#snowdice

Virgil woke with what he quickly decided was the absolute worst headache he’d ever had in his entire life. 

And with how many times he’d woken up in varying degrees of pain, that was really saying something. At least he’d had morphine when he’d opened his eyes to a bullet wound. 

Now though, it felt like somebody had taken a meat cleaver to his skull, his head throbbing in time to his racing heartbeat, his whole body trembling and burning like he’d been dunked in lava. 

Jesus, he wasn’t even sure he could move. 

Virgil tried to open his eyes, quickly backtracking and squeezing them shut when even a sliver of dim light felt like a million tiny knives burrowing into his brain. 

He bit back a groan as a wave of nausea washed over him, overwhelming and awful as he lay perfectly still against something cold and hard. 

Hadn’t he been at school? He thought so. It had been the week from Hell- his foggy, pounding brain could at least piece that together. 

Between school work piling up as the year came to an end, stress from a new villain rising in power, and the fight with Logan, Virgil was--

Logan. 

This time, Virgil’s eyes did fly open, his sudden panic as memories came flooding back not nearly enough to smother the cry of pain as agony shot through his whole body at the movement. 

Logan had been right in front of him, calling to him from the car, panicked and afraid as arms wrapped around Virgil and dragged him into the dark. 

There’s been a stabbing pain in his neck, something cold and sharp pressing into his skin before he’d passed out. 

Oh god, had he been drugged? How long had he been out?

It couldn’t have been too long, he reasoned against the rising panic. Logan wouldn’t let him stay kidnapped for long. Logan would find him, kick the shit out of whoever had taken Virgil, and bring him home to a fretting Patton. 

It would be fine. It was ok. No need to freak out like a baby, Logan was probably on his way right now to--

“Are you awake, Shadow Caster?” 

That made Virgil freeze, panic intensifying because last time he checked he definitely was not wearing his mask. He’d just been trying to get home after band practice. 

There were feet suddenly moving in his line of sight, and Virgil shrank back out of instinct, tensing at the feeling of someone looming over him, in far too much pain to try scrambling away. 

 “Well, hey.” The man was crouching down, still too close and too tall, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut as he moved closer. “What’s the matter, Shadow? Scared?” 

It was that horrible sickly sweet tone, the one Virgil had heard so many times before that reeked of false kindness, drenched in eager giddiness at the power they had over him. 

Virgil couldn’t move from where he lay on the floor, and he was quickly realizing that wasn’t just from the fear. His body, aside from the lingering pain, felt heavy and cold, limbs slow and unresponsive. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said. “Do you prefer Virgil?”

Virgil felt like he was going to be sick, hearing his real name somehow so much worse, the reality of the entire situation hitting all at once, too many memories flooding back. 

He couldn’t even concentrate long enough to form anything more than a measly shadow against his ankle. Nothing that would be of any help. 

Virgil risked a glance up, furiously forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over at what he saw. 

It was the man from the news, the one Logan had been working tirelessly to track down. The one that clearly had no qualms with killing innocents. 

And he knew who Virgil was behind the mask. He’d taken him right in front of Logan. 

“What do you want?” Virgil asked in a breathy rush, cringing at how shaky his voice was. He couldn’t see most of his kidnapper’s face behind the black mask, but his eyes were practically glowing with amusement. 

“Here,” he said, and Virgil couldn;t even try to hold back the whimper that escaped when the man reached forward, shrinking back and shutting his eyes. “Let’s get you off the floor.” 

Virgil tried to protest, tried to kick and scramble away, tried to do anything in his power to make sure this man didn’t touch him, but in the end it was useless. 

Virgil’s body was still slow and uncooperative, and the man moved too fast. Before he knew it there was a hand fisted in his shirt, another squeezing his wrist, and Virgil was roughly yanked to his feet and dragged to the nearest wall, forced to sit up and lean against it. 

It wasn’t any better than laying on the floor, despite being a bit less vulnerable, and the sudden movements had only sent more bursts of stabbing pain through his body, stars dancing along his already hazy vision. 

He grit his teeth and said nothing, now staring resolutely at the man’s black jeans in front of him. 

“You’re sixteen, right?” the masked man asked. Virgil didn’t answer. “Poor kid. Do your parents know about your little bank robbing habit?” 

Virgil forced himself not to flinch, wishing he had the strength to curl up into a ball, feeling far too vulnerable and exposed. 

He barely went out as Shadow Caster anymore, spending the free time he did have training with Logan, and he definitely hadn’t stolen since moving in Logan and Patton. 

The man’s hand was suddenly moving without warning, too fast and too close to Virgil’s face, and he couldn’t fight back against a violent flinch this time, ears burning when the man laughed. 

“I don’t need to hurt you,” he said, a hand now rested on Virgil’s shoulder. It was too tight, too confining, to be anything even remotely gentle. “Your dad seemed real upset when I picked you up. We don’t want to keep him worrying much longer, right?” 

Virgil tired (and failed) to steady his breathing, dissolving mostly into hiccuping gasps, ignoring the nagging panic that came with each second Logan failed to make his entrance. 

He...he was coming, right? Virgil knew they’d fought that morning, and he’d been unfairly short tempered when he’d known Logan was already stressed but...but that wouldn’t mean…

Virgil didn’t realize he’d been hit until the pain registered, seconds after the deafening crack that rose up in the empty room, the man’s hand now missing one of his black gloves. 

“Are you paying attention to me, Shadow Caster?” 

It wasn;t the first time he’d been slapped, obviously, and definitely not the first time he’d heard that demand afterwards. Of course, this situation was arguably a bit different. 

He’d literally been kidnapped, he had no obligation to cower and submit to this adult’s wants. Logan was coming- he was. Virgil was still alive for a reason. He could afford to be defiant. 

But a bit of rational thought wasn’t nearly enough to erase a lifetime worth of conditioning. Virgil found himself pressing back even further against the wall, fighting to raise heavy, trembling hands up to block his face from another hit, unable to raise his eyes from the floor. 

“S-sorry,” he stuttered out, hating himself for turning so weak so quickly. He wondered, briefly, if Logan would be disappointed. “I...what do you want?” 

The man’s eyes practically lit up at the obvious fear, and Virgil shuddered under the weight of his excitement. He hoped his own expression wasn’t giving away how badly that slap had hurt. 

“I sent your friend Bluebird a nice little picture,” he said. “Figured he’d want to know the kid that used to follow him around had gotten into a little...predicament. Smart guy like him should be able to find our location, right?” 

Virgil forced himself to breathe, the mark on his face burning like acid. He had enough experience to know that it would probably leave a nasty bruise. 

“He’s...he’ll be here.” 

“Yeah?” It was impossible to tell for sure behind the mask, but Virgil thought the man was smirking. “You’ve already been here about two hours now.” 

Two hours? And Logan still hadn’t…

No. No. It was fine. It was all going to be ok. Logan would find him. He would. 

“He’ll be here,” Virgil repeated, barely audible, more for himself than anything. “And he’ll kick your ass.” 

Virgil expected the slap this time, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less, a new burst of pain exploding across his already throbbing cheek. 

“Tell you what,” the man said, casually, like Virgil wasn’t hunched over himself and fighting back tears. “Let’s make a deal, ok? Just in case he doesn’t.” 

Virgil didn’t answer, just stared resolutely down at his feet, shivering  and uselessly trying not to dissolve into sobs. 

God, he just wanted to go home. 

“I’ll let you go right now,” he said. “All I need is the Bird’s name. His real name. Tell me who he is, and you’re good to go.” 

And there was no way in hell Virgil was ever going to accept that. It wasn’t even a question. Not for a second. 

He was just glad this guy was apparently too stupid to connect Virgil’s recent adoption with the superhero’s identity. 

“No,” he spat, and quickly cringed back when the man’s hand raised again. “Wh-why don't you just...figure it out yourself? You found me.” 

“It’s not hard to find some street kid, Shadow. Not if you try hard enough. Bluebird’s another story.” 

Virgil swallowed, fairly sure he could taste some blood in his mouth as he hunched his shoulders and braced himself, knowing what was coming. 

“I don’t know who he is.” 

It was a fist that connected with his face this time, real anger finally leaking through the man’s giddy facade, and Virgil definitely tasted blood now. 

 “Don’t lie to me, kid.” 

“I-I’m not--” 

He honestly couldn’t tell if he’d been punched again, all of the pain was starting to blend together into one horrible wave of agony. But even as he feels himself roughly shoved to the ground, something digging into the back of his neck, his answer never changed. 

He was used to beatings. He could...he could take it. And yeah, maybe he’d gotten used to living under Logan and Patton’s safety the last year. Maybe it was worse because there was absolutely nothing stopping this man from killing him in seconds. 

But there wasn’t a second where he considered giving Logan up. Because even if he died...Logan would be ok. The only people to ever show him a shred of kindness in his life would be safe. 

And that was...that was…

He didn’t even have time to finish his thought before the weight on top of him was ripped away, the sudden change in pressure only making the pain flare up worse than before, and Virgil cried out in alarm. 

There were noises around him, too far away to make out, and much too loud to bring any semblance of calm. There were voices, he thought, angry and demanding, followed by deafening crashes and thuds. 

Had he done something wrong again? Everything hurt so bad and he couldn’t lift his head to even see where he was anymore. He shouldn’t be this weak. He should be able to get up and run while he could. He needed to get away, he needed--

There was a crash, louder than any of the other sounds, and Virgil thought he heard someone scream. A second later, he realized it could have been him. 

But the crash had definitely been close this time, like someone had hit the wall right above him, and Virgil used what was left of his fading strength to curl into himself, doing what he could to protect his face. 

Something sharp scraped against his arms and legs as he moved, stabbing pain joining the rest of the constant hurt, but he didn’t pay it any mind. 

And then, despite the fact that he hadn’t opened his eyes or lifted his head, Virgil is painfully aware of a presence making its way back towards him, looming over him, ready to hurt him all over again. 

But he wasn’t giving this guy any answers. 

“Virgil--” 

“I-I’m...I’m not telling you who-who he is, I’m not--” 

Oh god, Virgil can’t breathe. He can feel the panic rising up, stronger than the pain and drowsiness, and his chest aches with his labored, frantic breaths. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder and Virgil couldn’t help the sob that escaped as he flinched back, back slamming into the wall. 

“Please d-dont.” He was begging now, desperate and scared, unable to stop himself. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me I’m--”

“Virgil, it’s me.” The hand loosened slightly, but didn’t let go. “It’s just me. I found you, you’re safe.” 

And that...that sounded like…

“Look at me, Virgil. Please. I...I need to see that you’re alright.” 

Virgil found himself obeying, not moving from where he was curled up on the floor, but glancing up just enough to see Bluebird on his knees in front of him, gloved hand on Virgil’s hoodie. 

He couldn’t remember deciding to speak, barely able to hear his own pitiful voice. But it was there all the same, small and unsure. “D...dad?” 

There’s a beat of silence, Bluebird--Logan-- watching him with poorly concealed worry, before he clears his throat and replies. 

“Hello, Virgil. I assume you’re ready to go home.”

Virgil had broken down within seconds. He didn’t bother to hold back any sobs this time, still not strong enough to move from the floor, but Logan quickly gathers Virgil in his arms, murmuring frantic reassurances and what sounded like apologies. 

Logan held him close to his chet, Virgil pressed close enough to hear his heartbeat, fast and strong and real.