Intoxicating Fear (V)
A surprise guest
Read part one // Masterpost // continued from here
***
Kit stared at the new bandages around his wrist. Omen came back, stitched the sides of his skin together which involved a lot of cursing and wincing until Omen told him to stop moving and Kit’s limbs didn’t so much as twitch after it. It hurt like a bitch, but at least Omen still let him curse.
The villain actually did a good job, surprisingly, and the stitches were clean. Maybe if he could get to Chiron in time, he wouldn’t even have scars after. Omen let him go bathroom, he gave him water, tea… they hadn’t really spoken a lot since Omen removed Kit’s mask, but Kit didn’t mind that. He preferred it when Omen was quiet.
And then one day he woke up and he was in the concrete room again, still in bed, power dampeners locked around his ankles and a set of normal cuffs linking him to the bed frame. Omen was there when he woke that time too. Kit swallowed as he turned his attention to the chains and pulley system on the roof, the basin was gone now replaced with a chair and Kit stared at it before lifting his eyes to Omen across the room. Omen wasn’t smiling. His face impassive, features neutral. It was an expression Kit was used to seeing on the villain’s face.
Kit sat up in bed and faced the villain, his eyes pleading. “Omen… please… please, just let me go. Just make me forget about everything, please. People are going to start looking for me eventually. Just save us both some trouble and–” Kit cut himself off as Omen shook his head. “Why?!”
Omen didn’t answer.
“WHY?!” Kit yelled. “All these mixed signals are kinda giving me whiplash buddy, so unless you want to–”
“Shut up, Kit.”
And Kit’s words died in his throat as he tried to force them out his lips. Only air breathed out on the exhale as he tried to speak, but his vocal cords closed up on Omen’s command and refused to obey him. Kit swallowed the words that refused to be given sound and opted instead to stick his middle finger up at Omen and glare at him.
Omen didn’t react, but at least it made Kit feel better. After a long tense silence, he pushed off the wall and started towards Kit. Kit swallowed but forced himself to remain sitting upright. Omen stopped in front of Kit, crouching down in front of him.
“I want to try something today. Something I could do with Noble, but I have a feeling you’ll be more difficult.”
The cold claw of fear seized Kit’s chest, and he scurried back, shaking his head frantically. When Omen reached for him, Kit slapped his hand away, the chain of the cuffs pulled taut and Kit was screaming no, but no sound left his mouth. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, for anyNo, no, no, no. He can’t… he can’t do what he did to Noble to Kit, he didn’t want to be trapped in his own… he said he wouldn’t. What changed? Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuc– he should’ve behaved. He should’ve behaved and now–
“Relax, Kit. Relax.”
Yeah, fucking right! He couldn’t even speak.
A cold hand snapped out and grabbed Kit’s chin, forcing Kit to look at the pale monster. His hand shot out, desperately clutching Omen’s wrist and pulling but Omen didn’t relent. He stared at the black eyes, stared into their depths, the emptiness, the coldness. Kit’s breath hitched as he realised that Noble would have looked into them, into the endlessness and got lost, is this how he did it? How Omen twisted his mind? How–
Another hand grabbed Kit’s cheek, fingers digging into the bruise on his cheek and Kit hissed and pulled his head back sharply, but Omen didn’t let him. Kit’s hands shot out blindly, going to Omen’s face, straight for his eyes, but Omen caught his flailing hands with ease and forced them back as he put a knee on the bed, pushing Kit back, keeping his hands down with ease. And Omen drew his lips back and almost growled: “Calm. The fuck. Down.”
Kit’s bunched muscles unwound, loosening as Kit’s breathing drew more even but the panic in his mind still raced violently like a tornado through a field of wheat, plucking out every crop before it was ready for harvest. Kit loosed gradually calmer breaths, bleeding from high and loose and frantic to slower, even, controlled. Wide blue eyes searched black as Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and stared, the strange cold filling his body like a dip in the Atlantic in mid-winter.
“I’m not going to turn you into Noble, Kit,” Omen admonished, releasing Kit’s hands. Kit pulled them back to his chest, not trusting any of this. “I just…” red filled Omen’s lips, pigmenting them crimson and Kit’s body didn’t react. He didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil, no matter how badly he wanted to rip his ankles from the cuffs, or lunge forward and bite and shove and strangle Omen, his body didn’t answer the threat his brain identified. It refused to listen to him, it only obeyed Omen, and he wanted to scream.
“Let’s try this again, hm?” Omen said softly and leaned in closer to Kit, crowding him against the wall. “You are not to use your powers, Kit. You will not be able to access your abilities until I allow it.”
Kit’s eyes widened as the command took hold of him. The viscous ice slithered through his ears, cooling and freezing any access route that connected Kit’s powers to his body. He felt his nerves being severed, his reactions dimming, the buzz under his skin lessening even within the power dampeners and he wanted to be sick.
“You cannot use your powers, Kit, tell me you understand. You may speak.”
“I understand,” Kit repeated hollowly, his voice cracking at the end. Omen pulled back, tilted his head as he studied Kit’s face, and then, seemingly satisfied he drew back. His lips faded to their normal colour, more pigmented than most people’s still, but no longer the vibrant carmine red that made Kit want to throw up.
Omen went to the end of the bed and gripped Kit’s ankle. Kit jerked them back, but Omen plucked a key from his pocket and held it up so Kit could see. “Relax. I’m gonna let you out, okay?”
Why? Kit wanted to ask, but he restrained himself. Omen glanced back at him when Kit didn’t respond, so Kit nodded and said, “okay.” Kit remained still as Omen unlocked the first cuff around his ankle and slowly bent his leg at the knee, drawing it up to his chest, keeping his other leg out while Omen unlocked that cuff too and Kit was free. For the first time since he’s been with Omen, Kit could move all his limbs.
His ankles were chaffed from the cuffs, but nothing like his wrists were after Omen made him… Kit lowered a hand to his hip and clicked his thumb off his index finger, but there was nothing. No spark. No friction in the air that he could feel, manipulate. Nothing… he could feel the buzz in his blood, he could sense the currents in the bulb hanging overhead, but he couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t access his power.
He couldn’t access his power.
Kit couldn’t… he couldn’t…
He breathed forced calm breaths as his eyes went to Omen. The villain straightened and smiled at Kit, swinging the cuffs around his index finger. “Well. That worked better than expected. I thought with electricity it would be…” Omen chewed the words in his mouth as he considered them, “more difficult.”
He shrugged as he turned his back on Kit. “Guess not.”
Kit inched towards the edge of the bed and settled his feet on the cold cement below. “If I get any say, I preferred the other room.”
“Good thing you don’t get a say then.”
“Can I at least have socks?”
Omen threw the cuffs onto the table he was leaning against when Kit woke up. Kit glanced at the cuffs but turned his attention back to Omen as he turned to face him again. If Kit could get them and put them on Omen, maybe he could –
Loosen my hold over you? Omen asked, but his mouth didn’t move. Omen smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Kit stiffened as he spoke again, but not out loud. Undo my commands? Play the hero again?
“I’m not playing.”
“Oh, yes. I think you are. Except this time, it’s not as noble. This time there’s no other hero to save, hmm? Isn’t a hero’s raison d’etre selflessness?” Omen chuckled darkly. “If keeping you as my personal entertainment keeps me off the streets, Kit, would you feel compelled to surrender yourself to me? Your autonomy? Your freedom?”
Kit’s lip curled up in disgust. “Did you give Noble that same ultimatum?”
“So, what if I did?” Omen shrugged. He scoffed as he turned his head to the door and shook his head. “You have a strange obsession with Noble.”
“So do you.”
“Hmph,” Omen chuckled, amusement dancing across his features. “You’re very good at not answering questions Kit.”
“Cheers, dickhead.”
“Very good at… deflecting.”
“Thanks.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Are you a fucking therapist?”
“No,” Omen said, standing a little taller. “I’m a lawyer.”
Kit leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows as he ran a hand through his hair and scoffed. “Pinnacle of virtue, you are.”
“What does virtue have to do with law?” Omen asked with a sardonic smile.
Kit reclined all the way back on his elbows and let out a heavy sigh, glaring at the ceiling. “You’re exhausting to speak to, y’know that?”
“Well, we don’t have to chat, Kit, I could always find some other way to entertain myself.”
“Please, stop using my name,” Kit said quietly. He froze like a deer in headlights as he realised, he said that – actually said it – out loud for Omen to hear. He heard Omen footsteps again and he wished he didn’t say anything at all. When he opened his eyes, Omen was in front of him, staring down at him with his stupid smile. “Forget it.”
Omen tsked, keeping his eyes locked on Kit’s. “Is there something wrong with your name?”
“I said forget it.”
“What?” Omen pressed, ticking him off. “I just assumed it was your name considering it’s the name that ran through that water Hero’s mind once you showed up. Do you want to be called Christopher or something?”
Kit’s nose scrunched up at Omen. “My full name isn’t Christopher.”
“Then what?”
“Look, I said it didn’t matter okay!” Kit fumed, unable to control the anger that bubbled up for no good reason. Well, no, a good reason, but misplaced at the time.
Omen stared down at Kit. “You’re annoyed that I know your name.”
“I’m not,” Kit said much too quickly. Omen’s smirk returned.
“Are you upset that I didn’t ask your name?”
“I’m just saying it’s a bit creepy to go around and invading people’s minds and using their name like they gave it to you.”
Omen laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?” Kit huffed out a breath and looked away. Omen’s stupid smirk was doing his head in, and he kind of wished he was knocked out right now, so he didn’t have to witness it.
“Hey, Kit,” said Omen, and Kit made a point of not looking at him. “Kit, you have to the count of three to look at me. Thr – good. See? You can learn. You’re so obedient today.”
Kit gave the villain a blank stare. Omen smiled, not his stupid smirk, but a smile that if Kit passed him in the street, he would think that he was a nice, normal guy. “What if we re-introduce ourselves, hm?”
Kit’s mouth pinched. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to know you. I don’t want you to know me. I want you to let me go.”
“Well, we can’t always get what we want.”
“I know, dickhead. God you’re so fucking patronising!”
Omen whistled. “That’s a mighty big word for a twelve-year-old.”
Kit scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Just fuck off man.”
Omen let out a breath. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that.”
“You could if you just let me go,” Kit said sweetly.
Omen smiled. “I’m not doing that. Come on,” Omen kicked Kit in the leg lightly and turned to the door. “We have a visitor.”
Kit stared after him, baffled. “I’m not going to meet your friend. I’m not your pet to show off.”
Omen smirked over his shoulder. “What a fun place your brain takes you, Kitty-kat,” he chuckled and then descended into a bursting fit of laughter, the rich baritone filling the room. Kit curled his lip up in disgust as the villain composed himself and waved away his comment. “Oh god, that look on your face was too good. Hahaha, come on.”
“No,” Kit said, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly. “I’m fine here.”
“Upstairs, Kit. Now.”
And Kit’s legs moved before he could comprehend the command taking hold. Omen held the door open to the stairs as Kit grumbled out curses at the dickhead, walking up the concrete steps to the door at the top. “It’s open. You can go through.”
“Don’t need your permission, dick,” Kit muttered as they opened up a door into the lobby of a mansion. Kit scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Of fucking course…”
Omen brushed past Kit and smiled smugly at him. “This is just the guest house,” he said cockily as his shoulder hit Kit’s. The dick chuckled as he continued across the hall and raised his hand, beckoning his fingers and said: “this way, Kit. Follow me. He’s not a man who likes to be kept waiting.”
Kit followed begrudgingly, scanning the entry hall, noting the doors and the windows as his feet padded along the bright, seamless crystal floor, polished to perfection. Kit could see his reflection as he looked down, and he grimaced at the crimson stains on his pale face as he followed Omen through the foyer and two pillars holding up the first floor like the fucking pantheon.
He wished he was surprised as he walked through the mansion into a living room-area. The floor changed to plush light grey carpet that was soft underfoot, on the backwall there was a TV mounted on the wall over a beautiful brickwork fireplace with two cream shelves built into the wall on either side. To the right of that, was a half wall of windows that folded out in an arch with a deep-set windowsill. Straight ahead was a corner of wall to ceiling windows that exposed the view of green fields stretching far away and Kit’s hope for escape diminished at the sight, his heart caving into his chest.
A beautiful, muscular man sat in one of the three grey couches arranged around the fireplace in a U-shape, his elbow perched on the armrest, resting his fist against his cheek, his features wound tight in irritation as his eyes traced Omen and Kit as they stepped into the room. His skin glowed as if he was blessed by Apollo himself, a rich umber brown and he had a perfectly trimmed black beard that traced his angular jawline. His hair was styled in high-top dreads that defied the laws of gravity, which tapered at the sides. His dark brown eyes narrowed on Omen as Omen opened his arms wide in greeting.
“René, so good to see you again. How are you?” He asked in a bright voice, like waves of rolling velvet echoing through the living room. The smell of cozy vanilla and the faded scent of charcoal from the fire met Kit’s nose as he padded in after Omen, standing at the doorway, next to a blue-grey slate painted wall.
René raised a perfectly sculpted brow as Omen spoke. His intelligent eyes lazily swept behind Omen to Kit before he stood from the couch and prowled past Omen towards Kit, hitting Omen with his shoulder as he passed roughly.
“Okay. Sorry to keep you waiting, Kit’s difficult.”
Kit’s eyes widened as René stalked towards him, backing up the closer he got until Kit’s back hit a wall, but René kept coming. He towered over Kit, he reached for Kit’s face and Kit swallowed, pressing his back into the wall behind him. But he didn’t touch Kit’s face. Kit glanced up, surprise evident as René’s lips twisted into a scowl.
“Did ‘e do this to you?” When he spoke, he had a very distinct French accent that surprised Kit, but somehow fit with how attractive this man was. Kit swallowed. He couldn’t even glance at Omen who was hidden behind René’s broad torso. He nodded stupidly. René clucked his tongue. “Fucking batard. I am a ‘ealer,” René said. “I am not ‘is friend, do not worry.”
“René,” Omen said, a little hurt. “We’re friends.”
“Is this what you ‘ave been doing, Ambrose, hm? Beating up kids?” René tsked, and lifted his hands again, looking at Kit. “May I help?”
Kit nodded again. René smiled at him and Kit thought he was in heaven. “Oh, mon dieu.” René hissed as he pressed his knuckle against Kit’s cheek and Kit winced. “Come. Sit. I have some remedies that will help.”
Kit followed René across the room and sat on one of the armchairs as René went to grab a leather bag beside the chair he was sitting in. Omen didn’t look impressed at being ignored, but he didn’t say anything. Kit smirked at him, happy to see him uncomfortable for once.
“Max got my message, then?”
“I am not doing this for you,” René grouched, bringing his bag to the couch Kit was sitting on and laying it beside him. “Max called in a favour. Had I known it was you I would have spit in his face.”
“My name is René Marchand,” René told him, holding up a red leaf to Kit and smiled at him. “What is your name?”
“Kit. Kit Mallory.” Kit said, taking the leaf.
“Eat that while I work,” René told him, his hands glowing a soft gold. “Mallory?” he asked. “Malheureux. It means unfortunate in French, which is true if you have known Ambrose for any amount of time.”
Kit laughed as he popped the strange leaf into his mouth which was strangely chewy, his blue eyes going to Omen behind René. “I agree.”
“I don’t,” Omen chimed in, clearly bothered. “I am a joy to be around. People love me.”
“People with horrible taste,” René said, lifting his golden hands to Kit’s cheek. “This may hurt.”
Kit prepared for the pain but there was none. René hummed to himself, his voice rumbling through his chest like a melody. “You are badly injured, Malheureux. ‘ow did this happen?”
Kit’s eyes widened as they found Omen’s, but before he could answer, Omen’s voice was in his head. “Do not tell him you’re a hero. Tell him you were hurt during a business arrangement gone wrong. Don’t tell him that I had any involvement.”
Kit frowned as the compulsion took hold and he said with words that weren’t his own, “a bad business arrangement went sideways. I was caught up in the… negotiations.”
“Your nose is broken, and your hands… what happened there?”
Kit kept his eyes on Omen’s black, which sucked him in and promised more pain should he say anything that could incriminate him to René, who Omen seemed to be afraid of for some reason.
“I… tried to get out. Struggled a lot. The cuffs cut into my wrists.”
René moved onto his nose and hummed to himself. “This will hurt.” Before Kit could ask what, René grabbed Kit’s nose and with a crack that echoed through his skull Kit howled, recoiling, but René placed a hand on the back of his head and held it firm. “Sorry. Your nose was healing wrong. It ‘ad to be reset. Smile for me… are your teeth?... No. Perfect. No broken teeth, they’re a bitch to try and regrow and takes a lot of time.”
Kit focused on René again as René moved his hands down to Kit’s wrists and grabbed the left, slowly unwinding the bandages around it. “You can regrow teeth?”
René shrugged, pursing his lips. “It is a bone like any other. As long as I feed you this horrible, and I mean ‘orrible, vile concoction of bone marrow I can move it towards your mouth and try and regrow the tooth yes.”
“Holy shit. That’s so cool.”
“Yeah. There’s also a dentist,” Omen grumbled, crossing his arms.
Kit smirked at Omen, smiling at René. “He’s grumpy because you don’t like him,” Kit told him. René raised his eyes to Kit briefly and winked, before he focused on Kit’s wrists again. Kit hissed as the air hit it, and René cursed in French.
Kit glanced down and regretted it immediately. A thin film of yellow pus had dried and cracked around the edges of the wound, and there was a flash of white that Kit could see before he glanced up, nausea climbing his throat as he looked up at the ceiling.
“You…” René trailed off, pondering what he should or could say. “You are a fighter, you say, Kit?”
“Oh, he’s a fighter alright,” Omen told him. Kit’s gaze snapped to the villain’s who looked almost apologetic. That turned Kit’s stomach more and he wished that Omen wasn’t here to see this. To witness his revulsion or how affected he was by Omen’s wounds.
“The good news is this should not sting,” René said as he closed his golden hands over Kit’s wrist, enveloping them in warmth. Kit could feel his skin pulling together, he could feel blood being pulled to the wound and guessed that René could probably pick out the elements in Kit’s body that he needed to cure a wound. “That leaf I gave you; it is a miracle worker. Not very good for broken bones, but flesh wounds? Bruises? It is like there is nothing wrong.”
René’s smile comforted Kit as he worked, and Kit found himself returning the smile to the healer. René glanced over his shoulder at Omen and tsked. “This will take a while, Ambrose. Would you mind getting some tea or wine? Or both, preferably.”
Omen stared at Kit before nodding and pushing off the wall. “Of course.”
He was almost out the door when René said, “and none of that bad stuff you drink. A good red, from the cellar, s’il vous plait.”
Omen just let out a tired “yeah,” before he was gone, leaving Kit alone with René. René waited a minute until they couldn’t hear Omen’s footsteps anymore before his smiling eyes turned serious as he looked at Kit.
“I think we can speak more frankly now that we are alone, yes?” He said and Kit blinked at the sudden change in the healer.
“I…”
“You keep looking at him before you answer any question, Kit, like you are afraid of what he will do.” Kit’s heart thundered in his ears as he felt his skin weave itself back together, knitting tissue and clotting blood flow as his wound closed under the warmth of René’s hands. He leaned in closer and said quieter, “’as he done this to you? You can tell me. I will help you.”
Kit searched René’s face, blue eyes wide at the accusation, but he couldn’t tell him. Kit wasn’t allowed to say that Omen had any involvement in his injuries. Kit sagged, lowering his eyes. “No. No, nothing like that. He called you, right? To help me.”
René cocked a brow. Kit bunched his free hand into a fist on his thigh. “I’m fine.”
“Then you are afraid of me?”
Kit’s head snapped up. “No! No, I–” Kit laughed. “I like you a lot. I like how easy you get under his skin.”
René laughed along with him. “Ambrose? Yes. We rarely see eye-to-eye, except maybe with our good fashion sense. As a French man, it is hard to hate a man with such style. But we tell him his style is bad anyways. He is too arrogant.”
Kit laughed again as René continued to heal him, but his mind was a torrent of thunderous thoughts. His stomach tied itself in knots at how close he was to René, how he had already suspected the worst and would act on it, but Kit couldn’t… he wasn’t allowed to tell him how right he was. How right he was about Omen, about disagreeing with him. Did René even know Omen was the Ambrose he knew?
Would Kit be able to tell René that, at least?
“You are not allowed to tell him I’m Omen;” Omen chimed brightly in Kit’s mind. “Or, That you’re in danger, that you’re scared. You will not be able to tell him about your life as a hero, or your encounters with villains.”
Kit stared at the place Omen was before, letting the words sink into his mind. Letting them take root without fuss. There wasn’t a point in fighting them anymore. Not really. Not when they were going to plant themselves in Kit’s mind stubbornly and conduct his actions with simple commands.
And that was all it was going to be. Kit didn't stand a chance in fighting against Omen, so why bother even trying? The villain clearly didn't want him dead, for whatever reason, but... at least René's presence assured Kit of that much. He could figure out the villain's grand plans later. Right now he just wanted to enjoy talking to someone other than Omen, and not worry about how he might be punished for this later.
***
This doesn't feel like IF... does it? Am I going crazy? maybe I should just focus on the OG story and then re-write it knowing the direction, although I like how I wrote this, and I like René a lot~
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