#dc#dc comics#batman#bruce wayne#dick grayson#dc fanart#batfamily#batfam#tim drake
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
seen from Egypt
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Japan
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Australia
seen from Russia
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Japan
seen from Yemen
TOM GLYNN-CARNEY as young Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus in DOMINA (1x02)
hell over me | II
notes: the responses i’ve had to hell over me has been incredible so far honestly. i’ve enjoyed creating the whole world that surrounds this entire concept and omg i’m so excited for the next part. however i’m now coming at y’all with the next installment and it’s werewolf!michael. warnings: mentions of death word count: 2.8k
part one ii, part three iii, part iv, part v
---
Agony was all Michael could feel. It felt like a jagged knife in his chest, constantly cutting at the most vital organ that was so broken. He couldn’t breathe.
Mythic: The Story of the Tracker Officers (Part 2)
“When is Frain coming back with the newbie?” Briggs moaned as he twirled his pistol around impatiently, surrounded by his teammates.
“It’s Camilla Hilario, Briggs,” Tinker responded from his seat, an irritated look in his eye. “She’s not a newbie, she’s a recruit.”
Briggs snorted and turned to the marksman, leaning on the crate at his side. “Why you gotta take everything so serious, Tinker?”
“Demon hunting is serious business. There’s no time to take things lightly.”
“Would both of you stop your yammering?! I’m trying to read!” This came from the far end of the room, where Lambert sat at a small table with a blue book in front of him. At this point, both men knew that their bickering was only aggravating their teammates, and so they mutually but silently agreed to call it quits for the time being.
Thompson looked at his teammates from above, drumming his fingers along the railing. Normally, his team got along much better than this, but recent events and the pending arrival of their newest recruit was putting everyone on edge. The normally cool Kane Lambert had been growing grumpy. Briggs and Tinker, who were normally decently agreeable, had been at each other’s’ throats all week. Even Thompson had grown distant from the rest of his teammates, speaking mostly to Frain, who until now he’d only treated as a colleague rather than a friend.
That man was currently out getting their newest recruit, leaving Thompson with those below him as well as Riden, who never left his meditation chamber anyways. The wait was seriously getting to everyone to the point where no one could keep their calm. After all, everyone was anxious to meet the new recruit who was still looking to be sheltered after illegally crossing the border into America from Mexico a few years back; the Trackers seemed to be rather proficient at inducting foreigners into their ranks.
“Captain Thompson,” cried out a voice, and the red-head looked over to the gate of the warehouse. There stood Frain, his dirty blonde hair neatly combed and his pale face obscured by a large, purple bruise on his right cheek. Beside him was a short young woman with a severe smile on her face and short, dirty blonde hair.
“Sergeant Frain, I’m glad you could make it here in one piece,” Thompson joked.
“Hey! You beat me to the punchline!” Frain replied with mock hurt in his tone.
Suddenly, Lambert stood up from his seat and waved his arms like a madman. “Hey-hey! Two in one, Frainstorm!”
With the exception of Tinker and the newcomer, the entire warehouse erupted into applause and wild cheering as Frain bowed to his friends, thanking them for noticing his excellent choice of words. Tinker, on the other hand, appreciated the joke by lightly smiling and nodding to Frain.
When finally the energy died down, Daria-the group’s medic-stepped forwards and examined the duelist’s wound. Thompson watched as she worked her magic, still unsure of how to feel about her remaining on the team. It was no secret that he’d initially recruited her for this group because of his feelings for her. He’d met her when she was working as a paramedic and he was investigating her patient, who had just been attacked by a vampire. Little did he know that that patient would end up being one of the largest demon targets in the area: a vampire named Harvester.
However, it wasn’t her role in keeping the eventual villain alive that made Thompson shaky about her status on the team, but recent events involving her son. In ninety-one to ninety-three, the Trackers split up into smaller strike teams to take their expertise different places, and Thompson had personally chosen Daria to accompany him. He’d explained to her his feelings for her recently, and at that point they were in a very open and healthy relationship. However, two years after these missions began, a new threat emerged and, this time, there was less help to be given to humanity: the battle against demon invaders had turned into an all-out war.
The Trackers were made to return to their original base of operations by their founder, a man who called himself the original Tracker, in order to secure a proper foothold of the already demon-infested city. In that time, their relationship grew more intense, and yet somehow Daria was growing more distant from him. Thompson often sought advice from his closest friend on the team at the time, Lawson Briggs, but the ex-policeman never had anything wise to share.
It was only over a year ago that Daria gave birth, and while all were there to witness event, Thompson became confused as to how she was able to give birth, as he was sterile. Later that evening, Lawson came out as the father. Daria had been seeing him in secret for several months already, and although Briggs had initially felt guilty about Thompson’s lack of knowledge, she convinced him that it was alright. The child had been conceived while Thompson, Frain, and Tinker were away in Egypt, and was now living in a foster home. Thompson, enraged, battered from his mission, and heartbroken, blamed Briggs and expelled him from his team.
In the following days, Daria was in-and-out of the team, sometimes by her own choosing, other times by Thompson’s orders. Briggs returned six months later to beg for forgiveness, and while Thompson didn’t truly ever forgive him, their relationship began anew, albeit a little rocky. Daria still hadn’t owned up to this mistake and instead decided to act as if Thompson was the one to blame. Frain often offered his own advice to Thompson, and Riden offered regular meditation sessions to calm him down, but Thompson was still stressed. As long as Daria was among them, there would always be a tension that no one would be able to bear. He couldn’t let her go, but he wouldn’t let her stay…
“It’s really nothing,” Frain whined to the nurse as she dabbed a wet towel on his cheek.
“Nonsense!” she said in her thick accent. “Every wound has a treatment.”
“Maybe for this burro it’s not scaring me like he did.” This statement came from the new girl, who was watching the group with intent eyes as if she was now in charge of them all.
The members all fell quiet, too shocked to react to her comment. This small girl with a faded pink shirt and an admittedly adorable pout had just given lip, something which had never been seen by any of Thompson’s subordinates. This girl both frightened the group and gave them hope.
However, Thompson knew not to trust blind courage, and not to test an angry woman. This young girl still needed a lot of training before she could insult him or any of his people, and so he decided he would test this angry woman.
“Back down, Camilla,” he warned. “You will respect your superiors.”
The girl’s gaze met his, and he could feel her soul trying to force its way into his mind. Harsh shoves through his eyes were met with resistance, however, and everyone could see Thompson readying himself to defend against anything she might throw at him.
“I’ll respect them when I have a reason to,” she responded with aggression.
“Frain has more experience in this field than you do. I think that’s reason enough to respect him.”
“Not until I see it.”
“Do you not trust my word?”
“Not until you prove it.”
Immediately, she fell to the ground, her dirty blonde ponytail covering her face. All was still as Thompson stood above her, his hand outstretched after having struck her cheek with it. He looked down at her and saw her clutching the right side of her face, fearful that perhaps the strike was too harsh. However, she quickly clambered to her feet and reacted by rushing towards Thompson with readied fists.
The Tracker easily dodged her sloppy blow and swung his arm underneath her rib cage, catching her off-guard. In that moment where she couldn’t do anything to help herself, he lifted her off the ground and tossed her towards a small gathering of crates. The impact itself was enough to shatter the fragile boxes, added with her obviously toned body for more damage.
Still, after regaining her balance, she looked up at Thompson and shook her head. “You hit like a girl. I should know; I’ve fought a few.”
The room was silent after the last statement as Thompson shook his head at her. Everyone else knew that Thompson rarely shook his head because of his optimistic nature; after all, when he shook his head, it meant that he was giving up. Perhaps this time, he was giving up completely on this newcomer, or perhaps something else.
But there was no questioning it. Instead, he simply motioned for Briggs to pull her up—and offer which she promptly refused before getting up herself—and for Tinker to escort her out of the common area. The stern man nodded and began to nudge her in the right direction.
When they were gone and all quiet again, Frain let out an awkward chuckle. “Man, what a gal, am I right?”
Kane inhaled sharply. “Are you sure you want her on this team? I saw you right there; even you looked done with that.”
Thompson shook his head again and looked at his group. “I wasn’t shaking my head at her. I was shaking my head at what she was trying to do, and how she failed.” When all of them looked confused, he took a seat and began his explanation. “She was testing my strength as a leader by being impossible and insubordinate. She was seeing if she could get me to crack, which she clearly couldn’t.”
“Then what was the slap all about?!” snapped Briggs.
“Oh please, there are times I want to slap you. I just don’t do it because you’d be pretty upset if I did.” Briggs nodded slightly and relaxed again in his chair as Thompson continued. “She is aggressive by nature, and I know that training her will be hard. But what you got a taste of here is not what we’ll be getting in the field. I can promise you that.”
At first, the faces of his subordinates seemed worried, as if they didn’t trust the man’s judgement, but he reassured them with one of his trademark smirks. This always meant that he was speaking from the bottom of his generally obscured heart instead of thinking logically. Thompson liked rational thinking, and although he was a man that often allowed people to do what they wanted so long as it wasn’t dumb, he sometimes felt that laying down the law was an important part of keeping his team together.
*
“And that is why Thompson is the best leader ever!” cried Frain to Triton, who seemed more unimpressed than before, most likely because Frain’s statement was random and unwarranted.
At the front of the room, Thompson turned back to look at Frain and give him a quick but warm smile in order to thank him for the lackluster defence. He then turned his attention back to Triton, who was patiently awaiting the rest of Thompson’s story.
Thompson didn’t quite know what else Triton wanted to hear; the General wanted to know the story of how they were defeated by Harvester, and yet there was too much to tell him beforehand. That set of information was mostly dedicated to making his organisation stand out better, but already the entire jury was getting restless. Thompson had to make a compromise.
“From then on, I trained Hill to be as good as she could be, and it paid off,” he resumed. “At first a little stubborn to work with, yes, but she soon warmed up to the group…some of them better than others, of course.”
“Those others being Frain and I,” commented Tinker with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Triton’s head turned immediately to the grimmer of the two dimwits, his eyes searching for words. Tinker waited patiently for him to say something, occasionally showing his boredom by making a strange face, yawning comically, or simply smiling and waving like an idiot. Thompson knew what both men were doing: while Triton was searching for a way to manipulate his friends and colleagues, Tinker was throwing him off all while searching for Frain’s own approval.
“Your family’s not from here, Mr. Tinker, is that correct?”
Tinker gasped mockingly as he placed his hands on either cheek. “Goodness gracious, I’d never have known!” He looked at his hands, noting the difference in skin colour from his own and Triton’s. Then, his face went stoic again for a moment as he leaned forwards. “My dad was an abusive bastard, your interference in my country made things worse, and in reality my mother just didn’t like the topography.”
He turned quickly to Frain, who seemed impressed by the witty remark by showing him a ‘thumbs up’. Tinker thanked him by blowing him a quick, sarcastic kiss, followed by the raising of eyebrows from both men.
“Enough!” Triton shouted before calming himself. “So that’s why you learned marksmanship?”
“I learned marksmanship in case my abusive dad ever laid a finger on my mother,” Tinker shot back.
Triton scoffed. “And did he ever?”
“No,” muttered Tinker. “But I killed him anyways. Truth be told, it made me feel a lot safer during my Egypt-Iran mission.”
Thompson had been the one to accompany Frain and Tinker to Egypt and Iran, and while there Tinker found his father running an illegal arms dealership. He had been married three more times, and all three of his wives her clearly afraid of him. Frain was with a group of children then, while Thompson was investigating a possible Hark Devil running a merc ring outside the city.
Tinker made a deal with his father and bought a pistol, which he then used to shoot his father a few times. He came back to Frain covered in blood, scaring away the children as he sobbed in the blonde man’s arms. At first, they were polar opposites: Tinker had always seen Frain as nothing but a loudmouthed idiot who, despite his combat prowess, was only there to make the others seem less stupid. Likewise, Frain only thought that Tinker was a frowning ball of angst with no sense of humour or emotions. It wasn’t until Tinker saw Frain with those kids that he realised how much he needed a friend like Frain, and it wasn’t until Tinker cried in his arms that Frain took him under his wing. Ever since, the two had been inseparable, with Frain teaching Tinker how to smile and Tinker teaching Frain how to speak Persian for no real purpose other than to even out the deal. Clearly, Tinker was learning well, and it made Thompson proud to know that his two friends had found a best friend in the most unlikely of places.
Triton stared at Tinker a long while, but the marksman continued only to give him ridiculous faces and yawns to behold, and so he turned his attention to Thompson’s other colleague.
“Mr. Frain, you were what before you joined Thompson’s rag-tag group of rapscallions?”
“I, my good sir, was a hitman,” Frain informed him warmly. When the room went silent, he looked around to try and found out why. Clearly, his very nonchalant comment had caught them by surprise, but to make them feel more embarrassed, he embellished. “A hitman? Someone who scours the black market for heads to hunt? I was a master of improvised weapons—in fact, I once took down a gang of thugs in a casino with only a table leg, a deck of cards, and some chewing gum!”
Thompson smiled, remembering fondly the night he met Frain for the first time. He was one of the first members apart from Kane and Briggs, actually, since Thompson was given the task of assembling the Trackers that would eventually make up Tracker Team Alpha. Frain was supposed to take out a mob boss who had apparently let a group of vampires infiltrate a community club at his favourite casino. He was quickly discovered as a hitman and nearly killed by the boss’ cronies, but Frain ingeniously blinded them all by playing a quick game of fifty-two pickup. With one card that was close to him, he ran up to the boss and slit his throat as best as he could-not the cleanest cut, but enough for him to bleed out and die. Then, he flipped the table that he’d been sitting at and, while his attackers sprayed bullets at him uselessly, he began dislodging one of the legs. Finally, he was able to rush forwards and beat the men over the heads to knock them out. With the wounds he undoubtedly received, he kept them covered with stretched-out, chewed-up gum before taking them to the hospital. Immediately, Thompson knew he wanted someone this resourceful and yet so charismatic on his team.
The General shifted uncomfortably. “A hitman, a murderer…what else have you got in store for me, Thompson?”
“A serial robber without a home and two illegal immigrants,” Thompson shot back, referring to Riden, Hill, and Daria.
“It’s a wonder Briggs didn’t do away with us, am I right?” Frain joked.
Triton seemed to misunderstand the comment when he nodded in agreement. “It truly is…in fact, it makes me wonder if the six other Tracker teams are just criminal bolthole groups like yours was.”
Now Thompson had done it. He was too busy trying to make his team look good that he forgot that Triton was simply looking for reasons to shut them down. If he couldn’t do it because of their mistakes—his mistakes—then the General would have to settle for legal reasons, which were definitely valid reasons. He wouldn’t dare tell him that Hunter had specifically requested that he’d prefer the teams to be civilian-based, and the best recruits could be found where the worst people were. But it wouldn’t matter; soon, Triton would be investigating and would find out what he needed to know to dissolve the organisation.
Better now than later, Thompson thought crossly, still frustrated that his game had been counteracted by that of the man he originally deemed inferior.
“That is what our organiser requested, sir,” Thompson grumbled.
The General’s eyes lit up. “Excuse me?”
Thompson looked up, meeting his bright gaze, which only made him angrier. “All the Tracker teams recruited the most capable civilians, most of which were criminals or of that nature. It was the only way to ensure efficiency in a world where we needed to stay inconspicuous.”
Triton grinned devilishly; a sight worse than any demon. In that instant, a hand came falling onto a table, and he looked over to see Tinker standing up, his finger pointed directly at him. “So you truly are the demons of our world…pitted against these otherworldly monsters because no one else would be missed—”
“You’re wrong!” cried out Tinker as he stood from his seat, finger pointed at Triton. “If you think that we’re as bad as the demons, then why don’t you pit yourself against these ‘otherworldly monsters’?! If we’re so bad, how come we were the only people fighting this threat?”
Frain reached up and tried to bring his friend down, but Triton motioned for him to let the marksman continue.
“You’re gonna get us into ten tons of shit, Tinker!” grumbled Frain under his breath, looking over at Thompson in hopes of their leader intervening. He, however, seemed interested as well in what his colleague had to say to Triton, hoping that it would deter him from his previous revelation.
“I’d like to see you doing your part protecting our world, sir! Otherwise, you’re worse than us, because at least we’re fighting to help people. What are you doing?!” At this point, Tinker’s voice was getting less severe, but no less emotional. Now, he was only managing to hide his true emotion with exaggerated theatrics and almost arpeggio-like intonations.
“What we’re doing is finding out what went wrong with you guys so that we can apply it to a better-suited force,” Triton replied calmly, having heard enough of Tinker’s ramblings.
Thompson shook his head. “But none of you will be prepared for it, sir. We had specific training that led us to being able to take demons on without difficulty—”
The General snorted. “Then why have you failed so far to tell me why Harvester chased you all out of San Silencio with two of your own team KIA?”
The chamber once again went silent, and the three Trackers sat at their seats, unmoving. Triton sat at the very front, looking them all over while tapping his fingers against his desk. Frain uncomfortably shifted from side to side, while Tinker frowned slightly and looked at all of the elderly officers surrounding them, shooting them all toxic glances. Thompson sat at the front, thinking of how to respond without giving Triton the benefit. He still longed to make his team look good as to be able to keep the Trackers intact, but knew that the longer he stalled, the less likely Triton would like to hear any of it.
Finally, after what felt like a long time of silence, Thompson sighed. “Because I still consider it my greatest failure.”
