Another'verse - Part 3
In another part of the multiverse, there aren't superheroes. Or supervillains. There isn't a Flash or a Captain Cold, but there is Wally and Len.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
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Title: Portrait of Another Victim
Characters: Kyle Rayner, Wally West, Evan McCulloch, Len Snart
Word count: 2601
Summary: Kyle gets hired by the police to figure out a strange crime. Takes place in my 'Ramblings of Another West'verse, before Axel appears. Evan's been around for about a year and a half.
AN: Re-read my first part of this 'verse and a throw-away line decided to get stuck in my head.
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The blue collar capital of America.
That's what I've heard about Keystone City. It fits. It's not a big city, but it's a lively one. Plus you can't move for vehicles. Cars, motorbikes, vans, trucks, you name it, it's on the streets.
Thankfully it's not all that hard to find the KCPD building amidst all this. I'm heading up the steps when a red-haired guy in overalls bumps into me and knocks my map to the ground. Then, to add insult to injury, he accuses me of crashing into him. I know I'm just on my way to a new job and shouldn't be late, but I'm not about to take that from someone with a greasemark on his forehead.
After the argument, I am late. Plus my map now has a muddy footprint exactly over the route to my motel I'd marked out. I'm fairly confident it would match that guy's shoe perfectly.
Luckily - or not so luckily, depending how you look at it - the cop in charge of assigning me doesn't have a very high opinion of artists anyway. He just grumbles about pretty-boys who've never done an honest day's work and other similar insults that I've got since grade-school.
He shunts me sideways into a department that consists of two guys who bicker like they should be in a sitcom. Chyre and Morillo. I have to tamper down an urge to start sketching newspaper-style strips at everything they say.
They - well, mostly Morillo - finally fill me in on the situation. There's a serial murderer in Keystone and he likes to paint pictures with blood, intestines, and any bit of the human body that's moldable.
A lot more of it is than I would've thought.
Chyre does manage to shove a bucket under my head after Morillo passes me the pictures. Though he follows it up with a derogatory comment on the efficiency of the cleaning staff. I notice the bucket has already been used and badly cleaned.
When I'm done puking my guts out, I start looking through the pictures much more carefully. Pretending it's some modern-art piece lets me keep down the bile.
They're both looking at me expectantly. From what I gather, I'm hardly the first artist they've brought in, but they're running out of money. I'm their best shot at getting this guy shut down without him making a slip-up of his own, and who knows how many more bodies that could take?
I don't want to tell them that I haven't got a clue what the 'paintings' show.
I ask for more time. My only real hope is to try and sketch the 'paintings', maybe then I can see the pattern without being distracted by the gore.
They agree - Morillo agrees, Chyre grumbles - and I dig my sketchpad and a pencil out of my bag and get to work.
It takes a day or two, and lots of paper, but I'm finally beginning to see what the paintings are meant to be of. It's faces. Manga versions of people's face, which is what made them difficult to identify originally.
Unfortunately, in that time, another body is found.
This time I get to see a picture of the victim before she was carved up, as well as the after. It takes me a moment to realise why she looks familiar. I open my sketchpad and flip back a few pages.
I drew her.
Or rather, the killer drew her and I sketched a copy.
When I show the cops, they set me drawing out what - who - the new 'painting' shows, while they look over the previous victims and see if they can't find any other matches.
My guess is right. The previous murder points to the next victim. It's the break they've been looking for.
Unfortunately, it's still hard work matching up a picture of blood and gore to a real person, especially in the style it's painted in.
It's still a lead though. Morillo offers me a lift as he pulls his coat on. They're going to head over to the city on the other side of the river - apparently it's got better technology and analysts - and I'm heading back to the motel, for possibly my last night in Keystone.
However, when we enter the garage, that West guy is buried up to his elbows in the guts of Chyre's car. He's chatting to a boy, who can't be West's, not unless the guy was a teen-dad - and a young teen-dad - or something.
West notices us and extracts himself, glaring at all three of us. I assume the one for Chyre and Morillo is for trashing the car in the first place, while the one for me is for me just being me. I'd bumped - sometimes literally - into the guy a few times since my first day and things hadn't gone any better than the first time. We just rub each other up the wrong way, I'm not entirely sure why.
The kid either doesn't notice the tension, or just doesn't care, because he picks up a piece of machinery from the car and asks West what it is. West's face is pure exasperation as he takes the piece and reminds the kid that he's not supposed to just pull things out because what if they're important?
The kid - Evan, and Scottish from the sounds of it - looks completely unimpressed by West's chastisement. Morillo's already moving further into the garage to ask West's boss for another car to borrow. Chyre waits with me, while West gets back to work.
Evan wanders over, wiping oil-stained hands on his already-dirty jeans. He doesn't look at Chyre much, but he asks me who I am. I tell him my name and profession. I've got some kid-friendlier pictures in the front of my sketchpad and start showing them to him.
We share a stifled laugh behind Chyre's back when I show him the few strips I did of him and Morillo - yes I had to, it was just too good to pass up. I catch a glower or two from West, but since I'm not actually doing anything wrong, he can't get Evan away from me without looking too much like the bad guy.
Morillo comes back, looking almost as grumpy as Chyre on a good day. He says there aren't any spare cars, so it looks like they're bumming a lift off some other cops or taking public transport. Either way, I'm best making my own way to the motel.
I say goodbye to the cops and Evan. I even give West a nod, not that he's looking. I'm halfway to the door when I hear a rustle of paper and a confused voice.
“Is that a picture of my dad?”
Everyone goes still, then looks over at Evan. He's holding up my latest drawing and frowning at it.
I feel my heart stop. No. Please say they get this guy or my picture's wrong. Just don't say this kid has to lose his father because of someone I could've stopped earlier if I'd been quicker to figure things out.
Chyre takes the picture out of Evan's hands and comments that, now he's looking for it, it does look a little like 'Snart'. West leans over and agrees, then he demands why they've got a picture of 'Len'.
Neither I nor the cops want to say anything with Evan around.
West gets the gesture Morillo's making over Evan's head and pales. He scrambles for his cell phone and starts to call someone - presumably the man who might be the next victim. Evan's looking bewildered and a little scared.
Evan slowly asks - while West mutters “pickuppickuppickup” in the background - if they want to arrest his dad. Chyre says that's not the case. Evan's now looking even more confused.
West snaps his phone shut and says he's not getting an answer.
There's a moment of silence, then West goes into action. I have to hand it to the guy, he's good at what he does. His hands are almost a blur as he shoves what looks like half the garage floor into the bonnet of a different car to the one he was working on earlier. Within a few minutes he gets behind the wheel and starts the engine.
It purrs.
Somehow or other, we all end up in the car. I'm not sure I'm really supposed to be along, but no one's raised any protests yet. In fact, Evan's clutching my arm so tight I'm beginning to fear for my circulation. Morillo's in the passenger side seat, while West's driving us like a lunatic. Chyre ended up in the back seat on the other side of Evan and keeps up a continuous grumble about how West gives him hell for driving twice as safe as the mechanic is currently.
Morillo suddenly calls a stop and is out of the car before it has barely finished moving. I see signs of a fight - a fresh bloodstain on the bricks, a broken fence - and find myself grappling with the seatbelt before I'm even thinking about it.
It's only once I reach the end of the alley and hear a soft whimper from behind me that I even think about where Evan had ended up. The kid's followed the rest of us onto a pretty gruesome scene.
There's a man slumped against the alley wall and a dustbin, with another man crouched over him. Blood's freely dripping from a knife in the crouching-man's hand and he's rambling what sounds like nonsense to me, despite what looks like a broken nose.
I'm willing to bet that's our serial killer.
West rushes at the man with the knife, the cops only a moment behind him. I clutch Evan's shoulder and stop him running into the fray. I'm not sure if I'd be any use when it's already three-against-one and someone's got to look after the kid.
The fight's over soon enough. Thankfully. Keeping Evan out of it was surprisingly difficult, he's a squirmy little guy when he puts his mind to it. The minute the cops have the handcuffs on our serial killer I let Evan pull us both over to where West's helping the injured guy to his feet.
Huh, he does look somewhat like my drawing.
He's also got one arm clamped against his stomach and the other over West's shoulders. There's quite a bit of blood, but Evan doesn't notice as he runs towards his father. I keep an eye on the police and their suspect while I trail the kid.
West's managed to get out his cell phone and starts calling for an ambulance, as Evan carelessly grabs his father's arm and causes the man to let out a hiss of pain. Evan immediately lets go and backs into me with a stream of 'sorry's.
His father looks at me and asks if I'm a cop in a voice that couldn't be heavier with mistrust if he tried. When West tells him that I'm an artist he actually gives me a nod.
Chrye and Morillo stuff the killer into the back of the car and head for the station - after West makes them promise that they'll return the vehicle in one piece. The ambulance comes after another awkward ten minutes. Evan's father sets up an arrangement for Evan with West while we're waiting.
In the end, it's me, West, and Evan left in the blood-splattered alley. Evan's got a tight hold of one of my hands and one of West's. He's not letting go, so West gives a resigned sigh and offers a drink and a sofa to sleep on.
Even if Evan hadn't been cutting off the blood supply to my fingers, I think I still would've agreed. There's just something about seeing an incident that horrible without the comfort of knowing it happened in make-believe TV land.
West's house is nicer than I would've pegged him for. Then we get out of the taxi and through the front door and I get why. He's married. Or I sincerely hope he is, because no self-respecting bachelor should have that many pairs of lady's shoes in his hall.
Evan runs upstairs as soon as his shoes are off. He's more familiar with the place than I thought he would be. West starts talking about how he spends quite a bit of time here, more to fill the silence than to actually make conversation.
Evan trots back down a few minutes later, when me and West have each gotten a drink. The kid is dragging a quilt with one hand and his other arm is hugging a pillow. He shoves the pillow at Wally, who's already on the couch, then drags me over too. I don't need West's look to know to indulge the boy and let him take a seat between me and West and spread the quilt over all of us.
I'd normally have ascribed such behaviour to a much younger kid, but he's had a bit of a scare and I can put up with West long enough to let Evan get over his fright. Though, that said, it could be the remains of the fight-or-flight instinct talking, but the guy isn't nearly as obnoxious as I've gotten used to.
Evan crashes pretty quickly and West enlists my help getting him upstairs and into a proper bed. On the way back downstairs, West grabs a spare blanket for me to use and I set myself up on the couch. He gives me a quiet 'thanks' and I give him a nod.
I get woken up by Evan, while West's talking with someone over the phone. Once he hangs up he tells me he left his car at the station, so he can't give me a lift, but he's taking Evan to the hospital before he goes to work, so if I want to split a cab he'd be fine with that.
I tell him that's fine and eat some breakfast while listening to Evan replay the crazier bits of West's driving last night. West has the grace to look a little contrite, but a grin keeps slipping through.
Evan does most of the talking in the taxi. The longer he goes on, the more words I don't quite pick up and have to ask him to repeat. West does a much better job than me, but I catch him looking confused when Evan includes 'scunnurt' in one of his ramblings.
The taxi drops West and Evan off first, then takes me to my motel. I persuade the driver to wait and pack my things quickly. I then direct the driver to KCPD and walk into the building for possibly the last time.
Chyre's not there when I push open the office door. Morillo thanks me for my help, but it's clear he's got a whole load of other cases to deal with and can't spare me much time. He does mention that the killer's been put away and is awaiting trial, though with a surviving victim for a witness it's going to be a snap locking him up for good.
It's not that far to Keystone's train station and it doesn't take me long before I'm heading back to New York. I flip open my sketch pad and start putting down ideas for a gift-comic for Evan. It'll keep me occupied on the journey and the kid deserves something nice after that hellish night.
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Title: Taking on Another Job
Characters: Axel Walker, Barry Allen, Len Snart
Word count: 2546
Summary: Axel's latest job takes him in the last direction he expects. Takes place in my 'Ramblings of Another West'verse, about seven years after 'Coping with Another Stage'.
AN: Hey there, it's been a while from this 'verse. Been sitting on this chapter for a while, mostly because it's setting up a lot of other chapters that I've not finished yet. Still, enjoy.
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Axel likes his job.
He'd never thought he'd find something suited to him, but when Wally of all people suggested he should put his skills to some sensible use, Axel had shrugged and decided 'why not'.
Axel hadn't gone to college. Not that he couldn't have afforded it - push come to shove he could've gotten a loan off Mark, who occasionally managed an impressive haul - he just didn't feel like it was his thing. Instead, Axel started working on gaining a PI license while saving up money from the odd jobs he took.
Now, here he is, a detective in his own right, with an office and everything. He's even got one of those long coats they wear in old-timey films. Evan got for him as a joke, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable and with a useful number of pockets.
Hell, he's even got business cards Iris Allen printed up for him. Originally it had been Josh's idea, then Bart had gotten involved and Axel had expected everything to blow up. However, Iris had interceded and had presented Axel with a box of five hundred the next day.
Considering Evan's habit of stealing them whenever he visits Axel, five hundred will probably vanish in no time.
Axel doesn't usually visit the Central City police department, but today he's got a potential client that he wants to run a background check on. Barry's nice enough to let Axel into his lab and talk over his work. Even at twenty-two, Barry still treats Axel like he's twelve.
Barry and Len have an almost rivalry over Axel. Barry's convinced he's helped turn Axel into a solid citizen - and that Axel's job reflects that - while Len's convinced no one from the police department ever did anything worthwhile.
Axel's never told Barry that one of the reasons he got into the detective business is because of all the tricks he picked up from Len (knowing how a criminal thinks rather than how people think they think is handy). Just as he's never told Len that Barry's position in the police has given him just as many helpful resources.
When Barry leaves to drops off a report with his supervisor, Axel cracks his fingers and gets to work.
Given Barry's habit of talking to everyone he meets whenever he goes anywhere, Axel's confident he's got about half an hour for what should be a simple five minute trip. It's still a good idea to work quickly though.
Barry's password is easy enough to guess (Ir1s_J0sh_B4rt) and Axel's logged into CCPD's system. He types in his client's name and sends the results to the printer without much more than a skim-read.
Out of curiosity - and the fact that it's only been ten minutes since Barry left - Axel types in his dad's name. A scowling picture of Len appears, one that couldn't be more than a few years older than Evan is now. Axel sends the results to the printer again.
He's stuffing the papers into his coat and is just about to log off, when another name from the search results catches his eye.
'Lawrence Snart'. There's a badge-number with it from before Len was born. Axel opens the file. There isn't a date of death, which is odd, because Len's always said his parents were dead. There's only a few notes and none of them good. Axel scribbles down the address and logs off.
Just in time, as Barry returns to the lab, apologising profusely.
Axel spends another twenty minutes hanging around, even though he's fidgeting to leave. He doesn't want to make Barry suspicious and restrict his access to CCPD's equipment.
Once outside, Axel checks the address and heads off.
Central City trailer park makes Axel glad of the fact that Len's always had enough money to keep a reasonable apartment while he's had Axel and Evan. It's not exactly a garbage dump, but it's not far off.
Axel finds the correct trailer, puts on his best I'm-important-trust-me smile, and knocks on the door.
There's a few thumps and muffled noises, then the door is opened by an old guy. He's glaring at Axel through bloodshot eyes. There's some resemblance to Len, and there's even a little similarity to Evan if Axel looks right. Though Len's kept himself in reasonable shape, while this man evidently hasn't.
“Lawrence Snart?” Axel asks, pitching his voice towards official and holding up a police badge, “Barry Allen, from CCPD. I'm here to ask you a few questions.”
Snart - and he is Snart, rather than Lawrence, unlike Len who's always been Len - eyes the badge, but doesn't find anything wrong with it. As he shouldn't, since Axel lifted it off Barry earlier. If pressed for more ID, Axel also has an old driver's licence of Barry's that he's doctored.
It'll probably get him in trouble one day, but for now, it works well enough.
“Can I come in?” Axel pushes.
Snart grunts and moves back into the trailer. Axel follows. So this was Len's childhood home? And Lisa's, which is more unbelievable if Axel's honest with himself. Axel couldn't swing a cat in here. Alive or dead.
“Mr Snart, would you mind answering my questions?” Axel asks.
“Get on with it,” Snart says, taking a seat in front of the tv and not looking at Axel.
“It's about your son,” Axel says.
“What's the worthless brat done now?”
“There's been controversy over a theft he committed early on in his career,” Axel says, keeping his face neutral to avoid showing that he's pulling facts out of thin air, “Possibly while he was still living here.”
“He didn't start that while he was here,” Snart says, “I don't know what you're expecting to find, 'cause there's nothing you'll get here.”
“It's more to do with his children,” Axel says, “And whether or not he's a fit guardian.”
Snart barks out a laugh and looks at Axel like he's crazy. “I wouldn't trust Lenny with a dog, let alone a kid. He knock up some tart then?”
Axel bites his tongue, but manages to get the right words out, “Your son has two children, both boys. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them before.”
“You don't know me or Lenny very well, do you?” Snart snorts, “Figures you're a rookie cop who's trying to find a fast-track to the top. It ain't gonna happen, and certainly not with me.”
“Are you not interested in meeting your grandchildren, Mr Snart?” Axel asked.
“What's it to you?” Snart says, “Not like the brats are gonna be any better than Lenny ever was. Always crying and saying stupid things. Take my advice, you don't ever want kids, no matter how much the wife offers good sex for them.”
“I'm not married,” it's not the smartest thing to come out of Axel's mouth, but he's unsure where he wants the conversation to go now. He's beginning to understand why Len didn't want them meeting his father.
“Playin' the field? Sensible lad,” Snart says with approval, “You done here?”
“I... yes,” Axel says, heading for the door, “Thank you for your time, grandfather.”
He's some distance away from the trailer when Snart yells at him to stop. Axel does so. He's not sure he wants to turn around and face his grandfather.
“You're one of Lenny's brats?” Snart asks, “You don't look it. And takin' after me - bein' on the right side of the law an' all - can't imagine Lenny'd be very happy with that.”
“My dad supports my decision,” Axel says, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Come off it,” Snart snorts, “Lenny hates cops.”
Axel spins around and pulls out his harshest you-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about glare.
“You don't know my dad,” Axel says decisively, “You don't know me.”
“And whose fault is that?” Snart spits, “It's not like Lenny took the time to introduce me to his spawn.”
“Maybe if you'd been a better father he might've,” Axel shoots back.
“I don't know you, but you don't know me,” Snart snarls, “I did what I could for my kids. Shame it only worked on one of them.”
Axel almost asks when he thinks is wrong with Lisa, before he realises Snart meant he'd failed with Len. Lisa's achieved international fame with her skating and being the wife of Central's mayor, which almost everyone knows. Len, on the other hand, has a rap list the length of Axel's arm and nothing to show for his change of heart.
“My father is a good man,” Axel says determinedly, “He raised me and my brother and did it well.” Ignoring Evan's old habits and Axel's own rap sheet, of course. “I just wanted to see why he never introduced us. Guess I got my answer.”
“Listen here, you brat,” Snart says, grabbing Axel's shoulder and giving him a shake, “I don't know if you're even telling the truth. In fact I think you're a fuckin' liar. You don't look a thing like Lenny, you don't even have his last name - if Barry Allen really is your name. Bet it ain't.”
“Let go of me,” Axel says.
Snart gives him another shake. “Gonna answer me, boy?”
Axel balls his hand into a fist then slams it into Snart's face.
A good few years ago Len had given both Axel and Evan some advice for if - when - they got into fights. One of the things he'd mentioned was that if you wanted to break someone's nose you were better off hitting upward with the heel of your palm. More likely to actually break it and less chance of you damaging your own hand with an incorrectly driven punch.
Axel doesn't care what's right, he's doing this because he wants to hurt Snart, not because he wants to damage him. It's a hell of a lot more satisfying using a fist than an open hand.
Snart lets go of Axel and he runs.
Axel doesn't heed the shouts for him to stop and runs until he can't run any further. Once he's got his breath back and is far enough from the trailer park to calm down a little, Axel digs out his phone and calls home.
“'lo?” answers someone around a yawn.
“Hey, Owen,” Axel says, “Can you put Len on?”
“Jus' a minute. LEN.”
There's a fair amount of muffled conversation and the phone gets dropped more than once, but finally Len gets ahold of it.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, dad,” Axel says.
“You know I'm on early shifts, right?” Len says tiredly, “This couldn't have waited?”
“No.”
“You in trouble?” Len asks and his voice has gotten sharper, more focussed.
“No, it's nothing dangerous, dad,” Axel replies, “It's just, I was in Barry's lab today -” there's a muffled snort on the other end of the line, “- and I saw something on the computer. Why didn't you tell us our grandfather was still alive?”
“Because he doesn't deserve to be,” Len says harshly, “I don't want either of you meeting him.”
“He can't be that bad,” Axel tries.
“No,” Len says, “Don't even think about it, Axel.”
Rare is the occasion that Len outright forbids something. Axel's done a lot of stupid shit over the years, which school counsellors and the like tend to put the blame at Len's feet for not discouraging in the first place, but then Axel's found that about half the stupid shit he did he immediately decided to never do again, because it was just that: stupid shit.
There were the instances, mid-teens, when Axel took up vandalism and petty theft, but not much of that could be linked to him - none of it could since he'd first gotten access to CCPD's records.
Len's rules mostly come down to 'don't be an idiot' and 'listen up when I've got something important to say'. This is the latter.
“He raised you,” Axel angles, “And you've turned out alright.”
“It took me until I was in my thirties to sort my life out,” Len says, “And the only reason I'm not sat in jail next to Mark right now is because you two turned up. I got some lucky breaks that had nothing to do with him. I'm not letting him mess either of you up.”
Len's sounding frustrated and angry and Axel's beginning to wish Evan wasn't off on holiday with his girlfriend. Evan's always been better at the touchy-feely family stuff. Owen's not going to be any use, he's too emotionally draining, he hasn't quite got the hang of giving back nearly as much as he takes away.
“I just thought...” Axel starts.
“Where's this coming from? You're not Evan,” Len says, then it clicks. Occasionally Len shows where Axel's keen insight comes from, “Shit, you've already gone, haven't you?”
“Dad -”
“You didn't think there was a reason I didn't let you meet him?”
“Dad -”
“Are you hurt?”
The question makes Axel tighten his fingers to feel the bruises on his knuckles. “No,” he replies, “But dad?”
“What?”
“I'm... glad you turned out... like you did.”
There's a pause before Len answers. “Right,” his voice has gotten quite gruff, “Were you wanting dinner here tonight?”
It's times like this which make Axel wish he had anything close to Evan's ability to say what he's feeling. Accepting dinner's just about all he can do. Though Len's in the same boat, considering he can only just offer dinner.
“Yeah.”
“And Axel?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't tell Evan.”
“Wasn't gonna.”
Len believes in family and Axel wouldn't change his brother and dad for anyone else, however they both know the nasty side. Maybe it's because he's never had a blood relative be truly horrible to him, but Evan's got a different picture of things. Naive really.
Maybe it's because he wasn't around when Len was coming to terms with Evan's drug habit. Not that Len lost all ability at parenting, but there is a reason why Axel started picking pockets and graffiti-ing at that age.
Maybe it's because he's a better person than either of them. However, neither Axel nor Len have done anything as hard as what Evan was snorting.
“See you later, dad,” Axel says and hangs up.
It's barely half an hour later that Axel has a knock on his office door. He quickly takes his feet off his desk and starts straightening the papers he'd picked up at CCPD earlier.
“Come in,” he calls, trying to look professional.
He's found that people can forgive eccentricities while he's out on the job, but first impressions count for a lot in this business. He quickly brushes a pile of comics into a drawer and curses himself for not keeping the office tidier.
The couple who walk in don't belong there. Their clothes are much too rich for the neighbourhood, their bearing too posh. The man shuts the door quickly and his eyes are moving rapidly. He frowns at the mostly-closed blinds and the camera Axel's got on a shelf. The woman dabs at her eyes and takes a seat.
Axel knows who they are and is surprised that he's seeing them in this neighbourhood.
“Mr Walker, correct?” says Osgood Rathaway imperiously, “We have need of your services.”
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Title: Adjusting to Another Lifestyle
Characters: Hartley Rathaway, Axel Walker, Len Snart, Owen Mercer
Word count: 2832
Summary: Hartley adjusts to life outside the manor. Takes place in my 'Ramblings of Another West'verse, around the time of 'Taking on Another Job'.
AN: Why do I keep trying to write confrontations, dammit?
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The first few steps are strangely liberating.
Hartley lets out a long, unsteady breath and shrugs his bag higher onto his shoulders. He's out of the grounds and no alarms have been raised yet. He starts trudging down the long road toward Keystone City.
It's not the first time he's tried to run away, but Hartley's hoping it'll be the last. He's got a plan this time and food. Sensible food. The chef that had replaced Matthew - five years ago now - was thankfully just as nice toward Hartley. He'd made sure to have lots of 'hypothetical' discussions about what was best for living off without access to good appliances.
Hartley had set off at late evening and it isn't even midnight by the time he reaches Keystone. He starts looking for somewhere to sleep though, the walk having tired him out more than he expected it to. A puddle-filled alley is where Hartley makes his bed tonight.
Soup kitchens are just another way Hartley has to swallow his pride, a couple of weeks in. He doesn't have any food left and even the stench of unwashed masses in the kitchen is far preferable to dumpster diving for scraps. People are loud and knock into Hartley when they pass like he's not there, but there's a heater putting out a meagre waft of warmth and the broth tastes like actual food.
“You might've given me a bit of a run-around,” an oddly-familiar voice says, as a man plonks himself down on the bench next to Hartley, “Tried to cover your tracks a bit more. I'm being paid by the day, you know.”
Hartley's about to run, but then he realises he knows the man. “Axel?”
“You've gotten tall, squirt,” Axel says.
He's right, Hartley's pretty much level with him when they're sitting down. It's been years since Hartley's seen Axel, or Evan. He wonders if something more than them just growing up happened.
However, this isn't exactly the best time to catch up.
“You're going to bring me back, aren't you?” Hartley says.
“I'm not going to be able to afford a new TV otherwise,” Axel agrees.
Hartley starts to get up, but Axel tugs his sleeve and he sits back down. He has a feeling that if he tries to make a scene, Axel will find a way to twist things to his advantage.
“I'm not going,” Hartley says.
“Yes, you are,” Axel says, “Even if you manage to find a way to make a living out here and settle in, they're not going to stop at just me. You're still legally under their guardianship, they can drag you back kicking and screaming if they want to.”
Hartley sighs. He knows this, but hearing it makes it sound worse. “So I've got to go back for another year.”
“I didn't say that,” Axel says, with a grin that Evan once told Hartley meant 'trouble with a capital T', “You're going back - and it'll be easiest with me - but I'm sure we can arrange something to get you out of there before the day is up.”
“Out... permanently?”
There's a stirring of hope that Hartley hasn't felt for a long time. It's been ages since someone was ready to actively help him, instead of not daring to be anything more than passive-aggressive around his parents.
“Remember who you're talking to,” Axel says, “If I can't then I'll let you have the money your folks are paying me for this.”
“They aren't going to pay you if you talk-back to them on my behalf,” Hartley feels he should point out.
“If they don't pay me then I'll need to reconsider my profession,” Axel says cockily, “Come on, Hart, where's your sense of fun?”
And there's the taunt that used to get Hartley to do things he would've never considered otherwise. Evan had promised adventure, Axel always promised fun.
“This is a little more serious than tree-climbing or sneaking out for ice-cream,” Hartley says, trying to tamper his excitement down and failing, judging by the grin on Axel's face, “...you can really get me out?”
“Cross my heart,” Axel says flippantly.
“...ok.”
Axel fills the drive to Hartley's home with mindless chatter. Hartley runs over what he wants to say to his parents again and again in his head. The closer they get, the more Hartley's insides seem to be trying to tie themselves up in knots.
The Rathaways' manor has never looked so imposing to Hartley as it does when he makes the walk from the outside gate to the front door. It's frighteningly tall and the sun's cast the place in haunting shadows. Hartley just concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other until he's face to face with the heavy wooden doors.
His knock echoes ominously through the house. Hartley's beginning to think that the entire place was built around scare-tactics in order to give the Rathaways the best advantage available.
Even the way the door creaks open seems to be perfectly designed to sound as unnerving as possible.
By the time Hartley's escorted to his father's study his hands are shaking and he stuffs them in his pockets to stop it showing. Axel's looking completely calm and Hartley nearly hates him for it. But then Axel has no real connection to Osgood Rathaway, except for investigator services rendered. Hartley bets that Axel would be a lot more nervous if he had to confront his own father.
Osgood's sat at his desk, writing something that Hartley can't read upside-down. He doesn't even glance up when the butler announces Hartley and Axel. Hartley's used to it, but Axel's got an impatient look on his face that Hartley recognises as a sign of bad things to come.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Osgood says harshly without looking up.
Hartley opens and closes his mouth a few times before managing to stutter out, “...I-I only came back to say I'm leaving.”
Axel flashes what Hartley hopes is an approving grin. Osgood stops writing and Hartley does his best not to flinch as his father looks up, absolute fury plain on his face.
“What?” Osgood snaps.
Hartley's thankful Axel chose to accompany him, there's no way he would've been able to stand up to Osgood without some kind of backup. It's still difficult.
“I'm not staying here,” Hartley says, wavering under Osgood's glare, but standing his ground.
“This again?” Osgood snorts. His eyes flick to the side as he properly notices Axel, “You have no right to be here, leave.”
Axel coughs and smiles. “There's the matter of my fee...”
“How much?” Osgood barks.
Axel rattles off a number that makes Hartley stare at him, but Osgood just scribbles down the amount on a cheque and hands it over without complaint. Axel puts the cheque into an inside pocket of his coat and gives Hartley a look.
“I'm leaving,” Hartley says again, though if the eye-roll from Axel is any indication his tone isn't what it was before.
“You have duties as my heir and you will not be seen making a fool of yourself wandering around like some vagrant!” Osgood snaps.
Even though Hartley had been expecting that he feels the words like a slap to the face.
“You don't care that I was mugged twice and nearly killed?” Hartley says, swallowing hard, “You only care if someone sent a photo of it to a newspaper?”
“Hartley,” Osgood starts, but his voice hasn't softened in the slightest.
“No,” Hartley snaps out, “No. I'm not going to listen to someone who doesn't care if I die, just that I die in a way that doesn't look bad. Well there goes my plan of overdosing in a gaybar.”
“Hartley!” Osgood's sounding angry, but Hartley's not paying it attention through his own red haze, “You are a Rathaway and I expect you to behave like one.”
“Well maybe I don't want to be a Rathaway any more! Have you considered that, father?” Hartley shouts.
“You will behave as deemed appropriate for your station and family!” Osgood shouts, “Or I will never call you my son again!”
Hartley takes an involuntary step backward. There's a perfectly surreal moment when he realises he's not afraid of this man any more. Being on the wrong end of a knife for less than five dollars worth of food was much scarier than Osgood Rathaway's fury.
“Well it looks like we've got a deal,” Hartley says quietly, “I'm not your son.”
“You think this is a laughing matter, boy?” Osgood snaps, still furious.
“No,” Hartley says, with a calm he didn't know he possessed, “I am not going to stop fighting your order. I will run away every chance I get. I will do what I can to ensure the destruction of your company and name.” Hartley balls his fists and squeezes his eyes shut, “Unless you disown me. Let me go and leave me alone and the Rathaway name will be safe.”
“This is very serious, Hartley,” Osgood says, the edge gone from his temper, though he's still far from calm and quiet, “You have been granted wealth and power purely by birthright. Are you truly going to throw all that away because you don't have the sense to point your teenage rebellion in a more constructive direction?”
“Goodbye, Mr Rathaway,” Hartley says, turning for the door before his heart can be stomped on further. There's no call for him to stop. Hartley feels himself start to tremble and can't make it stop.
“I'll take my leave too,” Axel says, a steely bite to his voice that Hartley hasn't heard before, “After what happened to my brother and Hart here, I pity the next person to be chosen as your heir.”
“Get off my property,” Osgood snaps, “I didn't pay you for your remarks.”
Already, Hartley's forgotten. He lets out a shaky breath and bites his lip, determined to get out of this hell-hole before letting things overwhelm him. There's a hand at Hartley's elbow and Axel's steering him through the manor. Hartley's grateful for the quick pace and keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. Outside the air feels so much lighter and Hartley gulps it down like he's been trapped underwater. The shaking has stopped and what's left is just a numbness that sinks into every fibre of Hartley's being.
Axel drives Hartley silently through Keystone and eventually parks the car. Hartley jerks out of his daze when they come to a stop and is suddenly quite aware that he has no idea where he is. Axel's already out of the car though, so Hartley fumbles with his seatbelt and gets out.
The car bleeps as it locks behind Hartley and he hurries after Axel. Axel leads him into a building and up a couple of flights of stairs. Axel unlocks one of the doors and swears as it catches on the security chain. He wriggles his hand through the gap and unhooks the chain.
Hartley follows him inside into a messy apartment. Axel shuts the door behind them just as a man emerges from further into the flat.
“You could just knock,” the man says scowling at Axel.
“Where's the fun in that?” Axel replies with a grin.
“Who's that?” the man asks, nodding toward Hartley.
“Dad, this is Hartley,” Axel says, “Hartley, this is my dad, Len.”
Hartley can't see any link to Axel, but Len does look somewhat like his memories of Evan.
“The Rathaway's kid, right?” Len says a dark look overtaking his face.
“Yes, sir,” Hartley says.
“Lighten up,” Axel says, “He's just been booted out.”
Len does relax a little, then he realises why they're there.
“No,” Len says, folding his arms, “Absolutely not. I'm done with that. Done. You hear me?”
“Could've persuaded me if it hadn't been for Owen,” Axel says with malicious glee.
There's a pause and Hartley finds himself holding his breath.
“Dammit,” Len runs a hand over his face and through his hair, “You're a manipulative little shit sometimes, you know that.”
Axel just grins and slips through a door into another room - possibly the kitchen from what Hartley saw of the linoleum flooring.
That's left Hartley alone with Len.
Oh dear. Aside from a kid with a funny voice and his little brother, Hartley's never been that great at making a good impression.
“I'm getting too old for this,” Len mutters, then he looks over Hartley appraisingly, “Alright, you're in Axel's old room. Dinner's whenever I get around to making it, other meals you'll have to fend for yourself. Let me know if you're allergic or some other shit.”
“I don't think so...” Hartley says carefully.
“Good,” Len says, gesturing for Hartley to follow him further into the apartment, “No drugs. I don't care if you drink, but you get plastered and throw up anywhere other than the toilet, you're cleaning it up yourself. Hangover or no.”
“Yes, sir.”
Len looks over his shoulder at Hartley. “It's Len, not whatever manners you've learned. They're not gonna do you any good here.”
“Yes, s- Len.”
“You sticking with 'Hartley'?” Len asks.
“I... I wouldn't know what else to call myself,” Hartley replies.
“Hmm,” Len shows Hartley into a room cluttered with boxes, “This is it. I'll get Axel to see if he can't shift some of this junk to his own place.”
“Thank you,” Hartley says, trying to put across all his sincerity, “Really.”
“I'm on a four-to-ten at the moment,” Len says and if Hartley doesn't know any better, he'd think Len's looking a little embarrassed, “Owen - he's living here as well right now - he's on shifts, this week it's twelve-to-six, next week it's six-to-midnight.”
Hartley's confused, but nods along. Len reads his bewilderment and clarifies that he was on about job hours. Hartley puts his bag down near the bed and finds he doesn't know what to do with himself.
He's really... free.
Hartley sits down heavily on the bed. Everything's catching up with him at once. He's left home - for real this time. It unlikely he'll ever see his parents again. Or any of the staff at the manor. Or...
Freedom's heavier than he expected.
Len sticks his head out of the door and shouts for Axel. Hartley spends the rest of the afternoon being beaten by Axel at video games. It works well enough as a distraction.
Owen turns out to be another teenager, about the same age as Hartley but taller, his hair's a darker red and he tends to slouch. Hartley hasn't been able to get his story out of Axel or Len, who both make it clear that it's Owen's tale to tell.
Axel leaves after dinner and Owen shuts himself in his room. Hartley dithers for a moment or two, then follows suit, picking through his belongings and sorting what he can.
Hartley can't sleep that night. After tossing and turning for some time, he decides to take a short walk and have a drink of water. The apartment feels even stranger without the lights on and Hartley wishes he'd paid closer attention to where the switches were.
There's footsteps and another person switches the lights on. It's Owen. The other teenage looks as wary as Hartley feels. It's a little awkward, but they both end up with a glass of water, sipping them in silence under the florescent lights.
“So,” Hartley's voice cracks and he has to cough to get it working again.
“So,” Owen agrees.
“I got disowned by my father,” Hartley says, then immediately regrets it.
“Shit, that's rough,” Owen says. He gnaws on his knuckle for a few moments before relenting, “My dad's in prison.”
“Ouch,” Hartley sympathises, “Is he a good dad?”
“I only met him a few months ago,” Owen replies, “But he's been great. Last time I saw him outside...”
Owen and Hartley spend a good few hours trading stories. Owen talks about meeting his father for the first time and his job at the cinema. Hartley talks about running away and meeting Evan and Axel as a child.
“Wait, Evan? Axel's brother, Len's kid, and all around cokehead? That Evan?” Owen asks after Hartley mentions Evan for the fifth time.
“Cokehead?”
Hartley's never really had any childhood heroes, but if there was someone who could make a claim to that title, it would have been Evan. Finding out his history of drug abuse from Owen knocks him off the pedestal that Hartley hadn't realised he'd been keeping him on.
Eventually they stop talking and head back to bed. Hartley only sleeps because he's exhausted. His mind kept running until he passed out on the unfamiliar (yet amazingly comfortable after a fortnight of slumming it) bed.
When Hartley wakes up the next day there's voices drifting through the door and the creak of the plumbing. Hartley stretches and gets up. Time to face this new lifestyle and get used to it.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
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Title: Portrait of Another Victim
Characters: Kyle Rayner, Wally West, Evan McCulloch, Len Snart
Word count: 2601
Summary: Kyle gets hired by the police to figure out a strange crime. Takes place in my 'Ramblings of Another West'verse, before Axel appears. Evan's been around for about a year and a half.
AN: Re-read my first part of this 'verse and a throw-away line decided to get stuck in my head.
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The blue collar capital of America.
That's what I've heard about Keystone City. It fits. It's not a big city, but it's a lively one. Plus you can't move for vehicles. Cars, motorbikes, vans, trucks, you name it, it's on the streets.
Thankfully it's not all that hard to find the KCPD building amidst all this. I'm heading up the steps when a red-haired guy in overalls bumps into me and knocks my map to the ground. Then, to add insult to injury, he accuses me of crashing into him. I know I'm just on my way to a new job and shouldn't be late, but I'm not about to take that from someone with a greasemark on his forehead.
After the argument, I am late. Plus my map now has a muddy footprint exactly over the route to my motel I'd marked out. I'm fairly confident it would match that guy's shoe perfectly.
Luckily - or not so luckily, depending how you look at it - the cop in charge of assigning me doesn't have a very high opinion of artists anyway. He just grumbles about pretty-boys who've never done an honest day's work and other similar insults that I've got since grade-school.
He shunts me sideways into a department that consists of two guys who bicker like they should be in a sitcom. Chyre and Morillo. I have to tamper down an urge to start sketching newspaper-style strips at everything they say.
They - well, mostly Morillo - finally fill me in on the situation. There's a serial murderer in Keystone and he likes to paint pictures with blood, intestines, and any bit of the human body that's moldable.
A lot more of it is than I would've thought.
Chyre does manage to shove a bucket under my head after Morillo passes me the pictures. Though he follows it up with a derogatory comment on the efficiency of the cleaning staff. I notice the bucket has already been used and badly cleaned.
When I'm done puking my guts out, I start looking through the pictures much more carefully. Pretending it's some modern-art piece lets me keep down the bile.
They're both looking at me expectantly. From what I gather, I'm hardly the first artist they've brought in, but they're running out of money. I'm their best shot at getting this guy shut down without him making a slip-up of his own, and who knows how many more bodies that could take?
I don't want to tell them that I haven't got a clue what the 'paintings' show.
I ask for more time. My only real hope is to try and sketch the 'paintings', maybe then I can see the pattern without being distracted by the gore.
They agree - Morillo agrees, Chyre grumbles - and I dig my sketchpad and a pencil out of my bag and get to work.
It takes a day or two, and lots of paper, but I'm finally beginning to see what the paintings are meant to be of. It's faces. Manga versions of people's face, which is what made them difficult to identify originally.
Unfortunately, in that time, another body is found.
This time I get to see a picture of the victim before she was carved up, as well as the after. It takes me a moment to realise why she looks familiar. I open my sketchpad and flip back a few pages.
I drew her.
Or rather, the killer drew her and I sketched a copy.
When I show the cops, they set me drawing out what - who - the new 'painting' shows, while they look over the previous victims and see if they can't find any other matches.
My guess is right. The previous murder points to the next victim. It's the break they've been looking for.
Unfortunately, it's still hard work matching up a picture of blood and gore to a real person, especially in the style it's painted in.
It's still a lead though. Morillo offers me a lift as he pulls his coat on. They're going to head over to the city on the other side of the river - apparently it's got better technology and analysts - and I'm heading back to the motel, for possibly my last night in Keystone.
However, when we enter the garage, that West guy is buried up to his elbows in the guts of Chyre's car. He's chatting to a boy, who can't be West's, not unless the guy was a teen-dad - and a young teen-dad - or something.
West notices us and extracts himself, glaring at all three of us. I assume the one for Chyre and Morillo is for trashing the car in the first place, while the one for me is for me just being me. I'd bumped - sometimes literally - into the guy a few times since my first day and things hadn't gone any better than the first time. We just rub each other up the wrong way, I'm not entirely sure why.
The kid either doesn't notice the tension, or just doesn't care, because he picks up a piece of machinery from the car and asks West what it is. West's face is pure exasperation as he takes the piece and reminds the kid that he's not supposed to just pull things out because what if they're important?
The kid - Evan, and Scottish from the sounds of it - looks completely unimpressed by West's chastisement. Morillo's already moving further into the garage to ask West's boss for another car to borrow. Chyre waits with me, while West gets back to work.
Evan wanders over, wiping oil-stained hands on his already-dirty jeans. He doesn't look at Chyre much, but he asks me who I am. I tell him my name and profession. I've got some kid-friendlier pictures in the front of my sketchpad and start showing them to him.
We share a stifled laugh behind Chyre's back when I show him the few strips I did of him and Morillo - yes I had to, it was just too good to pass up. I catch a glower or two from West, but since I'm not actually doing anything wrong, he can't get Evan away from me without looking too much like the bad guy.
Morillo comes back, looking almost as grumpy as Chyre on a good day. He says there aren't any spare cars, so it looks like they're bumming a lift off some other cops or taking public transport. Either way, I'm best making my own way to the motel.
I say goodbye to the cops and Evan. I even give West a nod, not that he's looking. I'm halfway to the door when I hear a rustle of paper and a confused voice.
“Is that a picture of my dad?”
Everyone goes still, then looks over at Evan. He's holding up my latest drawing and frowning at it.
I feel my heart stop. No. Please say they get this guy or my picture's wrong. Just don't say this kid has to lose his father because of someone I could've stopped earlier if I'd been quicker to figure things out.
Chyre takes the picture out of Evan's hands and comments that, now he's looking for it, it does look a little like 'Snart'. West leans over and agrees, then he demands why they've got a picture of 'Len'.
Neither I nor the cops want to say anything with Evan around.
West gets the gesture Morillo's making over Evan's head and pales. He scrambles for his cell phone and starts to call someone - presumably the man who might be the next victim. Evan's looking bewildered and a little scared.
Evan slowly asks - while West mutters “pickuppickuppickup” in the background - if they want to arrest his dad. Chyre says that's not the case. Evan's now looking even more confused.
West snaps his phone shut and says he's not getting an answer.
There's a moment of silence, then West goes into action. I have to hand it to the guy, he's good at what he does. His hands are almost a blur as he shoves what looks like half the garage floor into the bonnet of a different car to the one he was working on earlier. Within a few minutes he gets behind the wheel and starts the engine.
It purrs.
Somehow or other, we all end up in the car. I'm not sure I'm really supposed to be along, but no one's raised any protests yet. In fact, Evan's clutching my arm so tight I'm beginning to fear for my circulation. Morillo's in the passenger side seat, while West's driving us like a lunatic. Chyre ended up in the back seat on the other side of Evan and keeps up a continuous grumble about how West gives him hell for driving twice as safe as the mechanic is currently.
Morillo suddenly calls a stop and is out of the car before it has barely finished moving. I see signs of a fight - a fresh bloodstain on the bricks, a broken fence - and find myself grappling with the seatbelt before I'm even thinking about it.
It's only once I reach the end of the alley and hear a soft whimper from behind me that I even think about where Evan had ended up. The kid's followed the rest of us onto a pretty gruesome scene.
There's a man slumped against the alley wall and a dustbin, with another man crouched over him. Blood's freely dripping from a knife in the crouching-man's hand and he's rambling what sounds like nonsense to me, despite what looks like a broken nose.
I'm willing to bet that's our serial killer.
West rushes at the man with the knife, the cops only a moment behind him. I clutch Evan's shoulder and stop him running into the fray. I'm not sure if I'd be any use when it's already three-against-one and someone's got to look after the kid.
The fight's over soon enough. Thankfully. Keeping Evan out of it was surprisingly difficult, he's a squirmy little guy when he puts his mind to it. The minute the cops have the handcuffs on our serial killer I let Evan pull us both over to where West's helping the injured guy to his feet.
Huh, he does look somewhat like my drawing.
He's also got one arm clamped against his stomach and the other over West's shoulders. There's quite a bit of blood, but Evan doesn't notice as he runs towards his father. I keep an eye on the police and their suspect while I trail the kid.
West's managed to get out his cell phone and starts calling for an ambulance, as Evan carelessly grabs his father's arm and causes the man to let out a hiss of pain. Evan immediately lets go and backs into me with a stream of 'sorry's.
His father looks at me and asks if I'm a cop in a voice that couldn't be heavier with mistrust if he tried. When West tells him that I'm an artist he actually gives me a nod.
Chrye and Morillo stuff the killer into the back of the car and head for the station - after West makes them promise that they'll return the vehicle in one piece. The ambulance comes after another awkward ten minutes. Evan's father sets up an arrangement for Evan with West while we're waiting.
In the end, it's me, West, and Evan left in the blood-splattered alley. Evan's got a tight hold of one of my hands and one of West's. He's not letting go, so West gives a resigned sigh and offers a drink and a sofa to sleep on.
Even if Evan hadn't been cutting off the blood supply to my fingers, I think I still would've agreed. There's just something about seeing an incident that horrible without the comfort of knowing it happened in make-believe TV land.
West's house is nicer than I would've pegged him for. Then we get out of the taxi and through the front door and I get why. He's married. Or I sincerely hope he is, because no self-respecting bachelor should have that many pairs of lady's shoes in his hall.
Evan runs upstairs as soon as his shoes are off. He's more familiar with the place than I thought he would be. West starts talking about how he spends quite a bit of time here, more to fill the silence than to actually make conversation.
Evan trots back down a few minutes later, when me and West have each gotten a drink. The kid is dragging a quilt with one hand and his other arm is hugging a pillow. He shoves the pillow at Wally, who's already on the couch, then drags me over too. I don't need West's look to know to indulge the boy and let him take a seat between me and West and spread the quilt over all of us.
I'd normally have ascribed such behaviour to a much younger kid, but he's had a bit of a scare and I can put up with West long enough to let Evan get over his fright. Though, that said, it could be the remains of the fight-or-flight instinct talking, but the guy isn't nearly as obnoxious as I've gotten used to.
Evan crashes pretty quickly and West enlists my help getting him upstairs and into a proper bed. On the way back downstairs, West grabs a spare blanket for me to use and I set myself up on the couch. He gives me a quiet 'thanks' and I give him a nod.
I get woken up by Evan, while West's talking with someone over the phone. Once he hangs up he tells me he left his car at the station, so he can't give me a lift, but he's taking Evan to the hospital before he goes to work, so if I want to split a cab he'd be fine with that.
I tell him that's fine and eat some breakfast while listening to Evan replay the crazier bits of West's driving last night. West has the grace to look a little contrite, but a grin keeps slipping through.
Evan does most of the talking in the taxi. The longer he goes on, the more words I don't quite pick up and have to ask him to repeat. West does a much better job than me, but I catch him looking confused when Evan includes 'scunnurt' in one of his ramblings.
The taxi drops West and Evan off first, then takes me to my motel. I persuade the driver to wait and pack my things quickly. I then direct the driver to KCPD and walk into the building for possibly the last time.
Chyre's not there when I push open the office door. Morillo thanks me for my help, but it's clear he's got a whole load of other cases to deal with and can't spare me much time. He does mention that the killer's been put away and is awaiting trial, though with a surviving victim for a witness it's going to be a snap locking him up for good.
It's not that far to Keystone's train station and it doesn't take me long before I'm heading back to New York. I flip open my sketch pad and start putting down ideas for a gift-comic for Evan. It'll keep me occupied on the journey and the kid deserves something nice after that hellish night.
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Title: Taking on Another Job
Characters: Axel Walker, Barry Allen, Len Snart
Word count: 2546
Summary: Axel's latest job takes him in the last direction he expects. Takes place in my 'Ramblings of Another West'verse, about seven years after 'Coping with Another Stage'.
AN: Hey there, it's been a while from this 'verse. Been sitting on this chapter for a while, mostly because it's setting up a lot of other chapters that I've not finished yet. Still, enjoy.
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Axel likes his job.
He'd never thought he'd find something suited to him, but when Wally of all people suggested he should put his skills to some sensible use, Axel had shrugged and decided 'why not'.
Axel hadn't gone to college. Not that he couldn't have afforded it - push come to shove he could've gotten a loan off Mark, who occasionally managed an impressive haul - he just didn't feel like it was his thing. Instead, Axel started working on gaining a PI license while saving up money from the odd jobs he took.
Now, here he is, a detective in his own right, with an office and everything. He's even got one of those long coats they wear in old-timey films. Evan got for him as a joke, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable and with a useful number of pockets.
Hell, he's even got business cards Iris Allen printed up for him. Originally it had been Josh's idea, then Bart had gotten involved and Axel had expected everything to blow up. However, Iris had interceded and had presented Axel with a box of five hundred the next day.
Considering Evan's habit of stealing them whenever he visits Axel, five hundred will probably vanish in no time.
Axel doesn't usually visit the Central City police department, but today he's got a potential client that he wants to run a background check on. Barry's nice enough to let Axel into his lab and talk over his work. Even at twenty-two, Barry still treats Axel like he's twelve.
Barry and Len have an almost rivalry over Axel. Barry's convinced he's helped turn Axel into a solid citizen - and that Axel's job reflects that - while Len's convinced no one from the police department ever did anything worthwhile.
Axel's never told Barry that one of the reasons he got into the detective business is because of all the tricks he picked up from Len (knowing how a criminal thinks rather than how people think they think is handy). Just as he's never told Len that Barry's position in the police has given him just as many helpful resources.
When Barry leaves to drops off a report with his supervisor, Axel cracks his fingers and gets to work.
Given Barry's habit of talking to everyone he meets whenever he goes anywhere, Axel's confident he's got about half an hour for what should be a simple five minute trip. It's still a good idea to work quickly though.
Barry's password is easy enough to guess (Ir1s_J0sh_B4rt) and Axel's logged into CCPD's system. He types in his client's name and sends the results to the printer without much more than a skim-read.
Out of curiosity - and the fact that it's only been ten minutes since Barry left - Axel types in his dad's name. A scowling picture of Len appears, one that couldn't be more than a few years older than Evan is now. Axel sends the results to the printer again.
He's stuffing the papers into his coat and is just about to log off, when another name from the search results catches his eye.
'Lawrence Snart'. There's a badge-number with it from before Len was born. Axel opens the file. There isn't a date of death, which is odd, because Len's always said his parents were dead. There's only a few notes and none of them good. Axel scribbles down the address and logs off.
Just in time, as Barry returns to the lab, apologising profusely.
Axel spends another twenty minutes hanging around, even though he's fidgeting to leave. He doesn't want to make Barry suspicious and restrict his access to CCPD's equipment.
Once outside, Axel checks the address and heads off.
Central City trailer park makes Axel glad of the fact that Len's always had enough money to keep a reasonable apartment while he's had Axel and Evan. It's not exactly a garbage dump, but it's not far off.
Axel finds the correct trailer, puts on his best I'm-important-trust-me smile, and knocks on the door.
There's a few thumps and muffled noises, then the door is opened by an old guy. He's glaring at Axel through bloodshot eyes. There's some resemblance to Len, and there's even a little similarity to Evan if Axel looks right. Though Len's kept himself in reasonable shape, while this man evidently hasn't.
“Lawrence Snart?” Axel asks, pitching his voice towards official and holding up a police badge, “Barry Allen, from CCPD. I'm here to ask you a few questions.”
Snart - and he is Snart, rather than Lawrence, unlike Len who's always been Len - eyes the badge, but doesn't find anything wrong with it. As he shouldn't, since Axel lifted it off Barry earlier. If pressed for more ID, Axel also has an old driver's licence of Barry's that he's doctored.
It'll probably get him in trouble one day, but for now, it works well enough.
“Can I come in?” Axel pushes.
Snart grunts and moves back into the trailer. Axel follows. So this was Len's childhood home? And Lisa's, which is more unbelievable if Axel's honest with himself. Axel couldn't swing a cat in here. Alive or dead.
“Mr Snart, would you mind answering my questions?” Axel asks.
“Get on with it,” Snart says, taking a seat in front of the tv and not looking at Axel.
“It's about your son,” Axel says.
“What's the worthless brat done now?”
“There's been controversy over a theft he committed early on in his career,” Axel says, keeping his face neutral to avoid showing that he's pulling facts out of thin air, “Possibly while he was still living here.”
“He didn't start that while he was here,” Snart says, “I don't know what you're expecting to find, 'cause there's nothing you'll get here.”
“It's more to do with his children,” Axel says, “And whether or not he's a fit guardian.”
Snart barks out a laugh and looks at Axel like he's crazy. “I wouldn't trust Lenny with a dog, let alone a kid. He knock up some tart then?”
Axel bites his tongue, but manages to get the right words out, “Your son has two children, both boys. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them before.”
“You don't know me or Lenny very well, do you?” Snart snorts, “Figures you're a rookie cop who's trying to find a fast-track to the top. It ain't gonna happen, and certainly not with me.”
“Are you not interested in meeting your grandchildren, Mr Snart?” Axel asked.
“What's it to you?” Snart says, “Not like the brats are gonna be any better than Lenny ever was. Always crying and saying stupid things. Take my advice, you don't ever want kids, no matter how much the wife offers good sex for them.”
“I'm not married,” it's not the smartest thing to come out of Axel's mouth, but he's unsure where he wants the conversation to go now. He's beginning to understand why Len didn't want them meeting his father.
“Playin' the field? Sensible lad,” Snart says with approval, “You done here?”
“I... yes,” Axel says, heading for the door, “Thank you for your time, grandfather.”
He's some distance away from the trailer when Snart yells at him to stop. Axel does so. He's not sure he wants to turn around and face his grandfather.
“You're one of Lenny's brats?” Snart asks, “You don't look it. And takin' after me - bein' on the right side of the law an' all - can't imagine Lenny'd be very happy with that.”
“My dad supports my decision,” Axel says, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Come off it,” Snart snorts, “Lenny hates cops.”
Axel spins around and pulls out his harshest you-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about glare.
“You don't know my dad,” Axel says decisively, “You don't know me.”
“And whose fault is that?” Snart spits, “It's not like Lenny took the time to introduce me to his spawn.”
“Maybe if you'd been a better father he might've,” Axel shoots back.
“I don't know you, but you don't know me,” Snart snarls, “I did what I could for my kids. Shame it only worked on one of them.”
Axel almost asks when he thinks is wrong with Lisa, before he realises Snart meant he'd failed with Len. Lisa's achieved international fame with her skating and being the wife of Central's mayor, which almost everyone knows. Len, on the other hand, has a rap list the length of Axel's arm and nothing to show for his change of heart.
“My father is a good man,” Axel says determinedly, “He raised me and my brother and did it well.” Ignoring Evan's old habits and Axel's own rap sheet, of course. “I just wanted to see why he never introduced us. Guess I got my answer.”
“Listen here, you brat,” Snart says, grabbing Axel's shoulder and giving him a shake, “I don't know if you're even telling the truth. In fact I think you're a fuckin' liar. You don't look a thing like Lenny, you don't even have his last name - if Barry Allen really is your name. Bet it ain't.”
“Let go of me,” Axel says.
Snart gives him another shake. “Gonna answer me, boy?”
Axel balls his hand into a fist then slams it into Snart's face.
A good few years ago Len had given both Axel and Evan some advice for if - when - they got into fights. One of the things he'd mentioned was that if you wanted to break someone's nose you were better off hitting upward with the heel of your palm. More likely to actually break it and less chance of you damaging your own hand with an incorrectly driven punch.
Axel doesn't care what's right, he's doing this because he wants to hurt Snart, not because he wants to damage him. It's a hell of a lot more satisfying using a fist than an open hand.
Snart lets go of Axel and he runs.
Axel doesn't heed the shouts for him to stop and runs until he can't run any further. Once he's got his breath back and is far enough from the trailer park to calm down a little, Axel digs out his phone and calls home.
“'lo?” answers someone around a yawn.
“Hey, Owen,” Axel says, “Can you put Len on?”
“Jus' a minute. LEN.”
There's a fair amount of muffled conversation and the phone gets dropped more than once, but finally Len gets ahold of it.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, dad,” Axel says.
“You know I'm on early shifts, right?” Len says tiredly, “This couldn't have waited?”
“No.”
“You in trouble?” Len asks and his voice has gotten sharper, more focussed.
“No, it's nothing dangerous, dad,” Axel replies, “It's just, I was in Barry's lab today -” there's a muffled snort on the other end of the line, “- and I saw something on the computer. Why didn't you tell us our grandfather was still alive?”
“Because he doesn't deserve to be,” Len says harshly, “I don't want either of you meeting him.”
“He can't be that bad,” Axel tries.
“No,” Len says, “Don't even think about it, Axel.”
Rare is the occasion that Len outright forbids something. Axel's done a lot of stupid shit over the years, which school counsellors and the like tend to put the blame at Len's feet for not discouraging in the first place, but then Axel's found that about half the stupid shit he did he immediately decided to never do again, because it was just that: stupid shit.
There were the instances, mid-teens, when Axel took up vandalism and petty theft, but not much of that could be linked to him - none of it could since he'd first gotten access to CCPD's records.
Len's rules mostly come down to 'don't be an idiot' and 'listen up when I've got something important to say'. This is the latter.
“He raised you,” Axel angles, “And you've turned out alright.”
“It took me until I was in my thirties to sort my life out,” Len says, “And the only reason I'm not sat in jail next to Mark right now is because you two turned up. I got some lucky breaks that had nothing to do with him. I'm not letting him mess either of you up.”
Len's sounding frustrated and angry and Axel's beginning to wish Evan wasn't off on holiday with his girlfriend. Evan's always been better at the touchy-feely family stuff. Owen's not going to be any use, he's too emotionally draining, he hasn't quite got the hang of giving back nearly as much as he takes away.
“I just thought...” Axel starts.
“Where's this coming from? You're not Evan,” Len says, then it clicks. Occasionally Len shows where Axel's keen insight comes from, “Shit, you've already gone, haven't you?”
“Dad -”
“You didn't think there was a reason I didn't let you meet him?”
“Dad -”
“Are you hurt?”
The question makes Axel tighten his fingers to feel the bruises on his knuckles. “No,” he replies, “But dad?”
“What?”
“I'm... glad you turned out... like you did.”
There's a pause before Len answers. “Right,” his voice has gotten quite gruff, “Were you wanting dinner here tonight?”
It's times like this which make Axel wish he had anything close to Evan's ability to say what he's feeling. Accepting dinner's just about all he can do. Though Len's in the same boat, considering he can only just offer dinner.
“Yeah.”
“And Axel?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't tell Evan.”
“Wasn't gonna.”
Len believes in family and Axel wouldn't change his brother and dad for anyone else, however they both know the nasty side. Maybe it's because he's never had a blood relative be truly horrible to him, but Evan's got a different picture of things. Naive really.
Maybe it's because he wasn't around when Len was coming to terms with Evan's drug habit. Not that Len lost all ability at parenting, but there is a reason why Axel started picking pockets and graffiti-ing at that age.
Maybe it's because he's a better person than either of them. However, neither Axel nor Len have done anything as hard as what Evan was snorting.
“See you later, dad,” Axel says and hangs up.
It's barely half an hour later that Axel has a knock on his office door. He quickly takes his feet off his desk and starts straightening the papers he'd picked up at CCPD earlier.
“Come in,” he calls, trying to look professional.
He's found that people can forgive eccentricities while he's out on the job, but first impressions count for a lot in this business. He quickly brushes a pile of comics into a drawer and curses himself for not keeping the office tidier.
The couple who walk in don't belong there. Their clothes are much too rich for the neighbourhood, their bearing too posh. The man shuts the door quickly and his eyes are moving rapidly. He frowns at the mostly-closed blinds and the camera Axel's got on a shelf. The woman dabs at her eyes and takes a seat.
Axel knows who they are and is surprised that he's seeing them in this neighbourhood.
“Mr Walker, correct?” says Osgood Rathaway imperiously, “We have need of your services.”
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Title: Adjusting to Another Lifestyle
Characters: Hartley Rathaway, Axel Walker, Len Snart, Owen Mercer
Word count: 2832
Summary: Hartley adjusts to life outside the manor. Takes place in my 'Ramblings of Another West'verse, around the time of 'Taking on Another Job'.
AN: Why do I keep trying to write confrontations, dammit?
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The first few steps are strangely liberating.
Hartley lets out a long, unsteady breath and shrugs his bag higher onto his shoulders. He's out of the grounds and no alarms have been raised yet. He starts trudging down the long road toward Keystone City.
It's not the first time he's tried to run away, but Hartley's hoping it'll be the last. He's got a plan this time and food. Sensible food. The chef that had replaced Matthew - five years ago now - was thankfully just as nice toward Hartley. He'd made sure to have lots of 'hypothetical' discussions about what was best for living off without access to good appliances.
Hartley had set off at late evening and it isn't even midnight by the time he reaches Keystone. He starts looking for somewhere to sleep though, the walk having tired him out more than he expected it to. A puddle-filled alley is where Hartley makes his bed tonight.
Soup kitchens are just another way Hartley has to swallow his pride, a couple of weeks in. He doesn't have any food left and even the stench of unwashed masses in the kitchen is far preferable to dumpster diving for scraps. People are loud and knock into Hartley when they pass like he's not there, but there's a heater putting out a meagre waft of warmth and the broth tastes like actual food.
“You might've given me a bit of a run-around,” an oddly-familiar voice says, as a man plonks himself down on the bench next to Hartley, “Tried to cover your tracks a bit more. I'm being paid by the day, you know.”
Hartley's about to run, but then he realises he knows the man. “Axel?”
“You've gotten tall, squirt,” Axel says.
He's right, Hartley's pretty much level with him when they're sitting down. It's been years since Hartley's seen Axel, or Evan. He wonders if something more than them just growing up happened.
However, this isn't exactly the best time to catch up.
“You're going to bring me back, aren't you?” Hartley says.
“I'm not going to be able to afford a new TV otherwise,” Axel agrees.
Hartley starts to get up, but Axel tugs his sleeve and he sits back down. He has a feeling that if he tries to make a scene, Axel will find a way to twist things to his advantage.
“I'm not going,” Hartley says.
“Yes, you are,” Axel says, “Even if you manage to find a way to make a living out here and settle in, they're not going to stop at just me. You're still legally under their guardianship, they can drag you back kicking and screaming if they want to.”
Hartley sighs. He knows this, but hearing it makes it sound worse. “So I've got to go back for another year.”
“I didn't say that,” Axel says, with a grin that Evan once told Hartley meant 'trouble with a capital T', “You're going back - and it'll be easiest with me - but I'm sure we can arrange something to get you out of there before the day is up.”
“Out... permanently?”
There's a stirring of hope that Hartley hasn't felt for a long time. It's been ages since someone was ready to actively help him, instead of not daring to be anything more than passive-aggressive around his parents.
“Remember who you're talking to,” Axel says, “If I can't then I'll let you have the money your folks are paying me for this.”
“They aren't going to pay you if you talk-back to them on my behalf,” Hartley feels he should point out.
“If they don't pay me then I'll need to reconsider my profession,” Axel says cockily, “Come on, Hart, where's your sense of fun?”
And there's the taunt that used to get Hartley to do things he would've never considered otherwise. Evan had promised adventure, Axel always promised fun.
“This is a little more serious than tree-climbing or sneaking out for ice-cream,” Hartley says, trying to tamper his excitement down and failing, judging by the grin on Axel's face, “...you can really get me out?”
“Cross my heart,” Axel says flippantly.
“...ok.”
Axel fills the drive to Hartley's home with mindless chatter. Hartley runs over what he wants to say to his parents again and again in his head. The closer they get, the more Hartley's insides seem to be trying to tie themselves up in knots.
The Rathaways' manor has never looked so imposing to Hartley as it does when he makes the walk from the outside gate to the front door. It's frighteningly tall and the sun's cast the place in haunting shadows. Hartley just concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other until he's face to face with the heavy wooden doors.
His knock echoes ominously through the house. Hartley's beginning to think that the entire place was built around scare-tactics in order to give the Rathaways the best advantage available.
Even the way the door creaks open seems to be perfectly designed to sound as unnerving as possible.
By the time Hartley's escorted to his father's study his hands are shaking and he stuffs them in his pockets to stop it showing. Axel's looking completely calm and Hartley nearly hates him for it. But then Axel has no real connection to Osgood Rathaway, except for investigator services rendered. Hartley bets that Axel would be a lot more nervous if he had to confront his own father.
Osgood's sat at his desk, writing something that Hartley can't read upside-down. He doesn't even glance up when the butler announces Hartley and Axel. Hartley's used to it, but Axel's got an impatient look on his face that Hartley recognises as a sign of bad things to come.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Osgood says harshly without looking up.
Hartley opens and closes his mouth a few times before managing to stutter out, “...I-I only came back to say I'm leaving.”
Axel flashes what Hartley hopes is an approving grin. Osgood stops writing and Hartley does his best not to flinch as his father looks up, absolute fury plain on his face.
“What?” Osgood snaps.
Hartley's thankful Axel chose to accompany him, there's no way he would've been able to stand up to Osgood without some kind of backup. It's still difficult.
“I'm not staying here,” Hartley says, wavering under Osgood's glare, but standing his ground.
“This again?” Osgood snorts. His eyes flick to the side as he properly notices Axel, “You have no right to be here, leave.”
Axel coughs and smiles. “There's the matter of my fee...”
“How much?” Osgood barks.
Axel rattles off a number that makes Hartley stare at him, but Osgood just scribbles down the amount on a cheque and hands it over without complaint. Axel puts the cheque into an inside pocket of his coat and gives Hartley a look.
“I'm leaving,” Hartley says again, though if the eye-roll from Axel is any indication his tone isn't what it was before.
“You have duties as my heir and you will not be seen making a fool of yourself wandering around like some vagrant!” Osgood snaps.
Even though Hartley had been expecting that he feels the words like a slap to the face.
“You don't care that I was mugged twice and nearly killed?” Hartley says, swallowing hard, “You only care if someone sent a photo of it to a newspaper?”
“Hartley,” Osgood starts, but his voice hasn't softened in the slightest.
“No,” Hartley snaps out, “No. I'm not going to listen to someone who doesn't care if I die, just that I die in a way that doesn't look bad. Well there goes my plan of overdosing in a gaybar.”
“Hartley!” Osgood's sounding angry, but Hartley's not paying it attention through his own red haze, “You are a Rathaway and I expect you to behave like one.”
“Well maybe I don't want to be a Rathaway any more! Have you considered that, father?” Hartley shouts.
“You will behave as deemed appropriate for your station and family!” Osgood shouts, “Or I will never call you my son again!”
Hartley takes an involuntary step backward. There's a perfectly surreal moment when he realises he's not afraid of this man any more. Being on the wrong end of a knife for less than five dollars worth of food was much scarier than Osgood Rathaway's fury.
“Well it looks like we've got a deal,” Hartley says quietly, “I'm not your son.”
“You think this is a laughing matter, boy?” Osgood snaps, still furious.
“No,” Hartley says, with a calm he didn't know he possessed, “I am not going to stop fighting your order. I will run away every chance I get. I will do what I can to ensure the destruction of your company and name.” Hartley balls his fists and squeezes his eyes shut, “Unless you disown me. Let me go and leave me alone and the Rathaway name will be safe.”
“This is very serious, Hartley,” Osgood says, the edge gone from his temper, though he's still far from calm and quiet, “You have been granted wealth and power purely by birthright. Are you truly going to throw all that away because you don't have the sense to point your teenage rebellion in a more constructive direction?”
“Goodbye, Mr Rathaway,” Hartley says, turning for the door before his heart can be stomped on further. There's no call for him to stop. Hartley feels himself start to tremble and can't make it stop.
“I'll take my leave too,” Axel says, a steely bite to his voice that Hartley hasn't heard before, “After what happened to my brother and Hart here, I pity the next person to be chosen as your heir.”
“Get off my property,” Osgood snaps, “I didn't pay you for your remarks.”
Already, Hartley's forgotten. He lets out a shaky breath and bites his lip, determined to get out of this hell-hole before letting things overwhelm him. There's a hand at Hartley's elbow and Axel's steering him through the manor. Hartley's grateful for the quick pace and keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. Outside the air feels so much lighter and Hartley gulps it down like he's been trapped underwater. The shaking has stopped and what's left is just a numbness that sinks into every fibre of Hartley's being.
Axel drives Hartley silently through Keystone and eventually parks the car. Hartley jerks out of his daze when they come to a stop and is suddenly quite aware that he has no idea where he is. Axel's already out of the car though, so Hartley fumbles with his seatbelt and gets out.
The car bleeps as it locks behind Hartley and he hurries after Axel. Axel leads him into a building and up a couple of flights of stairs. Axel unlocks one of the doors and swears as it catches on the security chain. He wriggles his hand through the gap and unhooks the chain.
Hartley follows him inside into a messy apartment. Axel shuts the door behind them just as a man emerges from further into the flat.
“You could just knock,” the man says scowling at Axel.
“Where's the fun in that?” Axel replies with a grin.
“Who's that?” the man asks, nodding toward Hartley.
“Dad, this is Hartley,” Axel says, “Hartley, this is my dad, Len.”
Hartley can't see any link to Axel, but Len does look somewhat like his memories of Evan.
“The Rathaway's kid, right?” Len says a dark look overtaking his face.
“Yes, sir,” Hartley says.
“Lighten up,” Axel says, “He's just been booted out.”
Len does relax a little, then he realises why they're there.
“No,” Len says, folding his arms, “Absolutely not. I'm done with that. Done. You hear me?”
“Could've persuaded me if it hadn't been for Owen,” Axel says with malicious glee.
There's a pause and Hartley finds himself holding his breath.
“Dammit,” Len runs a hand over his face and through his hair, “You're a manipulative little shit sometimes, you know that.”
Axel just grins and slips through a door into another room - possibly the kitchen from what Hartley saw of the linoleum flooring.
That's left Hartley alone with Len.
Oh dear. Aside from a kid with a funny voice and his little brother, Hartley's never been that great at making a good impression.
“I'm getting too old for this,” Len mutters, then he looks over Hartley appraisingly, “Alright, you're in Axel's old room. Dinner's whenever I get around to making it, other meals you'll have to fend for yourself. Let me know if you're allergic or some other shit.”
“I don't think so...” Hartley says carefully.
“Good,” Len says, gesturing for Hartley to follow him further into the apartment, “No drugs. I don't care if you drink, but you get plastered and throw up anywhere other than the toilet, you're cleaning it up yourself. Hangover or no.”
“Yes, sir.”
Len looks over his shoulder at Hartley. “It's Len, not whatever manners you've learned. They're not gonna do you any good here.”
“Yes, s- Len.”
“You sticking with 'Hartley'?” Len asks.
“I... I wouldn't know what else to call myself,” Hartley replies.
“Hmm,” Len shows Hartley into a room cluttered with boxes, “This is it. I'll get Axel to see if he can't shift some of this junk to his own place.”
“Thank you,” Hartley says, trying to put across all his sincerity, “Really.”
“I'm on a four-to-ten at the moment,” Len says and if Hartley doesn't know any better, he'd think Len's looking a little embarrassed, “Owen - he's living here as well right now - he's on shifts, this week it's twelve-to-six, next week it's six-to-midnight.”
Hartley's confused, but nods along. Len reads his bewilderment and clarifies that he was on about job hours. Hartley puts his bag down near the bed and finds he doesn't know what to do with himself.
He's really... free.
Hartley sits down heavily on the bed. Everything's catching up with him at once. He's left home - for real this time. It unlikely he'll ever see his parents again. Or any of the staff at the manor. Or...
Freedom's heavier than he expected.
Len sticks his head out of the door and shouts for Axel. Hartley spends the rest of the afternoon being beaten by Axel at video games. It works well enough as a distraction.
Owen turns out to be another teenager, about the same age as Hartley but taller, his hair's a darker red and he tends to slouch. Hartley hasn't been able to get his story out of Axel or Len, who both make it clear that it's Owen's tale to tell.
Axel leaves after dinner and Owen shuts himself in his room. Hartley dithers for a moment or two, then follows suit, picking through his belongings and sorting what he can.
Hartley can't sleep that night. After tossing and turning for some time, he decides to take a short walk and have a drink of water. The apartment feels even stranger without the lights on and Hartley wishes he'd paid closer attention to where the switches were.
There's footsteps and another person switches the lights on. It's Owen. The other teenage looks as wary as Hartley feels. It's a little awkward, but they both end up with a glass of water, sipping them in silence under the florescent lights.
“So,” Hartley's voice cracks and he has to cough to get it working again.
“So,” Owen agrees.
“I got disowned by my father,” Hartley says, then immediately regrets it.
“Shit, that's rough,” Owen says. He gnaws on his knuckle for a few moments before relenting, “My dad's in prison.”
“Ouch,” Hartley sympathises, “Is he a good dad?”
“I only met him a few months ago,” Owen replies, “But he's been great. Last time I saw him outside...”
Owen and Hartley spend a good few hours trading stories. Owen talks about meeting his father for the first time and his job at the cinema. Hartley talks about running away and meeting Evan and Axel as a child.
“Wait, Evan? Axel's brother, Len's kid, and all around cokehead? That Evan?” Owen asks after Hartley mentions Evan for the fifth time.
“Cokehead?”
Hartley's never really had any childhood heroes, but if there was someone who could make a claim to that title, it would have been Evan. Finding out his history of drug abuse from Owen knocks him off the pedestal that Hartley hadn't realised he'd been keeping him on.
Eventually they stop talking and head back to bed. Hartley only sleeps because he's exhausted. His mind kept running until he passed out on the unfamiliar (yet amazingly comfortable after a fortnight of slumming it) bed.
When Hartley wakes up the next day there's voices drifting through the door and the creak of the plumbing. Hartley stretches and gets up. Time to face this new lifestyle and get used to it.