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om_mainOn the way back to the car from the club, the kids are running out of time on the inducers when they run smack into some very bad news from Angelo's past. When the inducers fail, things get ugly fast. They manage to get away before the cops show up, and Damon helps clean up the mess in exchange for information.
It had been inside the club that Angelo Espinosa had been spotted and recognized by a member of the gang that had once killed most of his hometown crew. They'd spread their fingers to the east coast to expand their drug operations, but no one had forgotten the money Angelo had stolen from them, and memories were long when it came to that kind of thing. You didn't let a punk like Espinosa humiliate you, or worse, rob you blind. They'd been itching for payback since the day of the shoot-out in L.A., so it wasn't a stretch that as soon as he was made, they'd gone for their weapons and made a plan.
They'd get it out of him what he'd done with the money first... then they'd kill him.
That it turned out he wasn't alone, but running with a new crew? It didn't make much difference. In face, even better. Manhattan wasn't their usual turf, but taking out a bunch of small-timers might help make the point that they weren't to be messed with. They had a message to send.
So, as the kids from the Institute began to cross a deserted corner of Central Park, they were never expecting to run into a dozen dark-skinned gang members from the east side.
"Yo, ese," a familiar face sneered as he showed himself out of the darkness, the African American lean, but muscled, a blue bandana knotted around his shaved head. He focused on Espinosa, a smirk forming on his lips. "Thought you was just gonna run? That we ain't gonna find you?"
No, Angelo certainly hadn't expected to run into anyone from the west coast while he was here---certainly not these pendejos. Deep down inside, though? Angelo was actually pretty legitimately terrified that they'd found him, and he hoped to the Big Guy above that they hadn't hurt his family like he'd feared they would. Or that they wouldn't go home and do so. Still, boy had his pride and he wasn't about to start wetting his pants in front of these guys. Furthermore, Angelo especially didn't want his business hung up to air in front of his schoolmates, either. He'd kept his past nice and hush-hush up until now, and he liked it that way! "We had a deal, yo. I left and you got your turf, now keep walking, si?"
Seriously. He was way too high for this shit, and not to mention that he wasn't armed. These bros were likely packing some serious heat and he couldn't defend himself against that.
"We want our money," a second gangster spoke up behind the first--this one was much shorter and he was wearing a big, black winter coat. His hair was out big and puffy and, to an observer, his eyes and speech would suggest that he was slightly strung out. "Yo' turf and yo' girl ain't gonna pay for our stock!"
"I ain't got no money, homes. Think I can just pull that shit outta my asshole like it's an ATM?" Angelo replied, sounding way more chill about it then he felt. In fact, he was getting so antsy about this that he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it up. "'Sides, these kids here aren't involved. Let them leave and then we can talk." Gotta protect his private business here, even if it did end up killing him tonight.
Bobby ran a hand through his hair making it even more unruly as his unfocus gaze took in the scene, trying to comprehend what was happening. Not easy when his brain was firing like crazy, he'd never been this fucked up before. His heart was pounding out a fucking samba and his shirt was clinging to his over-heated skin. The look of the guys who'd approached them should worry or alarm him but he couldn't find it in him to be afraid. He figured it must be because of the drugs everything since he'd been doing for the last hour was down to the drugs. He definitely didn't usually hug this much.
"Leave? Fuck that, Ang." Bobby da Costa did not run out on his friends especially not when sketchy dudes like that were threatening him. And he kind of wanted a smoke now. Damnit.
The moment they ran into the group of guys, Blaine's heart started racing, and he could feel a cold sweat wash over him. Even before they spoke, he knew this was bad- he knew what it looked like, how it felt when people were planning to hurt you. His hands started to shake, and he felt frozen, everything in his body screaming for him to get away, to not let this happen again, but he knew that even if it were possible to get away, he couldn't leave his friends here.
At the same time that Bobby spoke, Kurt moved slightly to stand in front of him, and these two things both brought him back to the present. This wasn't like before, he reminded himself. He had a way to defend himself, they all did, but he had to focus. His mind racing through his options in the worst case scenario, he slowly slipped his hand into his pocket, silently powering on his iPod and turning up the volume as high as it would go.
Everything inside of Kurt was screaming danger! His heart was pounding, muscles tense, and stomach in sick knots. He had seen that look before, the one that was in the eyes of every single one of those boys. Anger, hatred. The fierce and unpredictable, cold determination of someone who was capable of anything. The people who had been afraid of him had always looked that way. Jardine had always looked that way.
Kurt’s eyes flicked from the gang to Angelo and then back again as he tried to figure out if there was something he could do. Teleportation wasn’t an option. There were just too many people. He’d be willing to try, despite the risks, but he didn’t know how he’d grab hold of everyone at once. Slowly, he took another step anyway, positioning himself to put everyone within easier reach.
"Damn straight," Lil spat, agreeing with Bobby before moving to the front of their small group. Only girl or not, she wasn't about to hide behind a bunch of guys like some damsel in distress. Instead, the six-foot, four-inch brunette moved to stand less than a foot away from the ring leader. "Look here, asshole amigos. I don't give a fuck who you are but you're gonna back off and get outta our way. Got it?"
The one that had first confronted Angelo began to laugh as he looked the girl over. She was pretty hot in that dress, even if she was freakishly tall. "You got yourself a new girl, bro? Damn. Gotta make up for the old one's loss with twice as much bitch, huh?"
The guy started to smirk as he looked over at Angelo, starting to say something else. His mouth paused, half-open, as he stared at the sight of Angelo's image shifting for a moment, back and forth, from his usual appearance to something sagging and gray. The others started to notice too, a couple of the guys shouting about blue and fur and demons as they took off down the block. Those that stayed were visibly shaken, and a couple pulled guns from their jackets, including the ringleader.
He stared as Angelo suddenly just turned gray altogether, like a sagging elephant, and then looked across at one of the other kids, who had turned into a furry blue animal with a devil's tail and deformed fingers and toes. He didn't bother asking questions. Instead, he just opened up his gun at the blue guy, shouting for his friends to take them down.
"Hey!" Lil hollered, pushing forward. "I said ba-"
There was a loud crack of a bullet being fired just before it slammed into her chest.
Despite having taken and smoked enough to keep him high until morning, Angelo felt scarily sobered up right then. It wasn't just the familiar faces and the voices shouting at him, but the guns too. It brought him back to the night of that fire fight---the night he lost his crew. His best friends in the world. It completely triggered off an explosion of panic within his body, and all Angelo could think to do was attack the ring leader.
Which the motherfucker deserved for dragging Tores into this, especially.
Angelo's excess skin flew forward, one stretchy hand grabbing for the gun and the other going for the cabron's face. That disabled one weapon for the time being, but left the few remaining gang members shooting.
Things happened so fast. One moment people were talking, threatening. The next, there was a flurry of movement--people shouting, running, guns being drawn--and pain exploded in Kurt’s shoulder. It threw him back off his feet, and he hit the ground with a force that drove the air from his lungs. At first there was only disorientation. A brief moment where he didn’t know what had happened, how he’d ended up on the ground. Then, pain blossomed across his shoulder. It felt like it was on fire, like his whole shoulder was burning up.
Kurt’s hand immediately went to his shoulder. He swore in German as the touch sent a fresh wave of pain through him that made his vision go white. Despite it, he pressed hard anyway, stomach lurching at the hot and wet stickiness beneath his palm. Oh, Gott, he had been shot! He had been--Oh, Gott. Shots were still ringing out, the sounds nothing like there were in the movies. Gott, they needed to get out of here. He had to get up, teleport them out.
For one hopeful moment, Blaine thought that maybe the gang members would simply run off after the Image Inducers broke down. Then, Jesus, there were guns, and Blaine only had a second to register that before shots rang out. He dropped down, grabbing his iPod out of his pocket and starting up the playlist labeled ‘force field’. Strains of a pop song started and he pushed off the ground, kneeling as he closed his eyes and put up his hands. Fueled by adrenaline and the instinctive need to protect himself, it grew easily as he spread his arms, until seconds later he’d managed to bring up a large wall in front of him.
“Get behind it!” he yelled, trying to draw the others’ attention to the translucent shield. He looked around, taking note of where everyone was located so he could best position himself. Angelo, Bobby and Lil were all in front of him, but..where was Kurt?
He glanced behind him, and his heart dropped at the sight of the other boy on the ground. He called his name, moving over as quickly as he could without risking the shield. His stomach took a sick roll at the sight of the blood on his shoulder. “Kurt’s been shot!” he called to the others, then knelt down next to his friend. “Kurt, can you hear me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He wanted to check him, but he couldn't do anything, not with his hands tied up on the force field. “Listen to me, Kurt, you need to put pressure on it. Just press your hand on it and try not to move.”
Bobby could feel someone pulling him back as his breathing came in had, fast and erractic. The gunshots had made something snap and he could barely move with their hands forcefully tugging him back. Guns. Blood. Screaming. Juliana. Cops. Lil. Fire. Shouting.
He fell back, nearly knocking someone flying as he landed on his ass in the dirt somewhere behind Blaine. Suddenly he realized at least some of the panicked yelling was from him, mostly Portuguese and barely any of it making sense. Flashes of the night he lost Juliana clouded his mind as he looked up. The freaked out and increasingly angry thugs with guns hadn't left yet.
The sight of the gun, the blood on Kurt's shirt that was still blossoming, the smell of recently fired bullets, the general panic in the air. The urge to vomit was almost completely overwhelming. Just barely he managed to swallow it back, shaking as he looked around wildly. Lil. Where was Lil? And Kurt. He couldn't just let them die like his Juliana. He had to help them.
Fuck. He was going to be sick.
Meanwhile, less than fifty yards away, the gunshots and shouting drew the attention of another club-goer, who had been indulging in a bit of extra-curricular activity up against a sturdy tree. The girl in Damon's arms tensed and gasped at the sound, and he raised his head from where his lips had been enjoying her throat - and his power had been soaking up the vibrant energy of her psyche.
The teen's first instinct was to casually walk in the other direction. Where there were gunshots, there were usually cops, and he didn't need that kind of trouble. On the other hand, where there were gunshots, there were frightened people, and fear did always taste delicious. Besides, his current date was about tapped out - as much as he dared take without making anyone suspicious about what he was.
Catching her gaze, Damon smiled at the cute little blond. "You didn't hear that. In fact, you had an incredible time at the club tonight, then went straight home. You don't even remember me."
The girl blinked at him, relaxing, and finally smiled. "I had an incredible time at the club tonight. I think I'm going to go home."
"Fantastic," Damon smirked, then turned away as she began to head for home. As the screaming intensified, he picked up his pace, breaking the clearing just in time to take in the scene mid-chaos, his eyebrows going up as he noted the odd-looking individuals, and even more curious...the shimmering shield that was currently protecting them from the bullets. After that, he couldn't help but watch, fascinated.
Back in the fray, Lil stood, frozen save for the shaking hand she lifted slowly to her chest. There had been pain - and no small amount of it - and in a haze, she expected to find her fingers covered with blood when they came away. Instead, the giantess found nothing save a tear in the emerald fabric. No blood. No bullet. No bruise. Just flesh, completely unharmed...
Something inside Lil snapped and like a light bulb flicking on, she jumped into action.
"Fuck you!" she screamed at the nearest member of the gang, whose eyes had gone wide with shock when he realized the girl was perfectly fine despite what should have been a fatal shot. "This was the first new dress I've bought since coming to New York!" Lil growled as she reached out and grabbed the banger's gun. Rather than wrestle it away from him, she simply squeezed and the metal crumpled in on itself. "You've really fucking pissed me off, homeboy!" A hard twist and his face contorted with pain as she snapped his wrist with hardly any effort.
As Lil took out the gangster next to them, Angelo kept the ringleader subdued with his skin, gun dropped into the grass. All the skin covering the guy's arms and mouth and eyes was causing him to scream--but obviously the sound was muffled by Angelo's hold.
Having the bastard there and in his grasp caused something to snap inside of Angelo, and all he could do was tighten his hold as much as he could manage before he started striking his old rival repeatedly, mostly in the head. The threat had caused a lot of adrenaline rush, yes, but so had the words. The confirmation of Tores' death---the fact that this guy had mentioned his 'loss'---hurt Angelo more than he could even describe.
Someone was going to have to pry him off of this guy.
Kurt nodded at Blaine’s words, grimacing as he replied in nearly incomprehensible German. He rolled to his side, hauled himself onto his knees, his palm pressed to the ground. Blood trickled down his arm, sticking to his fur, dripping to the pavement like water escaping from a faucet not turned off all the way. Shots were still being fired, people were still shouting. They needed to get out of here. He managed to push himself up and then swayed as the world suddenly tilted violently, dizziness washing over him. It was the blood-loss, he distantly realized. Too much blood loss. He put a hand out, supporting his weight on a wall, trying to stop himself from falling again.
Everything was insane. Kurt kept trying to get up, Bobby was panicking, and Angelo seemed like he was two minutes away from killing someone, and he had no idea what he should do. Seeing Kurt wobble again, looking like he could barely stand, he dropped the force field- there were too many gangsters and not enough able fighters for him to stay out anyway- and helped Bobby back to the wall next to Kurt, where he’d be more out of the way.
Turning to Kurt, he pulled off his scarf and pressed it to his wound, taking Kurt’s other hand and making him apply pressure with it. “Stay still!” he yelled at his friend, his voice firm even as his hands were shaking. “You can’t go to the hospital, so you have to stop bleeding!” The thought that they would have to make it all the way home before Kurt would be able to get medical attention made him feel sick again, but he pushed it back and pulled out his iPod again, cursing as the device took what seemed like forever to switch playlists. Finally, punk rock started blasting from the speakers, amplifying his strength, and he charged at one of the two remaining thugs, punching him hard in the face.
Lifting his head, Bobby found himself pretty much face to face with Kurt. The blue fuzzy guy who he'd only half an hour before been laughing and dancing about with, stroking his fur with a fascination only excusable when you're rolling on E, was bleeding badly and gasping loudly in agony. Still shaking badly, he reached out used his hands to apply pressure to the wound, pulling Kurt into his arms. The action put him in practically the same position as he'd been in when attempting to save Juliana's life, a coincidence that did little to help his mental state but having something to focus on at least kept him from screaming.
He was still rambling, though quieter now. "Stay with me, come on don't leave me. No, no don't close yours eyes. Fuck, stay here ok? Talk to me, say something. Jesus Christ, Kurt come on. Please, say something. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck..."
By that point, the guns had run out of ammo, three of the four were occupied, and the fourth had been shot in the crossfire. Damon knew better than to get involved; he really did. It wasn't in his nature. On the other hand, it looked like the gray saggy dude was about to do something he'd definitely regret later. So, with a shrug and an inward sigh, he picked up a rather hefty tree-branch, strolled up behind the guy with skin literally wrapped around his head, and took a hefty swing (regardless of whether it would hurt the other guy's extra skin or not) and knocked the ring-leader out cold.
When he sagged uselessly to the ground, Damon met the gray dude's gaze. "I think you want to help your friends now," he pointed out, putting a bit of his power behind the suggestion.
Angelo blinked. "I want to help my friends now." Then, just like that, he jogged away from the gang members to check on Kurt, Blaine, and Bobby (shaking the sudden pains out of his hands). Who was that guy? Had he left the club with them? "
"Lil! Come on, chica, let's go!" he called as he passed the girl hammering on her guy. "Kurt's down!"
The giantess was still seeing red and easily half-pushed, half-tossed the guy whose wrist she'd broken against a tree. He landed with a cry of pain - probably from fractured ribs - and Lil decided to leave him there. Angelo was right: they needed to get Kurt back to the mansion.
But just as she was turning to help her fallen classmate, she caught sight of the boy she'd danced with at the club.
Blaine fell back on his boxing training, just focusing on the music as he placed a few well-aimed jabs. The gangster managed to get in a few shots of his own, including a shot to the jaw that cut his lip that would likely leave a bad bruise in the morning, but the boy managed to get him down without too much trouble. As soon as it was over, he ran back to the two boys on the ground, kneeling next to them as he tried to figure out how they'd move Kurt.
In the background, someone began to slow clap, even as the first hints of a siren sounded in the distance. "I have to say. I'm impressed. Captain Planet saves the day. Seriously. Well done," Damon smirked a bit. "Course, you're all going to be rounded up and handcuffed in about, oh, three to five minutes or so, but awesome work."
Kurt couldn't focus. There was so much going on around him, so much movement and talking, and he tried to center his thoughts, tried to hold onto them, but they slipped through his fingers like water. He wasn't even sure how he'd ended up on the ground again. "Ich denke es ist an der Zeit nach Hause zu gehen," he said, almost calmly. The words jarred something in him and a rush of panic suddenly overwhelmed him. They needed to go. They needed to go now. He was shot. Gott, there was blood everywhere and it was his blood.
Bobby was doing his best, he was really trying to help but the chemicals coursing through his veins where really fighting against him. He was keeping pressure to the wound, yes, but he couldn't focus, was panicking more than Kurt himself and utterly unable to actually comfort the poor guy. He was relieved when Blaine pretty much took over. His hands joined Bobby's bloody ones and Bobby just buried his face in Blaine's neck and shoulder, mumbling "Juliana..." quietly. He'd tried to focus on Kurt but she was the only thing on his mind through, the one thing the drugs couldn't distract him from.
Not really knowing what else to do with himself right then, Angelo took off the short way up the street to grab the SUV and pull up to the closest curb they had. He wouldn't be the best candidate to be driving them home---but at this point who really was? The new mystery guy was damn right about the 5-0 going to be here any second, so they had to move.
After parking, he stumbled back out of the car. "Bobby, get yourself together, 'mano! We gotta get Kurt in the car and go," Angelo insisted desperately. He understood where Bobby was coming from probably better than anyone else right then---he knew what it was like to lose a love to violence and he knew how triggering the sound of guns could be--but, unfortunately, they had priorities right now and the priority was the guy with the wound before he bled out. "One of you keep the pressure down, and one of you lift his upper body. 'ight? I'll take his legs...it's gonna hurt him no matter how we do this, but we gotta go now. Pain's better than wasting any more of his time."
Meanwhile, said stranger was crouched over one of the teens who had attacked them, speaking to him in low tones, just as he'd done with the other three. They'd remember getting into it with their rivals over a drug deal, and they would confess to at least half a dozen crimes each once the cops got them into the interrogation room. Of course, the two guys that got away were going to be a problem, but their friends helpfully provided him with their home addresses. Damon would get to them eventually.
He rose to his feet just as Angelo was pulling the car up, and watched dispassionately as they started loading the shot furball into the SUV. Tinted windows. Good for hiding the colorful freaks, anyway, he decided, then approached the amazon he'd been dancing with at the club. "So let's see. Indestructible woman, blue thing, gray skin-guy, shield-guy, and some kid who's too drugged out to see straight. Tell me this isn't a secret club."
"Not a secret club," Lil murmured as she looked at the car then back at Damon. Yeah, this wasn't good on so many levels. "We're just students from a nearby school or gifted kids. Look, I had fun dancing and thanks for the drink but we really gotta go. Um. Call me sometime and maybe I'll catch you at the club again? Minus all the guns and stuff." She hoped.
Damon didn't have a couple of hours to interrogate the crew, or even just the amazon, but he couldn't shake his curiosity. He'd never actually run into freaks like him before (well, obviously not nearly as capable, but he could forgive them their cluelessness - they were driving an SUV, after all.) He set a hand on the girl's arm. "Look, I had fun just helping to save your asses, so help a guy out," he drawled, catching her gaze. His eyebrows went up as he did, an insistent note striking his tone. "What's the name of this 'school'?"
"Xavier's," she answered without any hesitation. There was just something about him that made he want to answer, to give him what he asked for... "In Westchester. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."
The sirens were getting closer, and he had to go. One more question. "And all the students there are like you? Superpowers?"
Lil gave a small shake of her head before returning to her near-statue-like position with her unblinking hazel eyes drowning in his. "Not superpowers. Mutant powers. All different types from all over the world."
"You don't say." Damon looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave her ass a squeeze and helped her into the driver's seat. He took one look around at the other passengers, cocked his head in a mock salute, and leaned in her ear to murmur, "Call me sometime."
Then the door closed and he disappeared into the tree-line.
The initial shock and confusion from earlier was gone and now Kurt was just afraid. He was trying to stay calm, not to panic, because everyone was already so scared but all he could think about was how much his shoulder hurt, how there was so much blood that he could smell it. Gott, he was tired too. All he wanted to do was lie down, but Blaine wouldn’t let him. The other boy was straddling his hips with his hands pressed firmly to his shoulder. They were face to face, and he could see the tight line of Blaine’s mouth, the worry in his eyes. He looked so scared.
Panic tightened around Kurt’s heart, squeezed its fingers around his throat. Not wanting to see, he dropped his head forward, resting it on Blaine’s shoulder. He heard Blaine tell Lil to drive, told her to hurry. Oh, Gott, he had been shot and there was just so much blood. Lieber Gott... He was so scared. His free hand closed around his cross and he closed his eyes, murmuring the Lord’s Prayer in German under his breath over and over again. After a moment, he heard Blaine’s voice, soft and right by his ear, saying the prayer in time with him only in English.
Having been bundled in the back by the others, Bobby was beside Kurt and Blaine and very still. He was sitting staring that his bloody hands where he'd tried to keep pressure on Kurt's wound, he could feel the stickiness of the blood and feel it through his black shirt though it didn't show up in the light. All he could think of was the last time he'd been covered in blood, how his Thunderbolts kit had been drenched in the stuff, both his and Juliana's. He barely moved, barely reacted to anything as he sat in a near catatonic state lost in his disjointed thoughts and flashbacks.
Angelo had sat up front with Lil. Whether or not there had been blood or mud or grass or anything else stuck to him right then was not known because he wasn't entirely aware of everything that had just gone on. His adrenaline was still going a million miles a minutes, causing him to dig his fingers into the dash and keep checking every window in the car to ensure that the cops hadn't seen them yet. "Step on it, chica, don't hold back just go! I can hear 'em getting close."
It was like that night that his crew died all over again.
When they were out of immediate danger and the risk of being caught, then he'd let himself deal with his panic and guilt and worry. Angelo just couldn't let this gang kill another one of his friends or get anyone else he knew hauled into jail. Getting Kurt back to the school was the top priority and everything else came second.
Everything after the dark-haired teen disappeared had been a blur; getting into the driver's seat - whose smart idea was that again? - and speeding away from the cops. They were lucky they hadn't been pulled over or worse, driven off the road into some ditch somewhere with Lil at the wheel. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate on getting them all back safely instead of letting her mind drift back to what had just happened...
... or what was to come when the headmasters found out.
It had been inside the club that Angelo Espinosa had been spotted and recognized by a member of the gang that had once killed most of his hometown crew. They'd spread their fingers to the east coast to expand their drug operations, but no one had forgotten the money Angelo had stolen from them, and memories were long when it came to that kind of thing. You didn't let a punk like Espinosa humiliate you, or worse, rob you blind. They'd been itching for payback since the day of the shoot-out in L.A., so it wasn't a stretch that as soon as he was made, they'd gone for their weapons and made a plan.
They'd get it out of him what he'd done with the money first... then they'd kill him.
That it turned out he wasn't alone, but running with a new crew? It didn't make much difference. In face, even better. Manhattan wasn't their usual turf, but taking out a bunch of small-timers might help make the point that they weren't to be messed with. They had a message to send.
So, as the kids from the Institute began to cross a deserted corner of Central Park, they were never expecting to run into a dozen dark-skinned gang members from the east side.
"Yo, ese," a familiar face sneered as he showed himself out of the darkness, the African American lean, but muscled, a blue bandana knotted around his shaved head. He focused on Espinosa, a smirk forming on his lips. "Thought you was just gonna run? That we ain't gonna find you?"
No, Angelo certainly hadn't expected to run into anyone from the west coast while he was here---certainly not these pendejos. Deep down inside, though? Angelo was actually pretty legitimately terrified that they'd found him, and he hoped to the Big Guy above that they hadn't hurt his family like he'd feared they would. Or that they wouldn't go home and do so. Still, boy had his pride and he wasn't about to start wetting his pants in front of these guys. Furthermore, Angelo especially didn't want his business hung up to air in front of his schoolmates, either. He'd kept his past nice and hush-hush up until now, and he liked it that way! "We had a deal, yo. I left and you got your turf, now keep walking, si?"
Seriously. He was way too high for this shit, and not to mention that he wasn't armed. These bros were likely packing some serious heat and he couldn't defend himself against that.
"We want our money," a second gangster spoke up behind the first--this one was much shorter and he was wearing a big, black winter coat. His hair was out big and puffy and, to an observer, his eyes and speech would suggest that he was slightly strung out. "Yo' turf and yo' girl ain't gonna pay for our stock!"
"I ain't got no money, homes. Think I can just pull that shit outta my asshole like it's an ATM?" Angelo replied, sounding way more chill about it then he felt. In fact, he was getting so antsy about this that he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it up. "'Sides, these kids here aren't involved. Let them leave and then we can talk." Gotta protect his private business here, even if it did end up killing him tonight.
Bobby ran a hand through his hair making it even more unruly as his unfocus gaze took in the scene, trying to comprehend what was happening. Not easy when his brain was firing like crazy, he'd never been this fucked up before. His heart was pounding out a fucking samba and his shirt was clinging to his over-heated skin. The look of the guys who'd approached them should worry or alarm him but he couldn't find it in him to be afraid. He figured it must be because of the drugs everything since he'd been doing for the last hour was down to the drugs. He definitely didn't usually hug this much.
"Leave? Fuck that, Ang." Bobby da Costa did not run out on his friends especially not when sketchy dudes like that were threatening him. And he kind of wanted a smoke now. Damnit.
The moment they ran into the group of guys, Blaine's heart started racing, and he could feel a cold sweat wash over him. Even before they spoke, he knew this was bad- he knew what it looked like, how it felt when people were planning to hurt you. His hands started to shake, and he felt frozen, everything in his body screaming for him to get away, to not let this happen again, but he knew that even if it were possible to get away, he couldn't leave his friends here.
At the same time that Bobby spoke, Kurt moved slightly to stand in front of him, and these two things both brought him back to the present. This wasn't like before, he reminded himself. He had a way to defend himself, they all did, but he had to focus. His mind racing through his options in the worst case scenario, he slowly slipped his hand into his pocket, silently powering on his iPod and turning up the volume as high as it would go.
Everything inside of Kurt was screaming danger! His heart was pounding, muscles tense, and stomach in sick knots. He had seen that look before, the one that was in the eyes of every single one of those boys. Anger, hatred. The fierce and unpredictable, cold determination of someone who was capable of anything. The people who had been afraid of him had always looked that way. Jardine had always looked that way.
Kurt’s eyes flicked from the gang to Angelo and then back again as he tried to figure out if there was something he could do. Teleportation wasn’t an option. There were just too many people. He’d be willing to try, despite the risks, but he didn’t know how he’d grab hold of everyone at once. Slowly, he took another step anyway, positioning himself to put everyone within easier reach.
"Damn straight," Lil spat, agreeing with Bobby before moving to the front of their small group. Only girl or not, she wasn't about to hide behind a bunch of guys like some damsel in distress. Instead, the six-foot, four-inch brunette moved to stand less than a foot away from the ring leader. "Look here, asshole amigos. I don't give a fuck who you are but you're gonna back off and get outta our way. Got it?"
The one that had first confronted Angelo began to laugh as he looked the girl over. She was pretty hot in that dress, even if she was freakishly tall. "You got yourself a new girl, bro? Damn. Gotta make up for the old one's loss with twice as much bitch, huh?"
The guy started to smirk as he looked over at Angelo, starting to say something else. His mouth paused, half-open, as he stared at the sight of Angelo's image shifting for a moment, back and forth, from his usual appearance to something sagging and gray. The others started to notice too, a couple of the guys shouting about blue and fur and demons as they took off down the block. Those that stayed were visibly shaken, and a couple pulled guns from their jackets, including the ringleader.
He stared as Angelo suddenly just turned gray altogether, like a sagging elephant, and then looked across at one of the other kids, who had turned into a furry blue animal with a devil's tail and deformed fingers and toes. He didn't bother asking questions. Instead, he just opened up his gun at the blue guy, shouting for his friends to take them down.
"Hey!" Lil hollered, pushing forward. "I said ba-"
There was a loud crack of a bullet being fired just before it slammed into her chest.
Despite having taken and smoked enough to keep him high until morning, Angelo felt scarily sobered up right then. It wasn't just the familiar faces and the voices shouting at him, but the guns too. It brought him back to the night of that fire fight---the night he lost his crew. His best friends in the world. It completely triggered off an explosion of panic within his body, and all Angelo could think to do was attack the ring leader.
Which the motherfucker deserved for dragging Tores into this, especially.
Angelo's excess skin flew forward, one stretchy hand grabbing for the gun and the other going for the cabron's face. That disabled one weapon for the time being, but left the few remaining gang members shooting.
Things happened so fast. One moment people were talking, threatening. The next, there was a flurry of movement--people shouting, running, guns being drawn--and pain exploded in Kurt’s shoulder. It threw him back off his feet, and he hit the ground with a force that drove the air from his lungs. At first there was only disorientation. A brief moment where he didn’t know what had happened, how he’d ended up on the ground. Then, pain blossomed across his shoulder. It felt like it was on fire, like his whole shoulder was burning up.
Kurt’s hand immediately went to his shoulder. He swore in German as the touch sent a fresh wave of pain through him that made his vision go white. Despite it, he pressed hard anyway, stomach lurching at the hot and wet stickiness beneath his palm. Oh, Gott, he had been shot! He had been--Oh, Gott. Shots were still ringing out, the sounds nothing like there were in the movies. Gott, they needed to get out of here. He had to get up, teleport them out.
For one hopeful moment, Blaine thought that maybe the gang members would simply run off after the Image Inducers broke down. Then, Jesus, there were guns, and Blaine only had a second to register that before shots rang out. He dropped down, grabbing his iPod out of his pocket and starting up the playlist labeled ‘force field’. Strains of a pop song started and he pushed off the ground, kneeling as he closed his eyes and put up his hands. Fueled by adrenaline and the instinctive need to protect himself, it grew easily as he spread his arms, until seconds later he’d managed to bring up a large wall in front of him.
“Get behind it!” he yelled, trying to draw the others’ attention to the translucent shield. He looked around, taking note of where everyone was located so he could best position himself. Angelo, Bobby and Lil were all in front of him, but..where was Kurt?
He glanced behind him, and his heart dropped at the sight of the other boy on the ground. He called his name, moving over as quickly as he could without risking the shield. His stomach took a sick roll at the sight of the blood on his shoulder. “Kurt’s been shot!” he called to the others, then knelt down next to his friend. “Kurt, can you hear me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He wanted to check him, but he couldn't do anything, not with his hands tied up on the force field. “Listen to me, Kurt, you need to put pressure on it. Just press your hand on it and try not to move.”
Bobby could feel someone pulling him back as his breathing came in had, fast and erractic. The gunshots had made something snap and he could barely move with their hands forcefully tugging him back. Guns. Blood. Screaming. Juliana. Cops. Lil. Fire. Shouting.
He fell back, nearly knocking someone flying as he landed on his ass in the dirt somewhere behind Blaine. Suddenly he realized at least some of the panicked yelling was from him, mostly Portuguese and barely any of it making sense. Flashes of the night he lost Juliana clouded his mind as he looked up. The freaked out and increasingly angry thugs with guns hadn't left yet.
The sight of the gun, the blood on Kurt's shirt that was still blossoming, the smell of recently fired bullets, the general panic in the air. The urge to vomit was almost completely overwhelming. Just barely he managed to swallow it back, shaking as he looked around wildly. Lil. Where was Lil? And Kurt. He couldn't just let them die like his Juliana. He had to help them.
Fuck. He was going to be sick.
Meanwhile, less than fifty yards away, the gunshots and shouting drew the attention of another club-goer, who had been indulging in a bit of extra-curricular activity up against a sturdy tree. The girl in Damon's arms tensed and gasped at the sound, and he raised his head from where his lips had been enjoying her throat - and his power had been soaking up the vibrant energy of her psyche.
The teen's first instinct was to casually walk in the other direction. Where there were gunshots, there were usually cops, and he didn't need that kind of trouble. On the other hand, where there were gunshots, there were frightened people, and fear did always taste delicious. Besides, his current date was about tapped out - as much as he dared take without making anyone suspicious about what he was.
Catching her gaze, Damon smiled at the cute little blond. "You didn't hear that. In fact, you had an incredible time at the club tonight, then went straight home. You don't even remember me."
The girl blinked at him, relaxing, and finally smiled. "I had an incredible time at the club tonight. I think I'm going to go home."
"Fantastic," Damon smirked, then turned away as she began to head for home. As the screaming intensified, he picked up his pace, breaking the clearing just in time to take in the scene mid-chaos, his eyebrows going up as he noted the odd-looking individuals, and even more curious...the shimmering shield that was currently protecting them from the bullets. After that, he couldn't help but watch, fascinated.
Back in the fray, Lil stood, frozen save for the shaking hand she lifted slowly to her chest. There had been pain - and no small amount of it - and in a haze, she expected to find her fingers covered with blood when they came away. Instead, the giantess found nothing save a tear in the emerald fabric. No blood. No bullet. No bruise. Just flesh, completely unharmed...
Something inside Lil snapped and like a light bulb flicking on, she jumped into action.
"Fuck you!" she screamed at the nearest member of the gang, whose eyes had gone wide with shock when he realized the girl was perfectly fine despite what should have been a fatal shot. "This was the first new dress I've bought since coming to New York!" Lil growled as she reached out and grabbed the banger's gun. Rather than wrestle it away from him, she simply squeezed and the metal crumpled in on itself. "You've really fucking pissed me off, homeboy!" A hard twist and his face contorted with pain as she snapped his wrist with hardly any effort.
As Lil took out the gangster next to them, Angelo kept the ringleader subdued with his skin, gun dropped into the grass. All the skin covering the guy's arms and mouth and eyes was causing him to scream--but obviously the sound was muffled by Angelo's hold.
Having the bastard there and in his grasp caused something to snap inside of Angelo, and all he could do was tighten his hold as much as he could manage before he started striking his old rival repeatedly, mostly in the head. The threat had caused a lot of adrenaline rush, yes, but so had the words. The confirmation of Tores' death---the fact that this guy had mentioned his 'loss'---hurt Angelo more than he could even describe.
Someone was going to have to pry him off of this guy.
Kurt nodded at Blaine’s words, grimacing as he replied in nearly incomprehensible German. He rolled to his side, hauled himself onto his knees, his palm pressed to the ground. Blood trickled down his arm, sticking to his fur, dripping to the pavement like water escaping from a faucet not turned off all the way. Shots were still being fired, people were still shouting. They needed to get out of here. He managed to push himself up and then swayed as the world suddenly tilted violently, dizziness washing over him. It was the blood-loss, he distantly realized. Too much blood loss. He put a hand out, supporting his weight on a wall, trying to stop himself from falling again.
Everything was insane. Kurt kept trying to get up, Bobby was panicking, and Angelo seemed like he was two minutes away from killing someone, and he had no idea what he should do. Seeing Kurt wobble again, looking like he could barely stand, he dropped the force field- there were too many gangsters and not enough able fighters for him to stay out anyway- and helped Bobby back to the wall next to Kurt, where he’d be more out of the way.
Turning to Kurt, he pulled off his scarf and pressed it to his wound, taking Kurt’s other hand and making him apply pressure with it. “Stay still!” he yelled at his friend, his voice firm even as his hands were shaking. “You can’t go to the hospital, so you have to stop bleeding!” The thought that they would have to make it all the way home before Kurt would be able to get medical attention made him feel sick again, but he pushed it back and pulled out his iPod again, cursing as the device took what seemed like forever to switch playlists. Finally, punk rock started blasting from the speakers, amplifying his strength, and he charged at one of the two remaining thugs, punching him hard in the face.
Lifting his head, Bobby found himself pretty much face to face with Kurt. The blue fuzzy guy who he'd only half an hour before been laughing and dancing about with, stroking his fur with a fascination only excusable when you're rolling on E, was bleeding badly and gasping loudly in agony. Still shaking badly, he reached out used his hands to apply pressure to the wound, pulling Kurt into his arms. The action put him in practically the same position as he'd been in when attempting to save Juliana's life, a coincidence that did little to help his mental state but having something to focus on at least kept him from screaming.
He was still rambling, though quieter now. "Stay with me, come on don't leave me. No, no don't close yours eyes. Fuck, stay here ok? Talk to me, say something. Jesus Christ, Kurt come on. Please, say something. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck..."
By that point, the guns had run out of ammo, three of the four were occupied, and the fourth had been shot in the crossfire. Damon knew better than to get involved; he really did. It wasn't in his nature. On the other hand, it looked like the gray saggy dude was about to do something he'd definitely regret later. So, with a shrug and an inward sigh, he picked up a rather hefty tree-branch, strolled up behind the guy with skin literally wrapped around his head, and took a hefty swing (regardless of whether it would hurt the other guy's extra skin or not) and knocked the ring-leader out cold.
When he sagged uselessly to the ground, Damon met the gray dude's gaze. "I think you want to help your friends now," he pointed out, putting a bit of his power behind the suggestion.
Angelo blinked. "I want to help my friends now." Then, just like that, he jogged away from the gang members to check on Kurt, Blaine, and Bobby (shaking the sudden pains out of his hands). Who was that guy? Had he left the club with them? "
"Lil! Come on, chica, let's go!" he called as he passed the girl hammering on her guy. "Kurt's down!"
The giantess was still seeing red and easily half-pushed, half-tossed the guy whose wrist she'd broken against a tree. He landed with a cry of pain - probably from fractured ribs - and Lil decided to leave him there. Angelo was right: they needed to get Kurt back to the mansion.
But just as she was turning to help her fallen classmate, she caught sight of the boy she'd danced with at the club.
Blaine fell back on his boxing training, just focusing on the music as he placed a few well-aimed jabs. The gangster managed to get in a few shots of his own, including a shot to the jaw that cut his lip that would likely leave a bad bruise in the morning, but the boy managed to get him down without too much trouble. As soon as it was over, he ran back to the two boys on the ground, kneeling next to them as he tried to figure out how they'd move Kurt.
In the background, someone began to slow clap, even as the first hints of a siren sounded in the distance. "I have to say. I'm impressed. Captain Planet saves the day. Seriously. Well done," Damon smirked a bit. "Course, you're all going to be rounded up and handcuffed in about, oh, three to five minutes or so, but awesome work."
Kurt couldn't focus. There was so much going on around him, so much movement and talking, and he tried to center his thoughts, tried to hold onto them, but they slipped through his fingers like water. He wasn't even sure how he'd ended up on the ground again. "Ich denke es ist an der Zeit nach Hause zu gehen," he said, almost calmly. The words jarred something in him and a rush of panic suddenly overwhelmed him. They needed to go. They needed to go now. He was shot. Gott, there was blood everywhere and it was his blood.
Bobby was doing his best, he was really trying to help but the chemicals coursing through his veins where really fighting against him. He was keeping pressure to the wound, yes, but he couldn't focus, was panicking more than Kurt himself and utterly unable to actually comfort the poor guy. He was relieved when Blaine pretty much took over. His hands joined Bobby's bloody ones and Bobby just buried his face in Blaine's neck and shoulder, mumbling "Juliana..." quietly. He'd tried to focus on Kurt but she was the only thing on his mind through, the one thing the drugs couldn't distract him from.
Not really knowing what else to do with himself right then, Angelo took off the short way up the street to grab the SUV and pull up to the closest curb they had. He wouldn't be the best candidate to be driving them home---but at this point who really was? The new mystery guy was damn right about the 5-0 going to be here any second, so they had to move.
After parking, he stumbled back out of the car. "Bobby, get yourself together, 'mano! We gotta get Kurt in the car and go," Angelo insisted desperately. He understood where Bobby was coming from probably better than anyone else right then---he knew what it was like to lose a love to violence and he knew how triggering the sound of guns could be--but, unfortunately, they had priorities right now and the priority was the guy with the wound before he bled out. "One of you keep the pressure down, and one of you lift his upper body. 'ight? I'll take his legs...it's gonna hurt him no matter how we do this, but we gotta go now. Pain's better than wasting any more of his time."
Meanwhile, said stranger was crouched over one of the teens who had attacked them, speaking to him in low tones, just as he'd done with the other three. They'd remember getting into it with their rivals over a drug deal, and they would confess to at least half a dozen crimes each once the cops got them into the interrogation room. Of course, the two guys that got away were going to be a problem, but their friends helpfully provided him with their home addresses. Damon would get to them eventually.
He rose to his feet just as Angelo was pulling the car up, and watched dispassionately as they started loading the shot furball into the SUV. Tinted windows. Good for hiding the colorful freaks, anyway, he decided, then approached the amazon he'd been dancing with at the club. "So let's see. Indestructible woman, blue thing, gray skin-guy, shield-guy, and some kid who's too drugged out to see straight. Tell me this isn't a secret club."
"Not a secret club," Lil murmured as she looked at the car then back at Damon. Yeah, this wasn't good on so many levels. "We're just students from a nearby school or gifted kids. Look, I had fun dancing and thanks for the drink but we really gotta go. Um. Call me sometime and maybe I'll catch you at the club again? Minus all the guns and stuff." She hoped.
Damon didn't have a couple of hours to interrogate the crew, or even just the amazon, but he couldn't shake his curiosity. He'd never actually run into freaks like him before (well, obviously not nearly as capable, but he could forgive them their cluelessness - they were driving an SUV, after all.) He set a hand on the girl's arm. "Look, I had fun just helping to save your asses, so help a guy out," he drawled, catching her gaze. His eyebrows went up as he did, an insistent note striking his tone. "What's the name of this 'school'?"
"Xavier's," she answered without any hesitation. There was just something about him that made he want to answer, to give him what he asked for... "In Westchester. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."
The sirens were getting closer, and he had to go. One more question. "And all the students there are like you? Superpowers?"
Lil gave a small shake of her head before returning to her near-statue-like position with her unblinking hazel eyes drowning in his. "Not superpowers. Mutant powers. All different types from all over the world."
"You don't say." Damon looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave her ass a squeeze and helped her into the driver's seat. He took one look around at the other passengers, cocked his head in a mock salute, and leaned in her ear to murmur, "Call me sometime."
Then the door closed and he disappeared into the tree-line.
The initial shock and confusion from earlier was gone and now Kurt was just afraid. He was trying to stay calm, not to panic, because everyone was already so scared but all he could think about was how much his shoulder hurt, how there was so much blood that he could smell it. Gott, he was tired too. All he wanted to do was lie down, but Blaine wouldn’t let him. The other boy was straddling his hips with his hands pressed firmly to his shoulder. They were face to face, and he could see the tight line of Blaine’s mouth, the worry in his eyes. He looked so scared.
Panic tightened around Kurt’s heart, squeezed its fingers around his throat. Not wanting to see, he dropped his head forward, resting it on Blaine’s shoulder. He heard Blaine tell Lil to drive, told her to hurry. Oh, Gott, he had been shot and there was just so much blood. Lieber Gott... He was so scared. His free hand closed around his cross and he closed his eyes, murmuring the Lord’s Prayer in German under his breath over and over again. After a moment, he heard Blaine’s voice, soft and right by his ear, saying the prayer in time with him only in English.
Having been bundled in the back by the others, Bobby was beside Kurt and Blaine and very still. He was sitting staring that his bloody hands where he'd tried to keep pressure on Kurt's wound, he could feel the stickiness of the blood and feel it through his black shirt though it didn't show up in the light. All he could think of was the last time he'd been covered in blood, how his Thunderbolts kit had been drenched in the stuff, both his and Juliana's. He barely moved, barely reacted to anything as he sat in a near catatonic state lost in his disjointed thoughts and flashbacks.
Angelo had sat up front with Lil. Whether or not there had been blood or mud or grass or anything else stuck to him right then was not known because he wasn't entirely aware of everything that had just gone on. His adrenaline was still going a million miles a minutes, causing him to dig his fingers into the dash and keep checking every window in the car to ensure that the cops hadn't seen them yet. "Step on it, chica, don't hold back just go! I can hear 'em getting close."
It was like that night that his crew died all over again.
When they were out of immediate danger and the risk of being caught, then he'd let himself deal with his panic and guilt and worry. Angelo just couldn't let this gang kill another one of his friends or get anyone else he knew hauled into jail. Getting Kurt back to the school was the top priority and everything else came second.
Everything after the dark-haired teen disappeared had been a blur; getting into the driver's seat - whose smart idea was that again? - and speeding away from the cops. They were lucky they hadn't been pulled over or worse, driven off the road into some ditch somewhere with Lil at the wheel. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate on getting them all back safely instead of letting her mind drift back to what had just happened...
... or what was to come when the headmasters found out.
