Chapter Text
It’s awful how quickly things can spiral out of control. Augustine didn’t so much as question Reggie as give him a curt reminder that the sheriff is obligated to report any happenings to the DUP before leaving. Dazed, he supposed he should be grateful he didn’t end up like the rest of the tribe; there’s got to be something he can do for them now, that she’s gone.
The weight sinks like a stone in the pit of Reggie’s stomach, remembering that Delsin’s still at the cannery. Or, given the state everyone else is in, should be at the cannery. He didn’t see the DUP take anyone, but...
He’s thinking—mulling over endlessly—about it as he power walks over to the cannery; what remains of it, that is. That bioterrorist really did a number on it, and while it still stands, it’s definitely going to have to be refitted in some (let's be real: most ) areas to make it safe to use again.
Delsin isn’t on the outside waiting around, but that didn’t scare him too much; Reggie didn’t expect him to stand around doing nothing until big brother gets there. But then again, he didn’t see him come running in the aftermath...
His train of thought (and panic) is interrupted by noise inside: voices. He strained to listen, but he didn’t recognize either; a bad sign. The routine of busting the door down and making it known he’s police comes naturally, even now; but he hesitates this time.
The gun is drawn, but pointed upwards. They know he’s police, but he’s not telling who he sees to put their hands up...and they’re just staring. Two kids (“kids”; two grown adults who are likely Delsin’s age, if his guess is correct) in orange jumpers huddled near his brother. A boy and a girl, he thinks. Reggie doesn’t know what gives him more pause; the fact Delsin is lying suspiciously still, or the fact these are undeniably the two bioterrorists on that bus...and they’re just kids.
One of them rises—the girl—and for as mad as she looks, she’s mostly just glaring. Her teeth are grit and she looks ready to attack, but she’s staying her hand. For now. The boy is still kneeling beside Delsin. It takes him a while, but he raises his head; but there’s no eye contact like with the girl. His eyes seem to glaze over everything, including him; and even when they land on him, it doesn’t feel like they’re seeing anything.
“No—wait.” his voice is quiet and wheezy like a hospice patient. “There—do you see him—?”
“He’s not standing that far away.”
Reggie agrees silently; he really isn’t that far away. Perplexed and scared, he took a half step back.
The boy’s eyes widen and he lurches forward awkwardly; even when Reggie points his gun the only reaction elicited is from the girl. She looks like she’s going to say something—shout, most likely—but she’s stopped by the boy talking first.
“That’s! The brother! They smell the same.” A brief look of panic surges him and his breath quickens. “We—we—”
“Augustine totally fucked up your brother,” the girl cuts in, pushing him back a little with her leg so she’s standing in front of him. “He’s not dead, but he’ll totally wish he is.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Reggie asks, finally getting his word in. So far he’d been standing in horrified awe at the situation that he almost forgot he could speak at all. “How do you know we’re brothers?”
“He just said he could smell it.”
“That’s— what?”
Reggie doesn’t believe it. Who would? He was starting to say that’s ridiculous, how could you tell something like that, but he’s already being cut off by the boy shouting.
“No! No no no! It’s not fair.” his voice is deceptively loud. “She...she—no...there’s so much blood...” He glanced back at Delsin and whined.
“Get it together Gene,” the girl says, placing her hand on his head and shaking him a little. “And slow down! You’re not making any goddamn sense! That man has a gun and will shoot you.”
The boy’s eyes somehow get wider than they were, but the insult appears to work. Reggie wanted to interject to say he doesn’t just shoot anyone, but it’s clear this guy struggles to put his thoughts together as is; if he has something to say, hopefully about what Augustine’s done to his brother, he should get over himself and listen.
“The concrete. There was concrete in me once. In humans—I don’t know. It would...it would...” he looks down at Delsin again. ”Urgh…”
The girl looks at him with a mixture of pity and apprehension. Reggie can’t help but feel the same. A dangerous bioterrorist he may be, but he’s also a very obviously confused kid who obviously wants to help someone. What a moral dilemma.
“Yeah, and it fucks up conduits so bad, who knows what it’ll do to normals? Your people might be screwed, dude.”
“Stop! Saying that!” The boy is scratching at his ribcage like an irritable dog. “We have to do something! Something...healing...will it work? Not forever, unless…uh...u...hhh…”
He goes on mumbling something else to himself, but Reggie’s already turned to the girl, who is clearly thinking much straighter.
“What exactly are you saying here?”
More aptly, what exactly is he saying? Reggie is looking to her for a translation, and he can tell she understood. She looks annoyed.
“He’s saying that your people need help in a way doctors can’t provide.” She looks at him—Gene, she called him—and frowns, but only for a moment. She mumbles something under her breath Reggie doesn’t catch.
“Okay...and?”
”And?”
The boy wails, startling them both. He’s muttering incoherently still, but louder; he’s covering his ears and laying on the ground like some kind of wounded animal.
This is getting nowhere.
“Look—are you trying to trade something here? My people’s health for...what? Freedom? Supplies?”
The girl eyes him suspiciously. It shifts slowly into something more like hesitance as she looks back at her friend.
”He wants to help you. But if you couldn’t tell, Augustine hit him a little too hard. Would it kill you to wait a fuckin’ second?”
She kneels back down next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. By now he’s audibly sobbing and gasping for air like he got the wind knocked out of him. The situation gets stranger the worse it gets. It almost doesn’t feel real, like an elaborate nightmare he’s going to wake up from and joke about for years to come.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Were the situation less overwhelming he likely would have called in backup by now and had these two put away again. In a moment of clouded judgement he reholsters his gun and leans against the wall, rubbing irritably at his temples. Negotiating with criminals isn’t exactly his strong suit; he thinks that’s best left to the big boys.
What in the world would a bioterrorist want to help him for? Allegiance, maybe; Delsin is, even if he hates to admit it (and struggles to even now), a bioterrorist too. But this kid seems to want to help everyone, judging by his use of the word human. But why? What does he gain? It makes no sense and is starting to give him a headache.
“I’m afraid they’ll die,” the boy says, muffled because he’s still curled up. “Your brother—he’ll hurt. God, does it hurt. But...he will get better. The rest…”
He trailed off, but he didn’t need to say anymore. Not on the topic of what might happen, that is; his motivation is still annoyingly unclear.
“But what do you want?”
Seeing his gun is holstered, Reggie inches closer. He even puts his hands up—why take chances with bioterrorists? The girl watches him, clenching and unclenching her fists a couple times, but she’s not shouting and she’s not steaming or burning or whatever it is bioterrorists do. The boy finally looks up, eyes glassy from his tears, woefully dark and empty and totally devoid of the emotion his voice held. It was honestly a little creepy.
“I want to help.”
“What do you want for the help?” Reggie tries to keep his voice steady, because he’s dealing with a literal bomb. Two, actually. That, and it’s looking like he’ll (regrettably) need it, if these two are right about what the concrete is gonna do to the tribe.
But the boy just shakes his head. He looks confused, scared; his eyes wander back to Delsin, as they do every time it seems he needs to regroup his thoughts. A small, round light flashes in the depths of his black irises like a coin being tossed in a fountain.
“I’ll go away forever...I just…here...” his voice is barely a whisper. Most of the words could be more accurately described as a depressed sigh.
“Don’t tattle on us and we’ll be gone after we see what we can do, how’s that?” the girl finishes for him impatiently.
“Fine. But if someone comes knocking, you’re on your own.”
The girl scoffs, trails of bright pink light streaming from her fingertips. The gun being drawn again doesn’t scare her at all, but doesn’t spur an attack either; probably the best this situation could have gone.
“They’ll take him too,” the boy says, staring at Delsin. “They’ll see he’s getting better and they’ll take him too.”
The silence is loud. The girl stares at him in shock, but it’s muted. Reggie wants to be mad—he is mad, actually—but he knows it’s true. The tribe didn’t tattle, but his symptoms absolutely will; and these two bioterrorists clearly have nothing to lose ratting him out. He’s almost impressed that this kid, who’s so far pretty much only babbled and cried and spoke in riddles, would be the one to come up with the real leverage.
”Fine, ” Reggie says again. “I need to call someone in to assist the wounded. You two—” pointing at them with his free hand as he reholsters his gun, “just...stay put, alright? Don’t touch anything, don’t go anywhere, and make sure my brother is alright.”
Before either of them can say anything, he’s gone.
The fresh air is sharp but refreshing. He’s got a lot of work ahead of him.