Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know, I’ve always said one of the best things you can do for a kid is give him a chance to kill his father.”

Grant had laughed through his tears when Roy had said that over a dessert campfire.

Cavalry had an odd sense of humor; he’d known that from their very first meeting in the crater of downtown Atlanta: “Hey kid, come with us if you want to evade arrest.”

Except, he hadn’t been joking.  Grant was so happy he hadn’t been joking.  He’d never felt so content or satisfied.

There was something therapeutic about stalking his begging, bleeding boogeyman as he dragged himself through the rubble.

Turns out becoming a freak was the best thing to ever happen to him,  Go figure.

“Please,” Emerson wheezed as Grant caught up to him with his leisurely strides.  The Tyrants had taught Grant the virtues of taking things slow, and breaking John’s legs allowed him to do just that.

Kate just cried, furious sobs wracking her body where he’d left her propped up, watching.  She never seemed to do anything but watch, so why should now be any different?

She’d never even cried for him.  Some parents.

“’Please?’” Grant parroted, kicking the man over onto his back.  He wanted to see the fear in his eyes.  “Did please ever stop you, Dad?”

Before the man could reply, Damage planted his boot on the man’s chest – softly enough, by his standards.  He wasn’t done talking.

“Dad.  What a joke.  Give me one reason I shouldn’t literally crush you under my heel!”  For a moment, only sobs and labored breaths filled the air.  Emerson’s eyes scrambled madly, seeking salvation he supposed.  Anything to escape Grant.

Tough shit.

Just before he was about to crush his foot down, a lightbulb seemed to go off.

“I can tell you where you come from.”

That made him pause.  He’d always wanted to know, hadn’t he?

Of course, Damage didn’t let any of that show on his face.  He was a supervillain now- he had to be cool and menacing, like Cavalry and Tempest and Deira.

Instead, he tilted his head to the side and raised his brow.  “Oh, really?  You can tell me if I’m Irish or German?”

Distantly, he heard Caprice snicker.  Having backup was nice, but he appreciated getting to do this on his own.

The man pinned beneath him had the audacity to bark out a single laugh but swallowed it in a groan as it jostled his wounds.  Good.

“Greek, brat- your real parents are all Greek.” He tried to grin up at him, sharp and cruel like he always did.  It only made his skin crawl a little.  It made Grant increase the pressure bearing down on him that much more.

The bastard was panting harder now struggling to form his words, “S-Savage told us, when he gave you over- in case they ever came looking-”

From the scream Emerson let out, it seemed like he’d broken a rib.  It had been an accident, but not one Damage minded.  It was like music to his ears; had his heart racing in a distinctly good way again.

“Aj-ax!  Your real father is Ajax!”

‘Ajax’, huh?  Grant could honestly say he’d never heard of him.  It made sense he’d be a cape though- at least, he didn’t think Greek people usually went around with the name Ajax anymore.

Still.  He thanked Emerson with a smile as he brought down his heel and savored the squelch.

Odd thing is, none of the others seemed particularly excited, when he made his way back to the group, blood dripping from his shoe.  Caprice was missing, but the young, time displaced speedster was usually finnicky like that.

Cavalry sort of looked like he was trying not to freak out, when he’d been thrilled to watch the carnage unfold before.  Damage looked at him quizzically, receiving a strained smile in return.

Seriously?  What the hell was going on right now?

“So, erm, Ajax!  How do you…feel about that?”

Oh.  The teenager blinked.

“I mean, I don’t know.  It’s not like I really know who that is.”

“You…really haven’t heard of him huh?”  Roy’s nervous chuckling was starting to raise his hackles.  He could feel his hands starts to heat up.

“I mean, it’s nothing bad!  Just erm, last I checked that means your folks are alive, buddy.  And, well…”

“…He’s sort of the biggest villain of his country?”

----

They’d been trying to do the right thing.

No, no.  They had done the right thing.  They’d botched the right thing.

Who left children to be raised by monsters?  Who just stood by while more monsters were being made?

Of course they had to take advantage of the opportunity.

The Blackguard Guild of Europe had never held the international infamy of America’s Crime Syndicate: an older, more decentralized, and overall more traditional organization.  A crime family of crime families.

The very first supervillain mafia Vandal Savage had failed to crush in its infancy.

Cicada had given him the idea- the man’s final act as a superhero, before driven to ground by the Guild, had been to liberate Pitviper’s first born, Tiago.  He’d kept an eye on them from the shadows; seen how the child of a monstrous man was so indistinguishable from any other. 

He’d seen the gaping wound left in that monster’s empire- unstable, grieving; the illusion of his status as untouchable shattered.

Unfortunately, the Guild learned from Tiago’s abduction as well.  No matter how close an eye kept on their houses, Savage had yet had the opportunity to salvage any more of their children.

Instead, he’d settled for more delicate machinations.  Anything to crack the Crime Syndicate and the Blackguard Guild was worth it.

There were many necessary evils he regretted.  It was inevitable, he would like to think, in a life quite so long as his.

He didn’t regret planting his own sleeper agents among the medical staff Ajax kept in confidence.  He didn’t regret ordering them to tamper with Mariam Petrou’s prenatal supplements to induce labor- as soon as safe, and guaranteeing delivery while her husband was busy oversees, or administering more anesthetic than strictly needed.

There were plenty of stillborn in the region, and easy enough to switch the babe for a plausible corpse.

As he said- they had done the right thing, and Vandal Savage did not regret his actions.

What he did regret, the failure he could not deny as he watched a quarter of a city turned to ash in but a moment, was his own negligence.

Arrogance, perhaps.  That was the word some liked to use, those younger heroes who failed to grasp the big picture.  And yet, that was what had gotten them here, wasn’t it?  Only paying heed to the bigger picture.  Sixteen years, filled with evaluations and modifications, and no one noticed what he had intended to be Tomorrow’s Hero being forged into a monster.

He had the lingering impression that Vandal Savage would be able to linger in the shadows no more.

Chapter Text

The nice thing about having a small hoard of proteges was that the Gauffin house was never empty.

As he heard his front door slam open and whirlwind of red and black swept before him into the living room, the first Velocity reflected that this was also the trouble with having a small hoard of proteges.

“JERE, PERKELE!”

Pikki, then.  Mildly, and without looking up from his book, Jere flips the page.

“Maksim is going to wash your mouth out with soap, one of these days.”

“JERE I AM SERIOUS!  THIS IS IMPORTANT!”

“You’ve decided to spend more time forging alliances with your peers, and less playing lackey to a gang of Syndicate adjacent hooligans?”

“I CAN DO BOTH AND THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO ARGUE ABOUT IT!  ANYWAY, YOU KNOW HOW I MENTIONED CAVALRY PICKED UP THAT COOL BOMB KID-“

It had been difficult to ignore that being broadcasted on most news channels, yes.

“-WELL, THE REST OF THE TYRANTS GAVE HIM A SPEECH SO HE’D GO KILL HIS SHITTY DAD BUT APPARENTLY HE ACTUALLY GOT DAMAGE FROM SOMEONE NAMED CABBAGE-“

Wait, what?

“-WHO IM GUESSING GOT HIM FROM GREECE BECAUSE HE SAID HE’S ACTUALLY AJAX’S KID!”

“What?!”

Up in a flash, book tossed haphazardly to the side, Jere scrambled for his phone.

“I told you it was important!”

Grant had never been a fan of needles, but he was willing to go along with Talon’s insistence that blood would provide the greatest certainty for this.

The revelation that the Tyrants may have accidentally aided in the “perpetuation of theft from the Blackguard Guild” had all the senior members in regular shift rotation- in other words, all the original members he’d met at this point- making calls and rushing to have ironclad proof of Grant’s paternity, one way or another.  If that meant inviting Jesse Quick – at least she was always good company, but that seemed to be the norm for speedsters - to watch them draw his blood, then transport the sample to her paramour for testing, all the better.

Emerson was probably lying, anyway.  That’s what Grant tells himself.

You might think Owlman’s most prized and independent Talon would have poor bedside manner, but he appreciates the cold, impersonal touch.  It turns an ordeal of fussing and forced smiles into a fast, clinical transaction.

Cavalry was pacing - given the weapons master was the one to formally recruit Damage and oversee his training, he supposes he’ll be receiving most of the ire for this, if it becomes a scandal.  A sacrificial scapegoat, at the very worst.

He’s been reading up on his supposed father: nasty temper, explosive powers.

Just like me.

They could have handled this on their own terms if Caprice hadn’t run home and tattled to his predecessors.  He’d be giving the speedster the cold shoulder, if Silver hadn’t chased him off.

Toni was a good friend.

As silence reigned, he looked over first at Tempest, then at Deira: on opposite ends of the room, parked by either entrance, casually playing the role of bouncers.  They’d never been great with the kid aspect of Tyrant recruits, but they made for excellent teachers.

And, well, a rogue Atlantean battlemage and an Amazonian statue brough to life probably didn’t need social skills.

God, Grant’s life was so cool.

Now he just needed it to stay that way.

Yeah.  The test will prove Emerson was spewing whatever nonsense he thought would buy him time.

In a few hours, Grant told himself, this would all blow over.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” he called, tonelessly.  It was all he could do not to croak or scream it, at the moment.

Mariam stood behind him, hands giving his broad shoulders a squeeze.  To either side of his wife, his Teresa and her Alekos: a united front stood waiting in the wreckage of his office.

Really, he was surprised the walls had only craters, and not holes.

Dr. Adamis – thoroughly, psychically screened and hand selected 16 years ago, once Al’s previous medical staff had been dismissed -  opened and walked through the door.  Mildly surprising, Roman’s boy, Radek, was had not only lingered after delivering the sample retrieved from his filenada but presumed to enter his office alongside the other man.

He could wait, but with the mood Ajax was in, the new Hourglass had better have a good reason to intrude.

“Mr. Petrou,” Dr. Adamis nodded.  He knew the man well enough to be brief and to-the-point.

“Three consecutive tests indicate a 99.72% probability of paternity.”

The air felt as though it rushed from his lungs, Mariam’s nails suddenly digging into him as grip tightened.

He’d prepared himself for that answer.  Somehow, it didn’t feel real - didn’t feel possible – and maybe it still didn’t, with nothing but static buzzing behind his eyes.

How?

“Further testing has also confirmed that the subject shares mitochondrial DNA with Mrs. Petrou; in other words, the two at minimum share a matrilineal line.”

Their child had been stillborn.

Hadn’t he?

Hourglass cleared his throat, softly.  Ajax turned his eyes to glare, as if daring the young man to name anything that deserved his attention more than this.

Visibly suppressing a wince – smart boy, at the very least – he took a step forward, and Al now noticed that he held something of his own: a hard drive.

“My Jesse thought you’d want to see this, if it was true.”

Slowly, as if he were being handed a live wasp, Al reached out to take it.

“What is it?”

“According to her?  Everything known on his upbringing, and his Tyrants file.  She said…she said you’d need to be careful, when you approach him.”

God help him.

Chapter Text

Grant Albert Emerson.

He has been rolling the name around in his mind.  A fine enough one, he supposes, by American standards.

The fact its so different from what he and Mariam had planned stings, but then, what part of this doesn’t?  Al taps his fingers against the armrest of his seat.  His other hand is preoccupied with his wife’s.

Knowing her, he was very lucky not to be on the receiving end of her pantofla – she had wanted to hop on the jet immediately, dictating Teresa how to handle business while they go to Ameriki with Alekos as support.

Al had skimmed though the first page of his son’s file and stormed off to level a few buildings.  He wasn’t entirely proud of delaying their departure.

Grant Albert Emerson.

Nice enough or not, they would have to change it.  Emerson of course; what sort of baba would he be if he let that stand?

Hm.  Albert.  They already have two Alekos between him and his godson, but as a middle name it shouldn’t be obnoxious.

Grant Alekos Petrou.

Much better.

In a matter of hours, they’d get to meet him.

“I can see you panicking.”

He startles at Mariam’s words, jumping in his seat.  He whips his head around and finds her blues eyes looking straight through him.  Usually, it is a look he rather appreciates.

Now, he chuckles uneasily.

“Agapi mou, I have no idea-“

“Alekos.” Let it not be said Mariam had any trouble making him speak.

“I am panicking too.”

Oh.

“I am an idiot- Mari-“

“I am panicking too,” she continues, squeezing his hand in hers.  She doesn’t look panicked, but she rarely did.  His wife was strong as stone. “But we can panic later.  He needs us.”

Blessedly, she cracked a smile, “And little Alekos will need help wrangling us, if you are a cauldron boiling over.”

His giant of a godson snickered from across the aisle, while trying very hard to give the illusion he was ignoring them.  Al felt the ghost of a smile appear on his own face.

“Right as always, Mariam.” He squeezed her hand back.

It wasn’t all bad.

A cold comfort, yes, but their boy was safe for the moment; the Tyrants and Syndicate had both made it a point to assure they would keep it that way until Ajax could arrive to collect him.  They seem to have been treating him well, given there had been no profit in-

-in the event that brought this to light.  That was all that mattered right now.

He was also a bit relieved that his son had already chosen this life.  Al hardly envied Teo’s position, sweet as Tiago was.

Hopefully Grant didn’t take over a year to warm up to them.

No, no.  He had to stop worrying.  He’d make a good first impression.

Seven sleepless hours later, the Tyrants were not helping his nerves.  Or his fraying patience.

“Enough!  We did not come all the way here to make small talk!”

Ajax and Achilles had arrived at Tyrant’s Tower fifteen minutes ago (Mariam reluctantly agreeing to remain behind with her guards for the moment) and while the slow escort from reception to common areas and awkward chatter was tolerable, it had long since become suspicious.

Achilles cleared his throat, laying a massive hand on the shorter man’s shoulder.

“What we mean to say is, we have traveled far already – we would like to see Damage, now.”

Everyone in the room with half a brain understood it wasn’t an actual request.  Just because they were all playing nice out of respect didn’t mean that would hold true indefinitely.

Cavalry nodded his head up and down at them.

“Right, right, completely understandable.  The problem is… he sort of ran off.”

“WHAT?!”

“But we already know where is!  He just, erm, keeps turning things into bombs at throwing them at anyone who gets close?”

Achilles snapped his arm out to stop Ajax’s attempt at a lunge.  In the blink of any eye, Cavalry had instinctively drawn his bow in response.

For a tense moment, no one moved.

Through audibly gritted teeth, Ajax ground out, “Take me to him.  Now.”

It was safe to say that Grant wasn’t keen on going back to Greece with them.

Although watching his boy keep three more experienced supervillains at bay in the middle of the street, evidentially for hours, made a sense of pride bloom in Al’s chest.  Achilles looked more concerned.

He was considering how best to handle this when Grant looked his way.

The teen had been scanning his surroundings, doing his best to ensure no one could sneak up on him.  In doing so, his gaze landed on two figures he would have only seen in the news or plastered on a screen.

They’d seen plenty of pictures of him by now, but Ajax felt paralyzed for a moment. 

He really has my eyes, he though hysterically.

That was when the boy bolted.

The Atlantean and the Amazon were already racing after him by the time Cavalry shouting for everyone to ‘settle the hell down’ broke him out of his stupor.

Ajax joined the villains chasing Damage down, but it was Achilles who beat them all to him: growing stories high in under a minute, in two colossal steps he was close enough to reach down and scoop his godbrother into one giant hand.

Then let out a hiss of pain, the tell-tale crackling telling Ajax everything he needed to know.

Stubborn boy.  It would be less endearing if Al hadn’t known exactly where his son got it.

“Achilles!” He called out, hands cupped around his mouth, “Down here!”

Whether the giant followed his train of thought or not, he complied: crouching and shrinking enough to maintain his grip on Damage while making as short a possible climb Ajax.

The Tyrants present could only lament they would never get to mock the sight before them as the mighty menace of a mite clambered up.

Hurrying as his godson continued to hiss at the heat, Ajax reached out, grasping each of his son’s fists as they flared with atomic energy.

Just as he was hoping, he could easily absorb that energy.

“I was hoping that would work.”

He looked up at Grant, smiling slightly under his mask, then winced.  If he’d looked livid minutes ago, throwing light poles at people, now his son looked enraged.

That was when the yelling started.

Chapter Text

It does occur to him that your newly discovered sixteen year old alternating attempts to pull his hands out of your grip so he could blow you sky high with attempts to strangle you with his elbows is not what most would describe as ‘adorable’.

Ajax gave up on normal early on in life, to be fair.  

Everyone, both Achilles and the regrouped Tyrants, watched the two tussle, clearly uncertain of how and if to interfere.  Al instinctively swallowed a curse when Grant stomped down on his foot, never mind the fact his son is still swearing and shouting up a storm.

“If you think I’m going anywhere with you, you’re fucking crazy!”  Something Al has been accused of before, yes.

“Grant, yios, please calm-“

Grant headbutted him, cutting him off.  The problem was, with their height difference and the awkward angle it created, Grant ended up taking the bulk of that impact himself.  A glance up at the resulting curse confirmed that his nose wasn’t broken, at least.

“Are you alright?!”

“OH SCREW YOU!”

“Right.  Can I get some help here?”

Most of the others hesitated.  The bird ninja looking one – Claw?  No, Talon- produced a dart, tossing it to Cavalry.

The other redhead looked hesitant, but when Al didn’t object, he threw the thing like one would playing a few rounds at the taverna.  A single yelp and a minute later, Grant’s struggles slowed, his limbs visibly losing their strength.

Surprisingly, although to some relief, he retained consciousness even as he slumped, all but limp.  Ajax still didn’t let go, the occasional spark and ongoing grumbling leaving him certain his son would still be trying to fight him if he could.

As it was, Al was able to relax a bit: shifting so that Grant leaned on his shoulder despite his attempts to stand straight, breath labored.

“…’M gonna blow you up…”

“I will make you like me by then,” he joked, a bit dry.  All this excitement was interrupted only by a 13 hour flight– Ajax was not young anymore, and certainly did not feel spry.

For a moment, he considered the best way to move this along, before self-proclaimed superheroes or batsoi became brave enough to start trouble.  Then, shrugging, Ajax simply scooped Damage over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, to indignant squawking.

The boy could live with it – this way Al could move him quickly, diffuse any explosions he might manage through the haze of sedatives and was likely less embarrassing to a teenage boy than the princess carry.  That was his thought process.

Besides.  It was nice to hold him.

Gamo, he was getting soft.

“…traitorous jerks…”

Ajax turned to face the Tyrants.  He was pleased to see a few of them – the silver girl and Cavalry, predominantly - eye the grumbling teenager in brief concern.  If they had seemed like bad influences, he got the impression Grant would still refuse to sever contact.

He cleared his throat.

“Now that we are settled.. where are his things?”

A few hours later, Grant’s meager possessions had been packaged and loaded on the jet while farewells were exchanged with the increasingly incoherent Damage.

“Bye Grant!  Give me a ring once you get settled in!  And let me know if we need to kill this one t- mph!”

Nervously, Tempest slapped a hand over the girl’s mouth.  Ajax squinted at them menacingly, just for the principle of it, but appreciated the sentiment.

“FuCk off Toniiii” Grant whined as they – well, Al and Alekos, really – made their way up the ramp.  Childish, but he’d earned a bit of immaturity.

Everyone Grant had killed should thank the heavens, because they got off easy.

As the ramp behind them closed and they crossed into the seating area of the jet, Mariam sat waiting for them. As soon as she saw the boy slung over her husband’s shoulders, she jumped up from her seat.

“O thee mou!  Al, put him down!”

Obligingly, Al picked the nearest seat and set Grant down on it, swiftly laying a hand over his son’s as he sat down next to him.  At his wife’s questioning, slightly aggressive look, he grimaced as he pulled his mask off.

“Ah, Mariam, I am happy to report that I can keep our boy from making any explosions!” She continued to look at him as if he were a puppy chewing on the couch.  “…he was rather reluctant to leave with us.  He had to be given a mild sedative.”

Mild was likely an understatement, but to say his wife didn’t scare him at times would be an outright lie.  Better to spare them all her ire.

“…who’re you?” The grouchily mumbled words snapped both of their attention back to Grant.

They also sucked any levity from the air.  

Mariam briefly shuddered, nearly overcome.  Al couldn’t bring himself to answer for her.

“Oh, Grant…” her English faltering; slowly, her hands came to cup his face, turning it up so their eyes met.  “I’m your mother, my boy.”

For a moment, it seemed Grant’s breath caught in his chest, struck silent.  His jaw fell open -

-only to snap shut as he jerked his head away.

No one spoke.

After a few seconds, the jet shuddered, suggesting takeoff was imminent.

It seemed to snap them all out of a stupor: Al reached to buckle in Grant and then himself into their plush seats; Mariam moved to sit on their son’s other side.  

Once strapped in, she layed one gentle hand on his arm.  Grant swallowed, resolutely staring off into space.

Across the aisle, Al noticed his godson sat tense in his custom seat, ostentatiously engrossed in a paperback.

Things will be better when we get home.

Al looks out the window, sighing.

In only another 12 or so hours…

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, the sedatives did not last a full 12 hours.  

Shortly after takeoff, Grant more or less passed out.  Mariam took full advantage to lay his head on her shoulder; given he’d had the opportunity to carry their son for several hours straight and had been holding at least one of his hands constantly, Al had no room to complain.

They spent that time conversing in glances, gestures, and hushed voices - once he’d relayed the previous events in full, she had been displeased but ultimately understanding.

They also discussed ways to make their son feel more comfortable, and ideally calm enough to give things a chance instead of attempting perpetual demolition.

(Al was hoping Grant would take an interest in putting those powers to use, but that was far down the road)

All he’ll need is a few days of quiet, good food and good company, she’d insisted.

He might just think of it as a trap, He’d argued.  He needs proof otherwise.

The problem was, how did you prove an exception?  We hurt people professionally, but never you would be as believable as they promised to love you, only to hurt you, but not us.

All they could do was be patient - and, naturally, persistent.  The name of the game, in their industry.

Seven and a half hours into their flight, the steward came through with their food, simple but quality fare.  Whether by the scent or the commotion, Grant groggily came too as his father was waving off the attendant from pouring his youngest a glass of Chardonnay.

Wine might be more than suitable for a sixteen year old, but he wasn’t sure it was advisable when coming off tranquilizers.

Thankfully, the presence of food placed in front of him predictably distracted the teenager from anything else.  Hazarding to release any grip on the boy, Al took significant amusement in watching Grant go from ‘dead sleep’ to ‘scarfing down his meal’ in under a minute.

Mariam looked mildly exasperated, but still terribly fond.  Alekos snorted in the background, clearly biting back a deeply hypocritical comment.

Of course, all cute child moments come to an end - regrettably, they had learned that long ago with Teresa.

Grant gradually became more aware, slowing down in his endeavor to devour the carbonara as he turned his head from one side to the other.  Evidently taking everything in, and recalling the series of events that led to him wedged between them.

The air filled with tension alongside his lankier frame - for only a moment, his shoulders slumping as Ajax and Achilles watched a bit wearily.

Privately, Mariam supposed that all four passengers were too emotionally exhausted, jet lagged and sore for the previous dramatics to resume.

Her son certainly seemed exhausted, at least..  Fresh from a nap, he looked absolutely wrung out.  She watched as he continued sinking into his seat, roughly dragging a hand down his painfully young face as that jacket of his all but swallowed him up.

“I’m going back.”

He said it without inflection, factually.  Not quite a question, and not quite a threat.

Al shifted in his seat beside the boy.

“Of course we would not stop you from traveling-“

“As soon as we land, I’m going back.”  Grant turned to look at him.  It occurred to Al this was likely the first time his son truly got a look at his face, without  Ajax’s mask.  “Only one person on this plane is me- proof.”

Al heard an armrest creek from Alekos’ tightening grip. 

Ah, familicide.  Definitely meant to get a rise out of them, and he’d be lying if he didn’t have to bite back his first response.

Grant continued: “And I bet you’d hate to lose whatever base or fancy estate you have.”

Mariam would be the most fussed, frankly.  He met her mildly incensed eyes over Grant’s shoulder, and she settled for a silent huff with some reluctance.

Best to just let the first few fights pass.

“I suppose you and I will be spending a lot of time together while you are home, then.”

Home my ass.

Grant was surprised when no one tried to stop him from snatching as many of his bags from whatever weird mafia staff unloaded them from the plane - the freaking private jet - as he could conceivably carry without looking like a complete buffoon.

He was even more surprised no one tried to grab him as he began stomping away in the opposite direction that Ajax and his entourage were clearly moving in.

“We will see you for breakfast,” his mother the woman called after him, “Teresa said we’re having strapatsada!”

Like hell.

Grant set his jaw and kept on marching, trying to ignore the uncomfortable itch at the back of his neck.  Why drag him across an ocean just to let him go?

They’d landed in what he supposed was a private runway, a predictably fancy, if surprisingly small, building looming in the distance.  He walked in the general direction of the town they’d passed not long ago, down hills and weaving through groves until he hit a dirt road.  It seemed like he still had hours until sunset, and he intended to put those hours to use.

Just as dusk did start to dim the sky and his adamant strength started to give way to sore feet, Grant finally came upon the very edges of the town.

Fortunately, a lone teenager beset with luggage didn't have to put on an act to entice muggers, and after throwing one into a wall and flashing his fists at another, their hard earned money was his.

What do they call Greek money anyway?

Grant shook his head.  Not the time.

Money or not, he was still in a country where he couldn’t speak the language, had no idea of local geography, and looked like the mother of weird tourist kids.  Step One of his impromptu plan was complete; Step Two was reworked once Grant realized there wasn’t a train or subway or anything like that near him, at least as far as he could tell.

It didn’t take long to find a hotel, but it did take some wandering to find the right kind of hotel: the kind of place an oddly dressed teen could wordlessly slap his cash on the counter and receive a key for the night.

It would have to do.

Just a few hours, Grant told himself.  Just a few hours of sleep, then I’ll go through my bags and get something to eat, and then I’ll be on my way.

Crawling in between the musty sheets of a tiny mattress, Grant fell asleep with that plan in mind.

And woke up on a sprawling cloud of a four poster bed, staring up at a posh, vaulted ceiling.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

For a few moments - a few hours, who knew - Grant just kept staring at that ivory ceiling, flabbergasted and vaguely insulted.

How did they even move me without waking me up?!

This was going to be harder than he thought, and the realization only made him stew in his indignation.

Eventually, however, nature called.  

Sitting up in the sunlit room - what time was it, anyway? - Grant counted two doors; getting up and testing one revealed an en-suite bathroom, shower and all.

Which reminds me, Grant thought, grimacing- he’d been wearing the same clothes since before this whole nightmare started, and he hadn’t showered in that time either; not unless you counted Tempest hydrokinetically hosing the blood off of him.  Retribution could wait.

By the time he was finished drying off and was pulling on clean clothes - Wendy the Werewolf Stalker was multicultural enough not to make him stick out too bad, right? - a knock on the other side of the bedroom’s unopened door had him freeze.

“Good morning!” By now the thick Greek accent was becoming familiar, but the feminine voice was not as it continued, “are you awake?”

Swiftly tugging his shirt into place and making his way across the room, Grant summoned his best scowl as he pulled the wooden door open.

“Who’s asking?”

A blond woman in glasses, apparently.  One who didn't seem phased by his greeting.

Instead, the lady seemed to perk up on seeing him.  To Grant’s utter shock, he found himself pulled into an embrace.

“Oh, chairomai pou se gnorsia!  I am Teresa, your father’s goddaughter- and your godbrother’s mother!”

Before he could muster a reply, Teresa was pulling back, though her hands lingered on his arms.

“I came to tell you breakfast will be ready soon - but since you seem to be plenty awake already, would you like…ah, how is it in English…would you like the guide?”

A tour, he guessed.  Grant wondered if his ‘godbrother’ was supposed to refer to Achilles, and if so, how this tiny woman conceivably spawned such a titan.  

Teresa seemed nice.  Grant didn't really believe in taking things out on third parties.

“Actually…could you take me to see Ajax?”

After a few minutes following Teresa through the maze like halls, the pair came before yet another door, seemingly identical to the rest.  She knocked, waiting for its occupant’s response before opening it and ushering him in and pulling the door shut again.  

Grant’s father blinked in surprise at his appearance, setting down the stage pamphlet he had seemingly been reading through.

“Grant!  Good morn-“

The man didn't have time to finish his greeting before Grant was launching himself across the space, tackling him out of his chair and into the suspiciously already- damaged wall.

The full belly laugh Ajax let out when they hit the floor only made Grant angrier, but had bigger things to worry about.  The smaller, insanely buff man bucked, successfully flipping them over and tried to pin him before narrowly dodging a punch.  On and on they went like that, wrestling as Grant sunk his teeth into an arm and his father peppered in infuriating commentary.

“Oh, good instinct!  Try to focus more on places like the face and throat-”

They rolled back into the desk, snapping and cracking the wood so that it fell in two pieces.  As much as Grant was hoping he’d be able to choke the other to death or beat him black and blue, he wasn't all that surprised to find the older man was both the slightest bit stronger and clearly more experienced.  

Eventually, he found himself pinned sufficiently enough that any attempts to free himself failed.  He all but growled, frustrated.

Once he stopped fighting for the most part, Ajax climbed off him, sitting next to Grant on the stupid hardwood with his stupid mustache.

“HA! I suppose that will count as my morning exercise.” At least it hadn’t been an easy victory.  Groaning, his father slowly rose to his feet alongside him.

He eyed the meaty hand that planted itself up on his shoulder with undisguised distaste.

“We should go have breakfast before your mother sends someone after us.  you can try to kill me again later.”

I’ll do more than just try, you old geezer, he thought to himself.

Breakfast turned out to be a weird but tasty enough egg tomato thing, served with bread and coffee.  Unsurprisingly, there was enough to feed ten instead of the messily five bodies sitting around the table, if not for three of those bodies possessing an insane appetite.

“What do you mean you’ve never heard of her?!”

Achilles- Alekos, apparently, though apparently he and Grant’s father even shared a nickname in their respective social circles- shrugged like it was nothing.  He seemed a little awkward at Grant’s reaction, but he’d been awkward when he asked what Grant’s shirt was about.

“As I said - I’ve never heard of Wanda the Werewolf Killer.”

“It’s Wendy the Werewolf Stalker!”

“This girl only follows the beasts?  It does not sound very exciting.”  

Now the jolly ginger giant was being deliberately obtuse.  Grant graciously ignored the smiles and snickers being exchanged around them.

“Your taste just sucks, you ever thought of that?!”

As soon as Alekos was finished with his plate, Grant grabbed a fistful of his shirt before dragging him to the living room.  Already having taken her plate back to the kitchen, his mother Mariam Mrs. Petrou trailed after them, watching from the archway as Grant threw the remote at the sofa and demanded his captive search for the titular show.

“Prepare for the best tv spectacle of your life.”

“Won’t you need subtitles, since it will most likely be in elliniká?”

“No excuses!”

Chapter Text

It was a little like something out of a fever dream, her baby sat there on her couch and lecturing his bemused godbrother on the intricacies of genre and classification thereof, and why this was, in fact, very important to enjoying a story about highschoolers chasing monsters through city parks. 

It took Mariam longer than she’d like to admit to realize that Alekos was baiting Grant deliberately – intelligent as he was, Mariam had to admit he could be a bit oblivious at times.  This sort of cunning was unusual from him.

(The slightly smug smirk glued firmly to his freckled face was a dead giveaway, same as it was at seven, convinced she hadn’t noticed his hand in the candy drawer.)

She watched from a slight distance as he peppered both appreciative and teasing comments in, fueling the fire of Grant’s stubborn insistence that they binge the series “until your pretentious euro-butt gives in and sing its praises!”  Their bickering spiraled more and more into genuine, wandering conversation as the episodes blurred together, background noise as far as she was concerned.  There were things you couldn’t learn about a person from a hard drive or a manilla folder on their life.

Her son was a diehard horror fan and had made a game of testing out showy execution methods from ‘slasher flicks’ (Mariam couldn’t say she was too happy about that, but she did marry a supervillain after all).  Her son balked at the idea of carbonated lemonade and praised ‘proper Georgia sweet tea’ – she had a few overseas orders to make, it seemed – and wasn’t particularly familiar with Greek cuisine but found it agreeable so far.

She and her husband lingered around the entryway as much as they could without openly staring.  It was a stunningly domestic scene and felt appropriately delicate.

“You know I’m only sixteen, right?”  She could have laughed, Grant peeping up at Teresa through his bangs while she set wine and snacks on the table in front of their boys.  Clever girl, their Teresa, and familiar with the feeding habits of atomic boys.

“I know, I know – but in less than two years you will be welcome in every tavern in Greece!  And, well” Teresa paused, smiling a bit mischievously, “we are criminals, dear.”

Alekos did laugh at his godbrother’s red face, receiving a handful of carrots to the face in response.

It was very endearing, how her boy leaned into the act.  He was honestly a talented thespian, but he had hardly inherited that skill from his father. If his attempts to lull them into a false sense of security included having fun and acting his age, they would all happily play along.

Well.  As much as he’d let them.  The ease Grant carried around Alekos and Teresa did not extended to his parents, thus far.  It didn’t sting any less, knowing the reasons why; it made the lash of grief at every rejection be followed by rage and fear.

Speaking of which.

“I have to step out,” Al informed her after they retreated into the dining room, a bit reluctant to abandon the spectacle.  Still, this was a rather important errand.

“Use the back to come and go – I believe Grant would not appreciate the distraction of his father coming home bloody.”

A laugh and a kiss, and once she’d seen her husband off Mariam gravitated once again to the living room.

Al did not return until dinner.

When he makes his appearance, having already changed out of his suit and into a cornflower blue shirt and black pants, he looks like a man who just finished a marathon: utterly dead on his feet.

Still, the sight of his favorite pastitsio on the table had him perk up a bit.

“My, this is a sight to come home to,” Al grinned sleepily, a spot of red he somehow missed visible on the back of his neck.  He must have been exhausted; Mariam would usually order him back to the bathroom to finish cleaning up before she’d allow him to take his seat at the head of the table.

Perhaps that exhaustion was why he felt so bold to place his hands on their son’s shoulders, leaning over him as he checked that everyone else had their plate.

 “Is that-“

The unexpected, familiar contact had Grant jolt like an electric current. In a flash his chair and father were both forced back with a screech as he stood, ramrod straight and stiff as a board.   

A few silent, tension filled seconds later; he was wordlessly rushing out of the room.

Ironically, it was Al who recovered first, his slack jaw snapping shut as his tired brain caught up with the previous minute.  Skata.

“Ah, Grant-!”  Al hurried after him, pretending not to notice his wife’s slightly panicked call of ‘AL!’.  Before long, he was rounding the corner and more cautiously starting up the stairs after his son, heart in his throat.

“I’m sorry if I startled you-“ worse than startle.

At the top of the stairs, Grant grabbed a vase from the end table - Mariam presumably had some reason for placing that there, he though a bit hysterically – more to the point, as his son whirled around, a literal small explosion of ceramic collided with Al’s chest.  The force of it knocked him from his feet, landing at the base of the stairs and wincing over the scorched and slashed wallpaper.

A pitiful attempt at distraction: He was concerned with a series of stomps and the slam of a door as a voice yelled out.

 “JUST STAY AWAY FROM ME!  YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!”

At least Teresa’s adolescence had given him some experience in not taking that too personally.

“PARENTS ARE NOTHING BUT GRIEF!”

It wasn’t particularly working.

He stayed put, laying at the bottom of the stairwell until the rest of his children came to check on him – if he had to guess, his wife was busy pouring them both more wine.

“Honestly, that could have gone worse.” Teresa reasoned.

“Bring him a cheeseburger tomorrow,” Al’s godson advised him, intentionally solemn, “he was raised American; he will forgive everything.”

He could always trust Alekos to make him laugh.

Chapter Text

I have to get out.

He’d done it before, and he’d do it again.  He had to get out now, while everyone was still set on trying to sweet talk him into whatever it was they wanted.  Before they really got their hooks into him.

He shouldn’t have trusted the Tyrants - should have ran when his stomach started churning and his world had been thrown upside down again.

Snag some coffee on his way out; I’ll need to stay alert.  Grant didn’t bother with the window this time; just slipped out the front door.  They'd be tailing him before long, if last night was an indication.  No point in trying to cover his tracks.

He did take a vicious sort of pleasure in breaking into the garage Achilles had enthusiastically detailed - Cavalry might have sold him out, but at least he’d taught Grant how to hot wire a car.  The little Baja bug tucked in the corner was even painted in Damage orange, or near enough.  It was like an invitation, or- or that serendipity kinda thing Tempest liked to yap about.

They’d all sold him out - a tool or something disposable, to every person in his life except one.  There was only one person in the whole world Grant could maybe rely on to help him get out of this.  Even then, it was a gamble.

Desperate times, huh Uncle Neal?

Now that Al had his son back, he intended to keep him.  

As he set off that morning, Ajax was once again reminded of the virtues of good allies: personal errand this was, Jere was happy to lend him a helping hand, saving them hours at least.  Teo was practically chomping at the bit to volunteer his assistance; granted, when either of them went to this much trouble for a fight, the other often tagged along.

If the Tyrants were to be believed, they’d have an unusual ally in burning anything to do with ‘Telemachus’ to the ground and hadn’t that name added insult to injury?

He was in a hurry to handle this; to slip home again.  But lord, he was looking forward to something he could hit.

God, I need to hit something.  Fortunately, he needed a phone anyway, and it didn’t take long camping out of the first bar he came across before he pulling some poor schmuck into an alley.  Two birds, one stone.

Not for the first time, Damage laughed, headlines of big time hero Professor Polarity flashing in his mind’s eye.  The scandal Grant was back in the states: the nephew of one of Earth’s mightiest champions, beating up college students behind rat infested dumpsters.

That was why no one would expect Grant to call him up for help.

Maybe he wouldn’t get lucky enough to catch his uncle feeling sentimental enough to let him walk twice, like he had with the Tyrants.  Neal and Polarity flipped back and forth like those toy magnets Grant found snuck into his stocking most Christmases; all snark and puns out of a cheesey joke book consumed by gentle, uncompromising utilitarianism.

But Polarity wouldn’t just leave him here, either.  Even if he hauled him straight to prison, that would buy Grant time and space, plus canon fodder between him and Greece if it came to that.  He could always blow his way out down the road.

Broad hands gripping his shoulders tightly - one sliding to grasp back of his neck while another trailed it’s way down his his arm -

He needed out.  Anything else could wait.

I should have been there for you -

Uncle Neal would save him.  He had to.

“I can’t say I expected this from a saint.”

“I can’t say I expected a murderer to care.”

Given this was only the boy’s second full night home, everyone had been fully expecting him to pull some sort of stunt.  After the incident, Al settled in to nap off the exhaustion of the day and its rampage; his wonderful wife graciously taking first shift sat up in bed beside him, half an eye on the security cameras.

At the very least, Grant had apparently recovered well enough: his father got just under three hours when the perimeter alert went off, groaning into his pillow.  Mariam rubbed his back consolingly.

Grant looked down at the phone in his hand, then at the snoring man at his feet.  He’d forgotten to get the passcode.

A quiet “fuck” and another ten or so minutes, Grant had two cell phones, two full grown men layed out in the concrete, and one passcode.  

He’d had the number memorized for over a decade.

It took three everlasting rings before a tired, painfully familiar voice picked up- or, well, a telltale crackle of electromagnetic interference that told him exactly which side of his uncle he would be speaking with tonight.

“Damage?  Grant, that’s you, isn’t it?”

For some reason, the words stuck in his throat - he had to clear it before he could manage to force them out.

“I.  Yeah.  Yeah, it’s me.”

A pause.

“Are you…?”

“I want you to come get me.  I won’t put up a fight.”  Flowery words were wasted on Polarity most days.

Silence hung for a few moments, and Grant wondered if Neal had heard anything about Ajax or Emerson, or if he’d turned his eyes away from any news with his nephew’s name attached since they’d gone their separate ways.  Since his uncle asked to whisk him away and Damage had refused.

“I’m on my way.”

“I’d like to say I’m surprised, Professor Polarity,” Savage had choked on his blood, “but you were always…capricious.”

“That isn’t how I’d describe it,” the Violet armored figure stepped back - Ajax might as well have earned his turn, brute he was.

“Some loyalties are more important.”

A few minutes after hanging up, a communicator buzzed silently across the street, where a man stood hidden uncharacteristically in shadow.

It was nice to know where the hero's priorities lay, with how fond of him Grant seemed.

Chapter Text

Al - not Ajax, not for this, without any sign of a uniform - continued to linger past Grant’s periphery, wishing he’d brought something to better shield him from the bite of the autumn night air.  He couldn’t feel the cold, really, but it made him stand out. 

Try not to scare him.  The message had read.  I’ll take care of this.

Maybe this was just what they needed.  Someone who Grant already trusted.  Al tried not to snicker glumly at himself.  Bloodstained hands belonged in bloodstained hands; sooner or later his son would realize he was exactly where he should be.  He chided himself for being impatient.   Thankfully, his infamous stature and familiar face ensured no one interfered as he strolled in plainclothes after the lone, highly suspicious teenager.  Grant wasn’t one for subtlety, not in the slightest.

Al supposed, given Polarity’s powers and the lack of location disclosed, that the phone Grant had slipped into his pocket would make for a beacon of sorts: a way for his adoptive uncle to pinpoint him no matter where he ended up by the time the man made it to the shores of Greece.  Thus, Damage - all done up in his charming little logo and jacket - continued his trek deeper into the bowels of Pyrgos.  Particularly brave thugs hadn’t learned to steer clear of him yet, and so his father was once again treated to the sight of a teenager tossing full grown men like tissue paper.

Good.  You should get to know your playground.

Grant had no idea how long it would take Neal to reach him, so he figured it was best to keep moving.  He wasn’t sure how long it would take before his tail either lost patience or caught on to what he was planning and reported back to their boss.  I guess that’s the rough part of going solo.  I’ve never had to watch my back for spies, at least.  Even besides that, loitering usually led to trouble in his experience - normally something he’d love to take part in, but tonight Grant wanted to keep it to a minimum.  The six separate mugging attempts were making that a little difficult, but he would manage.  None of them were dead, even if a few might have brain damage where their skull met brick.  He only stole two of their wallets, and didn’t pause in his walk to add to insult their injuries. 

It wasn’t like there weren't other things to occupy his time.  Graffiti and business signs, both neon and painted, seemed an international constant.  Still, this city was so different from any he’d spent much time in.  This time around, he could appreciate actual cobblestone overtaking pavement.  Its denizens only half slept, music leaking out from establishments posh and run down, rowdy and peaceful.  It felt almost liminal.

Gas stations seemed the same as back home, though.  The car parking lot of one is where his uncle first appeared in the sky, bringing Grant to a haunt: a purple star blinking in the distance,  then a gradually approaching blur.  An imposing figure suspended high above, then a familiar face feet away as metal boots planted themselves among bits of gravel.

As he pulled off his helmet, Neal - Polarity - looked even more run down and tired than Grant felt.  They probably tied for weariness.  It wouldn’t be accurate to say the man ‘cracked a smile’.  It was more like his lips tried to draw themselves up into something more reassuring and managed to land on ‘relieved’.  It was more expressive than that face usually got, under circumstances like these.

“It’s nice to see you’re alright.  Your Uncle will be pleased as well.”

Grant remembers finding it funny, the first time they switched and his quiet jokester of an uncle started speaking like that, all formal and in the third person.

“I’m glad you’re okay too.” Grant did manage a smile, frail as it was.  That was also the day he realized Neal’s powers weren’t all fun and games, too.  It was always a happy moment, when he saw him doing well.  Even now, it was nice to see for himself.  “How do you want to do this?”

‘Doing well’ didn’t make him any more predictable.  He could just as easily create a cage of metal to transport the young villain in as he could drag this out; demand explanations and spout off heroic platitudes (he’d always found them cheesy, but they’d gotten less and less funny as time went on.  Where the hell was ‘the obligation of the strong to protect the weak’ when he needed it?).  He was sort of hoping for the first option.

“We could both likely stand to eat.”

Grant blinked in surprise.  He was pretty sure Professor Polarity didn’t usually catch coffee with criminals before he hauled them away.  The idea of the hero making a joke like that was outright unfathomable.  Maybe he hadn’t heard him right?

“Although, it is far too late for a proper supper.  Do you still like caramel bars?  I’m certain there should be something like that in stock.”

Slightly, Polarity tilted his head in the direction of the station.

“I do expect you to behave yourself, which means we will not be stealing from or terrorizing the store or its attendants.  You will also clean the blood splatter off your face.”

Shit.  He should have guessed, the way that one guy’s nose had bled like a stuck pig, but he hadn’t thought to check himself over.  With that absolutely flabbergasting exchange laid at Grant’s feet, his uncle’s superheroic alter ego began levitating towards the dingy gas station doors.  Did he travel to an alternative universe?!

After a quick bolt into the bathroom to clean himself up, Grant joined Polarity in the candy aisle, passing by a lone worker who looed like she was about to pass out, Damage behaving himself or not.  Two random Capes of indeterminant origin perusing her inventory was probably terrorizing enough.  Apparently he failed to hide his snicker in a cough, because he felt the hero side eye him disapprovingly.  Again, shockingly, there was no reprimand to follow.

Instead, they both made their selections; caramel bars and fruit snacks were easy enough to identify by packaging, even when the labels were literally Greek to you.  They both grabbed a handful  Grant ended up having to pay the shaking woman at the counter with his pilfered cash, given the other hadn’t thought to carry local currency.  He did manage to soften his sharklike grin enough not to warrant another reproachful look.

When they stepped back out through the doors, Grant felt his stomach drop.

His father was leaning up against the pumps a few yards away, casual as can be.

Chapter Text

“Grant,” he started, not moving away from his relaxed position against the gas pumps, “If you wanted to see him, you could have just asked to invite the man for supper.”  His father, civilian duds or otherwise, was so ridiculously overconfident the irritation nearly eclipsed Grant’s terror. 

You're practically sitting on tens of gallons of accelerant, and you think me not being able to turn you into a bomb means you aren’t in danger?  Before he could surge forward, before even a hint of smoke or steam could billow from his clenched fists, his uncle extended one armored arm in front of him, an authoritative but flimsy barrier between the two villains.

“Ajax,” Polarity addressed the other man coldly - not unexpected, but his uncle’s tone had Grant’s hackles raising even more.  Something was wrong. “I told you-“

“To let you handle it?  Yes, I am aware.”

Just like that, the world around him slammed into a sudden, suffocating stillness.  It was like cotton stuffed down his throat and packed around him, making everything feel not-quite-distant enough.  What?

Now, Ajax stood properly, regarding the hero with a near- snarl.  It shouldn’t have made his stomach lurch like that - supervillains don’t lose it that easy.  “You proved you can be trusted to keep him safe from Savage - fine.  But do not forget who you are speaking to.”

“A maniacal barbarian?  I remain only tentatively convinced of your intentions-”

“I have nothing to convince you of!” The words were spat out as a roar, the Professor visibly tensing as Grant twitched in place from behind him.

Damage had fought Ajax twice now - he’d assumed the relaxed, cheerful disposition that had marked both skirmishes was the norm for the other.  Now, with someone he apparently deemed a real threat between them, the older villain looked half rabid. 

Grant wanted to scream back, or cut the chase and throw the first punch.  So why couldn’t he move?  

“My ‘intentions’ - where were you?!  You dedicated your entire life to saving ingrates and idiots across your country - he had to save himself!”  Grant could feel his mouth go dry, his head spinning.  “He belongs here!”

“In a strange country, with a clan of murderers he barely knows?  He’s still a child-”

“My child!  You swore you wouldn’t take him from us!”  No.

“I have no intention of barring you from Emers-”   The hero’s jaw contorted behind his helm, the wheels of his static- fried mind visibly turning

“..from our- from my nephew,” Polarity’s feet slipping free from the earth as he slowly rose up into the air hardly spoke of an amicable resolution, the eerie hum of his powers singing in the air.  Like an old fridge, Grant had always compared it to.  “But the boy wants to leave, and that means he is coming with me.”

That appeared to be his father’s breaking point: the second those words left the metalmaster’s mouth, the villain was launching himself across the parking lot with a shout.  The nearest light pole tore itself free from the ground with an ear-splitting shriek, and was soon flung into Al with enough force to kill a normal man; in his case, it nearly batted him across the parking lot.  Away from the pumps, or course - Polarity would be concerned about casualties if anything blew up.

Polarity, who was all but in on it.  His uncle said he wanted to get Grant out of Greece - out of that house - his uncle said he wouldn’t keep Ajax away -

Almost comical in his torn civilian garb, the Greek tore through the distorted steel Polarity had seemingly been attempting to bind him with.  This time, he took a page from his opponent's book, launching a nearby stone with enough force to rip a hole in armor where it clipped the hero.  Seconds later, taking advantage of his brief daze, he leapt up and caught hold of a shiny, purple boot.  

Its owner kicked at him in what seemed to be a blind panic - a particularly brutal, well placed stomp landed center with a crunch.  When it pulled back as Polarity continued to thrash, Grant caught sight of a joyless, ivory grin stained by a stream of red.  Blue eyes shone, empty except for pure, unadulterated rage.

Finally, Grant’s feet unstuck from the ground, his limbs finally obeying his pleas that they move.  His hands felt more than ready to spark.  What the hell do I do?!

Polarity shot himself and his unwanted passenger higher, easily dozens of feet off of the ground, but Al clung - more than clung, actually, squeezing down with enough might to crush the metal inward, a pained scream telling him he’d succeeded in getting to the ankle underneath.  Even as he was successfully thrown off, plummeting down to the asphalt below and landing roughly enough to shatter the parking lot in the wake of his literal crater, satisfaction brewed in his gut.  It was easy to lose himself in the simple pleasure of a straightforward, one-on-one scrap.

I would wager I could turn that suit into his own personal Iron Maiden, Al thought.  If only it wouldn’t make things that much harder with his boy…

Like snapping out of a fog, Al jerked upright, ignoring the cascade of scrap metal swirling dangerously in the air. 

“Grant!” The shout seemed to startle the hero meters above him into the same realization.  He swung his head in every direction as he climbed to his feet, nearly stumbling over rebar and panic.

As he scanned his surroundings, his son was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Text

Al tried not to pout as painkillers were allotted to Polarity but not himself.  He knew Mariam could be rather old fashioned about hospitality, after all, and the man was technically a guest.

Besides, it was best not to provoke her when they were both already - how had the Boogeyman put it?  Ah, yes.  When they were both already in the hot seat.

Sat at the dining room table, both men eyed the lady of the house as she paced the length of the room before them, still in her nightgown and slippers.  She was a bit reminiscent of a lioness, surveying prey.

Only adding to the tension in the air was Teresa, leaning in the entryway with her arms crossed, fixing both stranger and godfather with a hard stare.  Alekos, bless him, seemed to be making every attempt to turn invisible from the other end of the table.

Really, Al was probably fortunate she’d finished patching him up, once the night’s events had been relayed.  With how livid she was, Al had briefly wondered if he’d be adding to his collection of injuries before the sun rose.

“Allow me to make certain I understand you both clearly.” She came to a stop before the pair, raising one hand to rub at her temple, “not even four full days since everything first became known-”  Al winced a bit.  It felt much longer than four days.

“-less than a single day since the biggest threat to him had been tentatively handled, when he was frightened, you both chose to react to that by fighting in front of him like jealous school boys?”

He knew better than to defend himself, even if he had possessed a satisfactory excuse. Fortunately for Polarity, he seemed to have some sense - or perhaps the shame heroes were so known for.

Not enough shame or sense to keep his mouth shut, however.  “Mrs. Petrou,” Mariam’s glare briefly cowed the man, but he continued.  “Mrs. Petrou, you are completely right.  We should have taken more care, how our behavior might…affect Grant.”

‘Affect’ was an understatement.  “But we can hardly change the past.  With myself acting as air support, retrieving him should be easy enough-”

“No.”

“‘No’?”

At Polarity’s incredulous tone, before Al could ask what on earth his wife meant, ‘no’, Mariam as well as pinned them in place with a look.  Al obeyed from experience, while the hero seemed to recognize the brand of madness in her eyes.

“You two have done enough!  From now on, when it comes to my son?  I am the boss.”

She always was impossible to deny.  And very beautiful when she was angry with him, but now was not the time for such thoughts.

“In that case, dear…how are we going to do this?”

Even devoid of his usual arsenal, Roy stuck out like a sore thumb.  Grant had spotted the archer in the crowd of tourists swarming the Van Gogh Museum a mile away - like he wasn’t even trying to hide.

If he’d thought waltzing up in his civies, in the light of day would keep him safe, he was dead wrong.  Grant three his icecream to the ground as it turned liquid in the heat of his grip, ignoring the reproachful look of a passing old lady.  He could get another, after he took the opportunity handed to him and tore the sell out in two-

Roy was holding hands with a little girl in overalls.

Roy brought Lian here?

“Grant!”

Fuck, of course the manipulative bastard would bring her along.

Instinctively, Grant crouched low with his arms open as she let go of her dad’s hand and tan towards him.  He could fry any tracker the hug planted on him later.

Straightening up, Grant managed a smile for her, most of his gaze set on Roy as he continued his casual stroll up to them.  He had the sense to stop a good few feet away, at least.

“Grant, look at what Daddy got me at the gift shop!” A fun sized stuffed penguin was squished against his cheek, in typical Lian fashion.

“Tell me about Greece!  I already love it here, and I never get to visit out of America- you’ve gotta take me!”

“Erm, maybe ask him about that later, sweetie.”

Roy smiled awkwardly, shifting in place as Grant stared him down.

“Sorry Lian,” his eyes didn't leave her father, “but I’m not going back to Greece, so I can’t take you.”

He had always liked the little hellion.  It was nice to see her again, even if it was a blatant attempt to placate him, and even if it meant he couldn’t kill her dad after all.  Lian didn’t deserve to see that.

And I didn’t deserve to have him backstab me.  Grant pushed the thought away.

“In your ‘lonesome drifter’ phase, huh?  I get that.”  Roy really needed to stop talking like they were still friends.  Like he was still just looking out for him.  “Your folks wanted to check on you.  We volunteered.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.”  The words came out more biting than he meant them to.  Lian looked started, and a little concerned at the change.  He tacked on a “sorry” for her.

“You wouldn’t have brought Lian along if you wanted to do this the hard way.” Business talk didn’t scare her; she was well used to it.

“None of us are trying to screw you over, Grant.” Yeah, right.  Take your cheap sunglasses and take a hike.  “There’s a lot going on you don’t know-”

“Oh, so now you want to explain!”

In his arms, Lian eeped.  It was time to cut this short.  Grant took a knee, depositing Lian back on the ground as gently as he could as he slipped her a few bills.  It was easy to be generous with money that wasn't yours.

“It was nice to see you, Li.”

“Grant, wait- they’ll just keep sending people-”

He hurriedly waded through the crowd, rounding the corner and thinking up with the next place he could vanish to.  He doubted attempt two would end in anything but a fight.

He was almost looking forward to it.

Chapter Text

By the time he hit Denmark, Grant was tired of mugging and thieving as he went.  Liying low wasn’t going to keep him any safer, so there was no reason for Damage to not execute a good old fashioned robbery.  It was a beautiful day for it too - flurries of snow as fall habe way to winter giving Grant the perfect excuse to dramatically whip off a coat and scarf once he’d made his way through the doors.

“I’d say ‘no one move’, but if you get in my way I’ll just move through you!”  Raising his hands in the air in a parody of the usual script, the only reaction the set of guards behind him got to their drawn pistols with his fists igniting.  The usual panicked screams surrounded him as people lurched preemptively out of his way.

Damage took a single step forward before one of the guards - and wow, Buddy, you must really like your job to do something this stupid - attempted to tackle him from behind.  Grant flipped him across the bank hall and into the teller’s booth.

He couldn’t be sure how much of the thud- crack was glass and how much was bone, but he was sure the news would tell him all about it later.

The teller himself quaked behind the splintered barrier, bleeding.  Guess that glass wasn't so thick after all.  That didn’t matter either, though.  Grant had enough brains to do basic recon before he ransacked a place, and he had his eyes on the big vault in the back.

Easy as pie, when you could smash through walls like cardboard.Damage was shoveling stacks of cash into a sack in no time.

It wasn’t until he was stepping back out into the street that he met any real pushback. Parked right there on the street were a pair of dorks in what looked like helmless mech suits.

“Stop right there, Damage!” Probably a pair of goody two shoes then.  He decide to mentally call them Purple and Not-Purple.

“Put down the money and come with us now, boy - easy or difficult, it makes no difference to us!” Purple hollered, pointing some sort of arm- canon in his general direction.  

Yeah, no.  Instead of doing any of that, Grant slung his sack of cash over one shoulder and ripped a chunk of brick from the nearest wall, charging it and hurling it center mass before either man could so much as say “whu-”.

One hit and Purple was out!  Damage whooped, laughing even as Not-Purple growled and swing his own cannon towards him.

Admittedly, he wasn’t whooping with joy when a plasma burst flung him back into the bank wall with enough force to break through it, but that was mostly because he had to toss his cash to the side so it didn’t get either burned or shredded.  He clambered to his feet -only for a crimson and gold blur to slam into Not-Purple full force, catapulting him down the street and decimating the armor. 

He clambered back out into the chaos to try and figure out what what’s happening, and saw the saw blurr slam into Not-Purple’s now more exposed fleshy bits.  After that, he was just a mess of red.

In the blink of an eye, Jesse Quick stood before him, snorting at his slack jawed expression. 

“Don’t look so shocked, brat.  Your ma hired me to watch your back. I’d grab your loot and book it if I were you.”

She disappeared in another red and gold blur before he could respond, second before the sound of sirens forced him to take her advice.

He had the feeling he’d be seeing a lot more of her.

“Hunting someone down for Dr. Latvia doesn’t mean I need you hovering over- who the hell is that?!”

At the unfortunately now familiar sound of a speedster appearing, Damage had turned around to face Jesse Quick.  He had not been expecting some clown in purple with a clock motif to be with her.

“In English, they call me Hourglass.”

“He’s my boyfriend.  Put up with it.”

For a moment, the teenager simply stared at the older two villains in disbelief.  Then he picked Hourglass up by his shirt and hurled him off the roof.

Unfortunately, a speedster girlfriend meant he never actually hit the ground, and Grant was once more glaring at his dumb face seconds later.  This time, he had the audacity to laugh.

“Jesse, I like this boy!”

“Great.  My stalker not only calls herself my babysitter, now she’s bringing her looser cabana boy along.”

Begrudgingly, he returned to his stakeout. Damage was trying to build a reputation as a solo professional, after all.

Twenty minutes later, and the lovebirds were still flirting.  Canoodling, even.  Gag worthy.

“Will you two get a room before I jump?!”

“You’d survive the fall, kid.” Quick didn't look away from Hourglass’ eyes.  Shaking his head, he gave up the ghost and started making his way to the fore escape.

“What, you are that squeamish?” Hourglass seemed amused.

“He’s long gone; I’m wasting my time standing here.  You’re wasting my time hanging around.”

“Aw, don't be like that-”

“You just had to visit Mongolia,” Quick had arrived, taken one look at the situation Damage had gotten himself into, and had immediately sped off to snag Hourglass.

“That boy hospitalized my top enforcers, and destroyed my favorite mansion!”

Hourglass, who was currently soothing ruffled feathers of what was apparently one of the continents biggest non- supervillain crime bosses.  “I know, I know - believe me when I say, was simply a misunderstanding! The boy had no idea!”

“No idea or not, who is going to pay for all the damage he did?!”

Slag- before he could dodge it, Hourglass reached back and slung an arm over his shoulders, pulling him closer.  He hated every part of this.

“Bill the Blackguard Guild!”

Oh, wonderful.  He totally needed another tie to those maniacs.  Maybe he’d have better luck if he hopped an ocean.

Chapter Text

“Just over a month watching him, and you allowed my son to dig himself into debt with the Guild?”

“I’m afraid he dug himself into debt before we arrived, ma’am.”  Jesse sat politely in the chair offered to her, hands clasped together in her lap.  By now, these updates had become routine. “We made sure that the problem would remain internal.”

Mrs. Petrou hummed thoughtfully from her own seat, beside her husband at the head of the table.  Either she acquiesced the point or accepted it as a consequence of giving Grant the illusion of space or freedom.  Quick could hardly be expected to hover over the boy so constantly and maintain that.

“I suppose the footage speaks to good health.  A calmer demeanor...”  

High praise for a job well done, where Mrs. Petrou was concerned.  Clearly, Grant took after his father outside of a bit of cheek, a more pronounced grouchy streak.  The kid was growing on her, really.

“Actually, dear,” Ajax piped up, hilariously cautious for a veritable legend of a supervillain, “I believe the consequences of his little accident could present us an opportunity.”

His wife turned to squint at her husband doubtfully.  From what Jesse had pieced together, he’d fucked up badly enough leading up to their son running off that the lady of the house had taken the reigns by force.  She didn’t blame Ajax for acquiescing- she’d expect the same from Radek, at minimum.

“He could present his payments to Miss Quick, yes, but she is not technically one of us yet.  Hourglass is with them more often than not now, but technically off of the clock, so to speak-“ 

Had he been rehearsing the puns?  If Johnny had been an indication, it seemed a fatherly right of passage.

“And so it would be quite easy to insist he give his repayments over in a separate meeting!”

Jesse watched Mrs. Petrou lean back in her chair, contemplative, from the corner of her eye.

“…I have missed seeing him in the flesh…”

Ajax all but whooped at the agreement, Mrs. Petrou barely softening her snap of a reaction- wife or not, the crime king of the household was to be afforded a minimum of respect where guests could see.  It set a precedent.

“You will not be meeting him alone until he is comfortable!”

“Having as many of us at one table as possible is far from a hardship, dear.”

Oh, barf.  Was that how she and Radek came off to onlookers?

Eh.  She watched Mrs. Petrou beam and kiss her husband’s masked temple with a minute shrug.  Still worth it.

“I still am unhappy he will be paying interest.”

“I haggled him a rate far less predatory than most loans.  A resourceful boy like ours will be fine.”

So.  Apparently, because of the complex hierarchy- based politics of the criminal underworld, a superpowered teen couldn’t just abscond with unpaid debts and escape consequences.  Trust old people to ruin everything.

Hourglass had been ‘kind’ enough to forewarn him how it would all go down, in between rounds of sucking face with Jesse.  How she’d gotten away being paid to harass him every few days, Grant had no clue.

Best not to leave the continent until it was settled, just to avoid any other European villains from inserting themselves now that it was an official matter.  He’d want to pay them back as quickly as possible anyway- he’d missed the finer points of American high school education, sure, but he still had a general sense of how compound interest worked.

He had no choice but to follow the instructions texted to him by an unknown number.  Didn't bother asking how they got the digits to his latest stolen phone.

He just showed up to the diner in question, about $100000 worth of Norwegian krone packed into a suitcase.  If the calculator hadn’t lied, and he stuck to his plan, it would be the first of six installments.  It helped he wouldn’t have to convert the cash to any particular currency.

Mercifully, it was Achilles waiting for him.  He didn’t think he could handle either of his ‘parents’ at the moment.

Fit for a casual business meeting, they were both technically out of costume as Grant slid in to sit across from the older villain.  He was wearing his winter coat over his uniform; Al wore slacks and button up over who-knows-what while digging in to a bowl of…something.  He looked like a chipmunk with his cheeks stuffed full like that, and Grant scoffed as Alekos smiled at him.

“You should try the farikal- you need more protein, the age you are reaching now.“

“I’m not staying.”  Grant laid the briefcase on the table, slid it the scant inches over to the giant.  He notes the patrons, pretending not to watch them.  “There’s your cash.”

“I will need to count it.”  That grin could definitely be described as shit eating.  “Order, order!  My treat.”

Grant grit his teeth.  Fine.  His stranger of a godbrother waved a waiter over; Grant pointed to the most appealing seeming item listed like the tourist he was.  Alekos didn't bother to even crack the suitcase open yet, continuing to savor his meal.

“I watched that spin off of your werewolf show; the one about her doomed lover?  Demon Investigations; I find it more entertaining than the original…”

“It’s just ‘Demon’ in the U.S. - but I’d guess they changed more than just the title for the Greek dub.”

“Perhaps we should compare notes, then!”

He had nothing better to do.  They passed the time like that as the waiter brought Grant his first bowl and Alekos his second, until the sun hung low enough in the sky he could make his excuses and go.

Grant pointedly ignored the sensation of eyes in his back as Alekos stared after him, satisfied as could be.  

Damage didn’t shiver, because supervillains certainly weren’t so easily spooked.  It felt far too much like a dinner date between cat and mouse.

Chapter Text

“Can’t say I don’t admire the work ethic, kid, but I’m pretty sure you can afford to not work while you’re under the weather.”

“I’m not sick.”  A little sniffle didn't count.  He huffed, mostly in an attempt to blow his bangs out of his face.  “Go away, you’ll give away my position.”

“It’s midnight and you’re curled up in the bushes like a giant squirrel.  Even if they see me, no way they’ll spot you.”

“I’m supposed to have the element of surprise!”

Sure, anyone dumb enough to move a shipment of fine jewelry through through the Romanian countryside probably didn’t have particularly challenging security.  He still wanted to catch them off guard; leaping from the shadows like that was just too much fun.

He heard her sigh from behind him, heard the grass rustle as she stood up from where she’d been leaning against a barren tree.

“Fine; I’ve double checked you’re in one piece at any rate.  You should probably expect some fussing when handing over most of your profits tomorrow.”

She zipped away fast enough he doubted she heard him growl in response.  Or the coughing fit that it triggered.  Jokes on her though.  She’d be out of the job once he was in the clear; paying as fast as he could was well worth it.

They had to give up eventually, right?  He just had to keep being more trouble than he was worth.

The trend of forcing mealtime niceties during the exchange seemed to be holding up; he ended up meeting Alekos for lunch a few towns over.  The giant was alright enough company, but Grant hadn’t expected the man to bring his mom.

“You remind me very much of myself at your age.”

Grant rolled his eyes a bit, making it a point to slurp the soup he’d been nagged into ordering.

“Yeah?  How’s that?”

Teresa was nice enough, as far as normal people or moms in general went.  It definitely wasn’t the worst, being forced to make small talk with her.

“Oh, running away and trying to maim your father, mostly.”  Grant choked a bit.  “Mostly emotionally so, in my case.  The terrible teenage years tend to be hard on everyone in this family.”

“O-oh.  That’s…”

“Surprising?”

“Very much so, ma’am.”

He’d have to up the ante, it sounded like.

Teresa smacked her son lightly on the arm as he snorted, clearly amused at Grant’s shock.  He hadn’t wanted to box his mother in, and was thus squished between the wall, table, and the booth he’d arranged to sit diagonal, as to fit him and still have her end of it close enough to rest her elbows on the table.

Massive enough the staff hadn’t protested, pained faces aside, and he still looked a bit like a kicked puppy at being told off.

“Alekos, be nice!  You thought I was telling stories the first time you hear this!”

“Yes, mama.”

It was Grant’s turn to snicker.  If they kept going like this, he might even miss these little meetings, once he was out of reach.  His ‘godbrother’ glared at him when Teresa turned back to her plate.  Grant smiled brightly at him in return.  Annoyingly, that only seemed to make the other villain less annoyed.

“I know in America everything is baseball this, fake football that, but how familiar are you with basketball?”

He wouldn’t miss them trying to milk every conversation for common ground, that was for sure.

Grant stared at the man stood just behind and slightly over Pikki, unfortunately preventing him from giving the traitor a piece of his mind.  He cocked his head at him, a bit quizzical, and slightly regretting the amount of DayQuil he’d downed earlier.  Non-drowsy my ass.

After a few moments, he went from curious and irritated to slack jawed and disbelieving.  He’d known the man was involved in Caprice’s life, on paper, but there was no way-

“Velocity?” He half whispered, mindful of their bustling surroundings.

The man smiled, and the situation was only made more surreal now that Grant could take in his deceptively trustworthy face and oddly kind seeming eyes.

“The very original.”  The salt and pepper haired man, unassuming in his plainclothes, removed one hand from Pikki’s shoulders and extended it.  Grant took it, a little numb.  This was the man who had committed some of the bloodiest wartime massacres ever caught on film?  The book on him was literally titled ‘Oceans of Blood’!  It’d been shoved on him for world history class!

“Pikki and Al have both told me much about you!”  Oh, crud.  “Your father is of course very sorry to miss your dinner.”

Grant went ramrod stiff as Velocity released his hand.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Pikki pull out a handheld game of some kind, clearly bored enough already to need the distraction.  

“Ajax was the one coming to pick up the money?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, he and your mother had been looking forward to it!  Ah, but then something a bit time sensitive pops up and makes such a mess; you know how it goes.”

Southern manners not completely dead, Grant nodded along.  He should have known sending Jesse and Alekos wouldn’t be enough for them.  Fathers were never satisfied with pushing just a little.

Maybe he could admit to being a little sick.  He didn’t feel so great.

“Though to tell you the truth, I have been pestering them about introducing myself.”  Velocity pushed a sullen seeming, uncharacteristically quiet seeming Pikki towards him.

“Well, you boys catch up!  I will go get our food.”

Just like that, Grant was left alone with the so-called friend who got him into this mess.  He shifted to glare, as best he could through the haze of panic.  It didn’t help that he felt more overheated than usual.

“So, how did he get stuck with a backstabbing chatterbox, huh?”

“You sound like you’ve been gargling gravel.”

“I let you win at PAC Man!”

“You did not!”

In a shameless display of willful obliviousness, Velocity deposited six or so orders worth of food truck fare on the picnic table each boy stood on opposing ends of, taking his own seat.  Grant tried to reign himself back in a bit.

“It sounds as if you two want a rematch to me.  There is a rather nice arcade in France.”

Borders really did mean nothing to these people.  He swallowed.  “I’d rather stay in Poland, sir.”

“Ah, no need to be so formal!  Call me Jere.” He would absolutely not be doing that.

Apparently Pikki’s god given personality overpowered his being mad that Grant was mad at him, at least for the most part.  In a barely hidden blur of super speed, a stack of comics sat on the table, dangerously close to a platter of ‘zapiekanka’.  

Velocity glanced at him, a bit reproachful, but smiled fondly as he started ranting about the latest FerroLass issue.  It was starting to feel like the playdate from hell.

Time for a new plan.

Chapter Text

Problem was, he was drawing a blank - grasping for straws might have been more accurate.  He’d been clambering for one half- assed solution after another ever since the whole mess had begun.  

Fat lot of good any of his ‘plans’ had done him so far.  As his teeth ground together, Grant’s tightening grip on the metal park table did little to settle him.

Grant was still trapped.  One of the infamous geezers he still owed cash was smiling indulgently around his forkful like something out of a sitcom, the ex-teammate who sold him out was acting like nothing had changed, and he was still spinning in circles.

“What is it about you and those books, Pikki?  If you ever met such a vigilante in real life, she would be your enemy.”  Velocity chimed in on the other boy’s rant between bites - he had already all but cleaned his first plate, though unlike Caprice, he’d managed to keep his red shirt sauce- free.

No logo and no helmet - the old timers really loved to test the limits of an open secret, didn't they?  Grant supposed the rest of Finland just had the sense to look the other way.

“Jerrrrre, it isn’t supposed to be like real life!  Comic books are better than that!”

Same story, different day.  What else had he expected?

Damage didn’t really feel the faint flash of satisfaction at either speedster jolting in place, their chatter halted in its tracks as both heads swung to face him only a touch too fast.  The groan and cracking of metal had been smothered under the distinct snap of something internal.  He dropped the hunk of steel that had broken off in his hand.

He didn’t say anything, at first.  Just stood up, stiff as a board.  Bent down, scooped the nondescript, heavy box he’d brought along, and hefted it up.  Caprice jumped in his seat again as it dropped in the center of their food truck feast.

It should have felt gratifying, but he mostly just felt tired.

“Here, Velocity.  Get bent, Caprice.”

The old man seemed almost flabbergasted.  It seemed the people milling about around them had finally taken notice something rotten was taking place among them - maybe the property destruction, maybe the unhushed name drop. 

There were shouts, whispers, but mostly the thud of shutting car doors and hurried footfalls. Grant ignored the sense of panic settling into the air, turning away from the pair without fanfare.

He missed the look of agitation eclipsing Pikki.  He found himself face to face with it less than five steps away, steaks of yellow lightning dissipating around the shorter boy who once again stood before him.

“Alright, I am sick of this!  What is your malfunction?!” 

Pi- Caprice threw his arms out in something like exasperation, large and theatrical.  Damage clenched his jaw, his fists, trying to keep some degree of control.  How the fuck could you even ask me that?  He wanted to scream.

“You are.  Now bug off, while the old guy is still here to protect you!”

Caprice lurched like he was going to step forward, step closer - instinctually, Damage’s hand shot out towards his chest.  Caprice moving back instead, fast enough to spark golden again, spared them both the contact.

“Why did you try to hit me?! I thought you were my friend!”

I thought you were mine!

“Friends?!  We aren’t friends, jackass!  You ruined my life!”

Caprice sputtered, eyes wide.  Even that was infuriating.  “What are you talking about?!”

“If you’re too stupid to understand-“

“‘Stupid’?!”

An audible whoosh, and Velocity was beside them.  Grant realized now that three of them were seemingly alone - the last straggling civilians had since started running for the hills.  

“Boys, please-“

“No!” Pikki shook his head almost like a dog, incensed.  “This whole tantrum, because of what?  The way you were always Cavalry’s shadow, I thought you would be desperate for a new father!”

For the briefest of moments, it was like everything went quiet.  If either of them - any of them - had anything else to say, he didn’t hear it.  He didn’t even hear his own breathing over the low drone that enveloped him.

He didn’t process Velocity pulling Caprice away, not his arm shot back up on autopilot until the searing heat and orange-yellow glare cut through the haze.  Only then did the noise drowning out his thoughts register as a familiar crackle.

It occurred to Damage that he was heaving.  Oddly enough, his lips twitched into a dry, joyless smile.  Well, if it was between a repeat of Atlanta and some target practice-

The first blast hit its mark, but the targets were too fast, electricity stark against the ash-colored crater.  He growled, annoyed.

There were other ways to dish out damage.  Getting to make everyone else feel the way he did - that was what going bad was good for, wasn’t it?

The place was lousy with trees, big and strong ones, pine and bare.  Those must have taken years of dedication or thousands of dollars to place so perfectly.  Oops- a shower of green needles; a burning stump.  Five, ten of them.  What seemed like an entire flock of birds erupted into the air among the smoke and ash.

“DAMAGE!“ Velocity’s bark, maybe the precursor to an admonishment, was meant with another attempt to incinerate him and the younger speedster tucked behind him.  They sped off again, but this time Grant laughed.

What had he been so worried about, biting his tongue and trying to get through another stupid performance of a meal?  If things could get worse, they would.  He might as well try and enjoy himself.

The second time Velocity reappeared, it was with the iconic helmet and boots, and without the traitor.  Grant sort of hoped that glower meant he’d be getting a good fight out of it.

“I am not your father.”  His grin waned, anxiety bubbling into a new wave of rage to fuel him.  “I will not tolerate you acting like a brat.”

He didn’t have time to think of a retort.  In the blink of an eye, a crimson blur was slamming into him.