Kids These Days
You realize that you've pushed too hard right before the kid closes his eyes. Of course you did—subtley hasn't ever been your forte, and it's not like you can change that on command. Especially when no one bothered to give you the command. You could have maybe given yourself the command, but that didn't happen.
So now you're standing here. Just...holding onto him, wondering what the fuck to do. Like you told him before, you don't usually stick around for this point: you slice 'n dice the abuser, yoink the kids out of the aftermath, and hand them over to someone qualified before they lose their shit over the scary red man who just caused major fucking mayhem in their immediate vicinity. You might have to keep the kids calm for a couple minutes until you get them somewhere safe, but really getting them through the horrible shit?
It's not something you have experience with. You honestly don't know what to do for Dave, other than hold onto him and wait to see if he's going to stop sobbing against your chest.
Eventually, he does. Or at least, it tapers off to little broken sniffles, and he pulls away to stumble back over to the chair you put him in at first, almost fall down and start rubbing at his eyes.
The poor kid looks even younger now than you assumed he was at first. God damn it.
"Dave—"
"You say shit about bein' sorry 'n I'm gonna stab you."
"Oh. Okay then." (You still seriously consider saying it. Just because. Maybe stabbing you would actually make him feel better...yeah, no, this kid isn't quite as much of a weirdo as you are.) "Uh...you know we're going to have to go soon, right?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"There's not going to be anything to come back to—"
"I need to get my stuff, I know that, okay, I—"
"Hey, all you need to do is tell me what you want, Dave." You don't really want him going back in his room; you kind of left a disturbing amount of blood on the floor. "Give me a list, I'll gather it up for you."
Dave's had both hands over his face since he sat down. Now he pulls one away for the sole purpose of flipping you off. You're not entirely sure that you deserved that.
You're about to tell him as much, when the main monitor in the fancy-ass setup on the opposite wall lights up and makes a startup sound that you're pretty sure hasn't been in use on any model made in the last ten years.
Ooh. What's this?
Dave...will probably be fine for a minute. It's not like you're going anywhere; just stepping over to the computer and checking out what exactly is onscreen.
It's a chat client. Not one that you've seen before, which isn't all that surprising since your main social media pastime is getting in fights that can't exceed a couple hundred letters per side at a time. This is text-based, color-coded, and hey, you're already signed in on someone else's profile. Probably Strider's.
The red text onscreen leaves no doubt about the person on the other end's knowlege of who they're talking to, though.
AI: Hello, Wade.
...hm.
TT: Sorry, no Wade here. Want me to take a message?
AI: That's a weak attempt at subterfuge. And "weak" is being generous.
AI: Miss Lalonde sends her regards. She says to tell you that you need to remember to retrieve Dave's phone, and his shades.
AI: They're important to him, and he's lost enough today.
TT: Hey, if that's a dig on me completing the job YOU gave me, fuck off.
AI: No. You're doing better than we expected.
AI: Well, other than letting your mark reach your charge. That was a bit less impressive than we expected.
TT: You shorted me on info, hot stuff. Strider's a fucking speedster.
TT: Oh, excuse me. WAS a fucking speedster.
AI: What?
TT: Oh my god.
TT: Do none of you know anything about anything? This is standard mutant terminology. Like I'm pretty sure the assholes in the government knows what a fucking speedster is.
AI: I lived on the internet, douchebag, I know what a speedster is.
AI: Bro isn't a mutant.
TT: The twenty punctures that just finished healing in my lungs beg to differ.
AI: He's not a fucking mutant.
TT: How are you doing that? Do you have any idea how much I want that added dramatic emphasis? It's kind of my thing.
TT: Anyway. He was a speedster, trust me on this one. Normal humans don't move that fast.
(You actually give your next sentence some thought. In the end, the fact that you need to find out whether or not you need to just take Dave and disappear where Lalonde and the guy you're talking to can't find either of you wins over your need to keep at least a couple cards close to your chest.)
TT: It runs in this family, too. The kid's some kind of mutant, even if he doesn't know what it is.
AI: ....shit.
AI: Are you serious? Are you sure?
TT: Again with the italics? You're kind of a douche, aren't you?
AI: Shut the fuck up and answer my question.
TT: Pushy, pushy.
AI: I have the right to be pushy!
TT: Nah.
AI: You piece of shit.
artificialIntellect disconnected!
Uh, what?
TT: timausTestified [TT] started pestering tartareanTycoon!
TT: Hello.
TT: ...how many of you are there, exactly? Because I assumed Lalonde was Strider's angry ex or something when I took this job, and this is starting to look more complicated than I signed up for.
TT: There's enough of us to do what we need to do.
TT: I am fucking surrounded by melodramatic teenagers.
TT: I'm not a teenager.
TT: Why would you say that? You don't even know who I am.
...holy shit. You didn't mean that whoever's on the other end of this was literally a teenager, but is there any other reason for them to get this defensive? No, no there is not.
Holy fucking shit.
TT: Why the fuck does Lalonde have a kid talking to me, exactly?
TT: You're delusional.
TT: I mean, yeah, that's not exactly a secret.
AI: You should probably check on Dave in the next five minutes.
Wait, didn't that guy disconnect? Wait. Why do you need to check on Dave.
"Uh-oh." Yeah, that becomes very fucking apparent when you turn your head. The kid's gone from the spot he was in last time you looked, not in the room at all. Shit, you lost him. You actually lost him.
The computer beeps at you, which is weird because it hasn't made a sound since those old-fashioned startup chimes. When you look back, there's more orange text.
TT: Don't panic. He's okay.
AI: I highly doubt that, Dirk.
(Oh hey. A name.)
TT: Fine. He's not okay. But he's in his room, packing.
TT: Leave him alone for another couple minutes.
TT: What if I don't feel like taking orders from a couple of kids?
AI: Dude, this is hard enough already. Let him pack his stuff and cry in private.
...oh.
AI: Anyway. You need to pick up a couple more things, and you're never going to find them by yourself.
TT: Again with the italics? Come on, gimme those.
AI: And you're calling us out for being childish?
TT: Yep!
TT: Hal, would you just give him what he fucking wants?
AI: ...
AI: Fine. Enclose what you want in italics in forward slashes. I've added the necessary coding to Bro's profile.
TT: Oh?
TT: Oh?
TT: Hell yes.
AI: I am beginning to seriously wonder about Rose's decision to have you bring Dave home to us instead of getting him here some other way.
AI: It can't be helped now, though. So, you need to listen to me and cooperate, and this will be much easier for everyone involved.
Hm.
Okay, fine. You'll cooperate, for once in your life. But only because red text dude (Hal? Dirk called him Hal) is probably right about making this easier, and if it's easier for you it'll be easier for Dave. The kid deserves that much.