@aurorialwolf made a post about a kid with Sam's genetics and this hit me like lightning
Darlin's working security at a D.A.M.N. event. An aura brushes past that feels all too familiar. But they're outdoors, broad daylight. So they focus their senses in tighter, zeroing in on the familiarity. The figure is shifty, cautious, skinny, just a kid, with sandy colored hair. Almost too young to be at D.A.M.N. They murmur into their walkie that they need coverage while they step away and check something out.
The walkie clicks with a 10-4 response and they're off, keeping their own aura subdued and non-threatening as they weave through the crowd back to the familiar freelancer. They reached a hand out to stop the kid but never make contact.
"What d'you want? I ain't doin anything wrong." A familiar accent. And their eyes... Suspicious, angry.
-
Sam kept next to nothing from his life as a human. Darlin had never asked why, never needed to. But when they were moving out of the house William had given him, there had been an old box. Dusty, unmarked, and untouched until Darlin had picked it up to load it on the truck.
They didn't ask about it until they were moved in at the new place. It was the last box left. They'd both been avoiding it consciously or not.
"Pictures, mostly. Keepsakes. Everythin that reminded me of my life... before," he'd admitted when they finally asked. They could feel his core pulse with conflicting emotion.
"Can I see?"
It had taken some convincing, but he did allow them to open the box. To dig into his past and open that part of himself back up. Most of the pictures were old, an entire tiny book binder with a floral cover of them he wasn't even in. He said his Grandma had given him before he'd escaped to Dahlia. There were a few in color, old Polaroids. One of that famous (or infamous) Viper tank top fitting 'as it was supposed to' on him at 17.
But there was one thing, in all the pictures of him, that stood out. That had his words echoing in their mind from a rooftop conversation.
-
The words echo in their mind now as this kid stares them down. 'Brown. My eyes were brown.'
"Didn't say you were, Collins. Come with me, let's grab some food and talk."
"How do you know my name?"
Their response is a raised eyebrow and turning to walk off with a cock of their head, expecting curiosity to get the better of suspicion.
The walkie crackles, Christian asking when they'll be back.
"Taking lunch," is sure to cause some bitching when they finally get back but the freelancer's aura is brushing theirs again.