United [A Superhero AU] - Book Two

Chapter Thirty-One - Issues

When the morning finally arrives, Cry carefully extracts himself from between Jack and Matthew and gets up, stretching and wincing at the ache in his back. Sleeping against a wall is never comfortable, no matter how you do it.

With the two villains settled once again, Cry moves down the hallway and takes a pitstop in his washroom, opting for a shower and a change of clothes before he goes to a meeting with Mr. Vincent. The very thought of meeting with that man makes unpleasant shivers shoot up his spine. If his father approved of him, there's no way Cry will like or get along with him.

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt as he makes his way up to his father's old office. No matter how many times he walks these halls or enters this room, it will always feel wrong. He spent so much time wanting his father to love him, but he never will. The only reason he's really trying is because he doesn't know what he'll do with himself if he doesn't have this goal in mind. Cry grimaces as he settles down in his father's chair.

Sometimes, he really, really hates himself.

The door opens and Mr. Vincent strides in, a briefcase clutched in his bony, pale fingers. He smiles greasily at Cry before sitting down in the chair across from him, setting his case on the wooden surface between them.

"Good morning, sir," he says, unclipping the locks on his briefcase. "I'm so glad you agreed to meet with me."

Cry grits his teeth, gripping the arms of his chair tighter. "Yes, well... what do you have for me, Vincent?"

"I have been collaborating with some New Age Institute supporters, and the plans are all in place for them to set out across the world. As you already know, only the most exclusive are allowed out of the San Francisco walls, and we have ground-based interceptor missiles to prevent any military operations from getting in over the wall or entering our airspace." He waves his hand dismissively and smiles again. "I digress. Your father stated before his death that he felt that the villain operations were weakening due to so many losses. That is why I have sent my collaborators outside the wall so they can gather more children for mutations. They will be trained, just as you and the others were, and they will join your forces."

Cry's stomach churns and his grip on his armrests tightens beyond what he thought was possible. He barely manages to swallow the growing lump in his throat as he adjusts his position. "I don't want more villains."

"Don't be ridiculous, Cole. More villains will help you, not hurt you! Besides, you have so many spare rooms now."

"Do NOT call me Cole."

Vincent grins, the gesture strained. "Of course. My apologies, sir."

Cry crosses his arms, his eyes closed behind the mask. He wants to scream and and run away. He knows he can't. The moment anyone outside recognizes him as the leader of the NAI, he'll get a lot of praise and a lot of bullets sent in his direction.

"Sir, your father would have wanted this. This would make him proud of you. Not to mention your mother! She would have loved to see you being so successful," Mr. Vincent says, his words worming into the weakest part of his brain and the most vulnerable part of his heart. He never got to meet his mother. All his life he wanted his father to love him. Would this really be the thing to tip the scales?

Cry's stomach does another uncomfortable 360° flip, making him feel incredibly nauseous. He wants to put his foot down and say no. He wants to resist, but years of brainwashing and training have taught him to obey orders and do as father wants so he doesn't get hurt.

Don't disappoint me, son.

Cry's eyes burn with the urge to cry, but he holds it back and instead inhales sharply. Mr. Vincent smiles and reaches into his briefcase, pulling out a couple of official documents. Documents that will allow NAI collaborators to kidnap children and get paid for it.

"I just need these signed, sir."

Cry nearly retches, resting the urge to bury his face in his knees. His father's voice echoes in the back of his mind, along with the ghost of a slap across his cheek and a foot in his ribs. In a moment, he feels ten years older.

His hand seems to move on its own as he reaches over, scrawling his signature across the pages as tears start welling in his eyes. How could he do this?! Why can't he stop himself?!

I'm useless. I'm worthless. I'm awful. I fucking hate myself. I deserve to die.

Mr. Vincent grins that signature greasy grin and snatches the signed papers, shoving them in his briefcase before Cry has a chance to change his mind. "Your father would be so proud right now. He's so pleased with you. I just know it."

Cry lets his pen fall from his fingers as Mr. Vincent stands and bids him farewell, leaving the office and leaving Cry wallowing in his own self-hatred.

The moment he's gone, the masked villain gets up from his chair and moves numbly to the villain graveyard, where his father's tombstone sits. He stares at it for a second before kicking it as hard as he can, sending shooting pains up his leg and leaving the gravestone totally unaffected. He curses out loud and crumples, finally letting his tears fall.

"I hate you!  I hate you so much!  You hurt us all so much and you're the reason I can't even think for myself without having your thoughts in my head! Dan and Stephanie and Matt all died because of your stupid organizations and brainwashing and everyone would be happier if they were alive and I was dead and it's because of you!  I NEVER WANTED THIS! Why don't I just die?! You'd love me more if I was dead anyway!" Cry screams, hunching over in the grass and tugging at his hair.

His skin starts to glow and he jumps, his tears falling with even more rigour. His heart stutters in his chest, panic immediately gripping him as his skin refuses to return to normal. He clutches his arms around him and crawls backwards until his back hits the wall, leaving him sobbing and scraping at his skin in an anxiety-induced frenzy.

You're better off dead. Stop trying. You're a mess. You're weak.

Cry sobs until he can't breathe, the glow only starting to die down when he's lying on the grass and desperately trying to take in air and be silent at the same time. In out. In out. In out. Jack and Matthew are probably still sleeping. They have enough on their plates without Cry's extensive list of issues.

From his spot on the ground, he can see a small square of pale morning sky high above. A bird flutters past the opening, singing a cheerful song. Cry exhales shakily, the grass beneath him tickling his exposed skin and the dirt cool beneath his overheated, panic-ridden body. It's real. The churning water in his mind and heart that threatens to drown him is not.

Cry blinks a few times, a different kind of moisture gathering in his bloodshot, hidden grey eyes. Will I ever be okay?