmer asks skeptically.

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

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

“Okay.”

“Ready? Hold your breath.”

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

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

“Again,” Simmer says. 

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

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

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

“Oh.”

“Don’t have time,” Simmer says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go,” Kevin grits out. “I’m ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Coffee?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simmer rolls his shoulders, satisfied and a little smug. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You seem to know my name,” Kevin says, “but I don’t know who the fuck you are.” Glowing mildly is not a credential and Kevin is wide awake and alert for once. 

“I’m Antti.” His cheerful expression drops suddenly and Kevin steps forward when he suddenly gets even more pale. “Uh, Foxfire.”

Kevin realizes suddenly that this Super just revealed his real name. Accidentally. And is now about to hyperventilate. 

“Foxfire,” Kevin says, nodding rapidly. “Do you want to split breakfast?” He looks Foxfire in the eyes seriously, trying to convey how very much he is not going to tell anyone. 

Foxfire, or Antti, looks pitifully grateful. He nods and opens the bag, holding out for Kevin. There are actually a few different bagel options plus cream cheese. 

“Let’s sit for a minute,” Kevin suggests. He herds the Super to a nearby bench. “Much easier to spread cream cheese that way.”

They divvy up the bagels relatively quickly and use the little plastic knives to saw each bagel in half.

“I’m new to this,” Foxfire says quietly, eyes trained only on his bagel as he dips the knife in the cream cheese. “I’m not very good at it.”

He sounds so disheartened and wobbly that Kevin can hardly stand it. “Hey, no, you’re doing just fine. I’m not going to say anything. It’s like you said, you’re a friend of a friend. We can trust each other. Right?”

Foxfire nods hastily. “You can trust me. I told—Blue I would take my turn looking out for you. He said sometimes you get grumpy when you’re hungry.” He claps a hand over his mouth like that wasn’t supposed to come out, but Kevin just laughs.

“He’s right. Also if I’m sleepy or thirsty or bored.” It’s sweet that this rookie Super brought him breakfast to butter him up. He can’t even get the interns to grab him a coffee yet. “Alright. You going to walk me to work? I know the trains are still blocked.”

“Yeah,” Foxfire says, good humor returning. “I’ll keep you company.”

He does, carefully talking around his teammates' real names. Still, Kevin’s detour took him out of his way and by the time he reaches the office, he’s late. 

He slides into his cubicle as quietly as he can, chucking his bag under his chair, but it’s to no avail.

“Kevin,” Patty calls sternly from his office. Kevin doesn’t know how the fuck Patty caught him sneaking in late when his office door is four inches of solid wood and he doesn’t have windows facing Kevin’s part of the office. Regardless, Kevin has to make an appearance in Patty’s office like he isn’t reluctantly dragging his feet. “Yes, boss?”

“Please have a seat.”

Kevin settles gingerly into the chair in front of Patty’s desk. He keeps his mouth shut and tries to look contrite.

He’s not expecting Patty’s whole demeanor to soften. “Are you okay? It’s very uncharacteristic for you to be late.”

“I’m fine,” Kevin assures him, mildly bewildered.

“If you need to take some leave, you should,” Patty insists. “You’ve been working long hours on the latest client file, but the team can pick up your slack if you need a few days.”

Kevin can’t help it. He snorts. “Sorry, Pat, I am not letting Tim mess up every single figure while Jake sends the client the wrong date for interviews and Noah makes useless, upset noises at them both.”

“They would survive for a few days,” Patty asserts dubiously. 

“I’m fine, Pat. You need me.” 

Patty frowns and then opens up the drawer on his left. “If you insist. Here’s the revised report for you. The debrief summary needs to be fixed before we can close that account permanently.”

Kevin skims the file notes and groans. He knows those charts make no sense, so the underlying figures and data need to be re-examined. “I’ll get it fixed.”

He stops by Noah’s desk and chucks the file on his desk. “Tim’s charts are insane. I’ll take whatever you’re working on if you’ll take this.”

“I’m helping Dylan compile the interview list for his project,” Noah says. “He hasn’t done it before so he wanted me to walk him through it. I’ll let him know to come to you.”

“Sure,” Kevin shrugs. He’s helped with a couple trainings and he can get it done. 

It takes up most of his day, though it’s not Dylan’s fault. There’s an error that wipes the list they’re editing and it takes four emails and a coffee cake bribe to the Russian dude in IT to solve that. By the time they’re done, they’re both wiped out, but Kevin still has to go over Noah’s report before he can go home for the day. 

The office empties around him as he rewrites, reprints, and reorganizes the file. It’s his job to get the stupid folder on Patty’s desk and he’s going to get it done. Patty stops by his cubicle and rests a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Don’t stay too late.”

“I won’t,” Kevin promises. He actually manages to keep that promise for once. He’s out the door within a reasonable hour, though it is dark out. The Gritty alert is still in place, so Kevin just turns his collar up and trudges off into the cold night. He’s a little surprised that he doesn’t have a glowing shadow, though he shouldn’t become reliant on random Supers to get him home. He keeps a careful hand on the mace in his bag. No harm in being prepared. 

He’s still not expecting to turn the corner and walk almost right into a man standing there. He looks like a grey statue, almost invisible in the darkness. 

“Show me your hands,” the guy growls.

“What do you want?” Kevin asks, already backing away. There’s no one else around and the street is poorly lit. He fumbles with his bag, but he’s a little too slow. The man charges him and Kevin realizes the lunatic has a fucking knife. He swings his bag in front of himself and whips out the mace, spraying hastily. The man pauses, shakes his head, and then grabs Kevin and tackles him down.

Kevin lands badly, vision flashing white with pain as his arm twists underneath him. There’s a pop and Kevin played enough sports growing up to recognize a dislocated shoulder. 

The man says something else, but Kevin can barely breathe. He shakes his head and the man uses his grip on Kevin’s jacket to slam him into the pavement.

“Who do you work for?”

Kevin’s winded, gasping, completely useless. An invisible force carries the man off of him and several feet backwards. 

A voice near him says, “Kevin, don’t look!” urgently and then the sky lights up green and blue and pink. Kevin stares at the lights for a moment and then curls on his side to throw up.

The light fades slowly in his periphery as he heaves. Every motion jars his arm, the shoulder screaming. 

Warm hands pat his face and then slip underneath him to pull him up to sitting. He’s wheezing and coughing, probably looking absolutely disgusting, but Antti’s face in front of him is just worried.

Another face comes into view and Kevin absolutely flinches towards Antti. He’s all about not judging a book by its cover, but the book in front of him should probably be titled I Kill for Fun. Antti holds him still, though, says, “He’ll help.”

Serial Killer Face says grimly, “You’re gonna hate this so hold still.”

It’s inauspicious, but Kevin can’t do much but obey. The guy turns out to be absolutely fucking right because Kevin does hate the feeling of someone reaching into his shoulder joint and rummaging around. There’s a clunk, the invasive hand disappears, and Kevin pants stupidly on a filthy sidewalk. The sidewalk is where he lives now. He’s just going to lie down forever.

“No, you’re not,” a voice says from the shadows. Literally from the shadow where the building folds into the pavement. There’s no way it was deep enough to hide someone. The voice is undeniably European and the man who steps out is little more than a tall, dark void. Antti and his murder-eyed buddy don’t seem concerned, but Kevin has had quite enough.

“How fucking many of you are there?” he shrieks without an ounce of dignity. His mouth still tastes foul and bilious, his shoulder is still throbbing faintly, and his hair has just been rubbed in the grimiest street possible. He literally cannot handle any more.

“Rude,” the dark figure comments, almost curiously.

“He’s hurting,” Murder Eyes says quietly and firmly; Kevin decides this is an overture of friendship and he will accept it. Perhaps Murder Eyes will save him from this judgmental void.

“I just fucking want to go home.” He levers himself up, using Antti and holds his arm close so he can’t jar it any further. 

“I’ll take you home,” the dark figure says. “Better get ice on your...” he trails off and looks at Murder Eyes.

“Shoulder. Back of head. Maybe ribs.” He stares at Kevin, who is leaning on Antti. “Ribs.”

Antti hands him off and Kevin trusts him, if no one else. They shared bagels and secrets and that’s a bond of trust. 

He takes the void’s hand and feels the insane sensation of utter inky blackness wrapping itself around him. The darkness unravels just as quickly and then Kevin is staring at his own living room.

“What the fuck?”

“You wanted to go home,” the void says, walking Kevin to the couch and pressing him down. “Now stay put. If Ultraviolet thinks you need ice, you need ice.”

Kevin stays put. He might just sleep on the couch; he’s tired and sore and his bed seems very far away. 

The void perches on his coffee table in front of him and helps him apply the various ice packs. “So what exactly do you do?” He hands him a water bottle, which helps wash the foul taste from his mouth. 

“I’m an analyst,” Kevin says distractedly, trying to wedge an ice pack in the correct place on his back. “Hey, do you have a face? This is really weird.”

“Why would I show you my face?” The void tilts its dark head and Kevin can feel that it is disgruntled. 

“I’ve seen everyone else’s face,” Kevin points out. “And Blue Blaze said you have a moustache. I want to see it.”

The void puts its head in its large void hands. “I’m going to kill them all. How many Superhero Safety seminars can I arrange before they stop unmasking randomly?”

“That’s not fair,” Kevin protests. “It’s not like I added it to their Wikipedia pages.”

“Oh goody,” the void says dryly. “You just go around getting their real names and faces and we just have to trust you and hope no one tortures it out of you.”

Kevin pales slightly at that.

“Seriously, what is it that you analyze? Where do you work?”

“I do risk assessment,” Kevin says slowly. “My firm handles a lot of pre-insurance screenings for companies who are worried about Super damage.”

There’s a pause and then the void laughs at him. “Motherfuck,” the void says, almost in disbelief. The darkness drips away like oil sliding down, to reveal a rather roguish face. “You work in risk assessment and you just wander around the city alone with nothing more than mace? Are you even any good at your job?”

“Hey,” Kevin says, nettled. “I do good work. And I was doing a great job on the personal safety front until some bright blue menace decided to scare the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” the man apologizes and he does seem sincere. He holds out his hand and Kevin takes it in a weak handshake even though his shoulder protests. “I’m Shadow. I’m in charge of this band of idiots and you’re in danger. Tonight is actually the second time someone has come for you.”

“What?” Kevin drops Shadow’s hand.

“Blue Blaze handled the last one. We assumed it was a one-off, just bad luck, but this is looking worse. Is there a reason someone would be after you?”

“No. No, I don’t think so,” Kevin says numbly. He’s coming down from the adrenaline of the evening and he can hardly process anything. 

“Then we have to assume someone saw you with Blue and they’re after our team for some reason.” Shadow shakes his head, dark hair pooled around his shoulders. “Alright. I’m going to collect the team. You need to get some sleep.”