Fic: Meeting of Heroes (1/2) - X-Men/Superman crossover
Title: Meeting of Heroes
Author: immertreu
Word count: ~12200
Summary: Superman/X-Men crossover: Scott Summers gets kidnapped. Clark Kent does as well. Adventures and friendships ensue.
A/N: Beta'd by IcyWaters. Many thanks!
This one is all James Marsden and Brandon Routh's fault... Could be seen as AU, it's only slightly based on all the "X-Men" movies of recent years and "Superman Returns".
Meeting of Heroes
by immertreu
November 2014 - November 2015
"Hey, let me go!"
Clark struggled against the three thugs holding onto him, but his resistance was more for appearances than by any real effort on his part. He could have shaken them off easily enough, but they didn't need to know his real strength, so he chose to wait for a better opportunity to break free. It didn't come. Instead, a white van rounded the corner of the warehouse Clark had been trying to investigate, and screeched to a halt next to the group.
The back doors flung open, and a man jumped out of the driver's cabin to join his companions still clinging to Clark.
"Get him in," the newcomer snapped.
Clark was starting to get a really bad feeling about this, but he still didn't try to get free in earnest because a noise coming from inside the van had grabbed his attention. Bringing his X-ray vision to bear and struggling only for show, Clark looked into the back of the vehicle and discovered what appeared to be a teen-aged boy, blindfolded and handcuffed to steel rings bolted to the wall.
He swore under his breath and received a backhanded slap across the face from the man who seemed to be in charge. "Shut up and move!"
The boss got right into his face, and Clark decided to play along. He didn't know what was going on, but he couldn't leave the other prisoner to his uncertain fate. He couldn't even speed into the van and get the kid out because all of the thugs had seen his face. Clearly.
Damn, he should have come here as Superman, but he wasn't even wearing the suit right now because he'd just finished an undercover job with Lois. Maybe that was a good thing, though, because the gangsters didn't seem to mind a little violence and would surely not be adverse to ripping their captive's clothes to make a point.
Clark dutifully bowed his head as if the blow had really hurt him, and let himself be dragged towards the back of the van. One thug bound his hands behind his back, then they heaved him up and shoved him into the darkened interior.
Clark stumbled, playing his role as a frightened and confused reporter, and fell onto his knees in the middle of the empty space. He looked up in time to see the boy flinch and shrink back at the noise. Then the heavy doors snicked shut behind them. The opening and closing of the front doors could be heard, and the van started moving again. Clark was perched on his feet not even one second later, already loosening the bonds around his wrists without snapping the cord. Luckily, it was slightly flexible. Getting out of zip ties without giving his strength away would have been much more difficult.
The other prisoner hadn't made a sound, but when Clark finally got free and started to make his way over to him, the boy started to shuffle around - further away from Clark. "Who are you?" he asked, and Clark silently reprised his former assessment. The kid might be slightly scared and uncomfortably bound, but he wasn't as young as he looked, his voice educated and strong. Clark guessed he might be about eighteen years old, give or take a year.
He stopped and steadied himself against the wall of the vehicle while putting the piece of string into his pocket. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said. "I got kidnapped as well."
The kid snorted in the dark. "Figures."
He seemed more amused than frightened now, and Clark cocked his head, listening to the young man's even breathing and steady heartbeat. Yep, definitely not too scared.
Puzzled, he tried again: "My name's Clark. What's yours?"
The kid hesitated, but then he sighed and answered. "Scott."
He didn't elaborate, and Clark didn't ask. Instead, he said, "Keep talking so I can reach you, Scott." He didn't need to hear Scott to find him in the dark, of course, but the kid wasn't supposed to know that.
Another snort. "Why? Can't you see?"
Annoyed by the sudden animosity in Scott's tone, Clark took a few steps without answering and bumped into something soft - the kid's leg. Scott jerked back, suddenly frantic again, and Clark stopped his advancement. "It's pitch black in here," he said calmly - and not quite truthfully - as if nothing had happened, and hunkered down by the kid's side. "You probably don't know because of the heavy blindfold. Don't!" he added when the boy tried to move further away from his searching hands. "I just want to get you free."
But Scott didn't listen and wriggled away. "Forget it. They used zip ties and steel handcuffs, impossible to break." The kid took a breath to steady his rising voice and added, "Trust me, I've tried."
Clark glanced at the kid's hands and winced. Yep, he'd tried all right. Scott's skin was broken around his wrists, and red welts were starting to form from his violent attempts at getting free. The thin material of his long-sleeved black t-shirt hadn't been able to protect him much. Scott didn't seem too bothered, though, so Clark didn't comment on his injuries.
The bonds would obviously be no problem for Superman, but he wasn't yet sure how to proceed without giving himself away. The boy seemed harmless enough, yet Clark wasn't about to share his secret with everyone who needed rescuing. Surely there would be an opportunity for escape when they finally reached their destination - where ever that might be. He just hoped they would be able to escape very soon or he'd get an earful from Lois about unnecessary risk-taking later.
Clark relented. "Oh, okay. But at least let me take off the blindfold."
That got an unexpected violent reaction. Scott jumped as far away from Clark as his bindings would allow and curled into a protective ball, shaking his head vigorously. "No!" His voice trembled with fear - no, it was more than that. It was heart-felt terror. "You can't!"
Clark raked a frustrated hand through his hair and settled down against the wall, stretching out his legs. Something wasn't right about the kid, but he couldn't quite name it. Everyone else would have been more than happy to lose the cloth over their eyes, even in the darkness, but Scott was obviously afraid of something. What exactly that was remained to be seen. No pun intended.
He decided to play along for a now but couldn't contain his curiosity. "All right, I won't come near you again. Just tell me: What did you do?"
Silence reigned.
"Come on, kid, I just want to help. They bound my hands with a simple cord, but you get blindfolded and cuffed to the wall? You a cop or what?"
Still no reply. Scott stayed curled-up into a ball, his face turned away from Clark.
"Okay, you know what? Let's start again." He turned to face Scott - who couldn't see him, of course - and said, "My name really is Clark. I'm a reporter. I was about to check out a warehouse because there have been some weird disappearances in the area lately when these guys jumped me and stuffed me in here with you."
Scott scoffed and finally sat up again, still as far away from Clark as the chains would allow, though. "Then you're as stupid as I was. They'd snatched me at the entrance to the biggest warehouse a few minutes before you showed up."
Clark tried very hard not to take offense at the kid's choice of words and eventually decided to cut his fellow prisoner some slack. It wasn't every day that you got kidnapped in broad daylight and driven to God-knows-where without any means to escape.
"What were you doing there?" he asked instead, keeping his tone level and risking an X-rayed glance outside. They were still driving through the industrial district that lay southeast of Metropolis.
Just when he thought Scott would never answer his question, the kid spoke up. "I was searching for a friend of mine. I knew she'd been in the area, but when I didn't hear from her for a couple of days, I went to the last place I knew she'd visited and started asking around. That's when they grabbed me." He paused and added, "I don't even know who they are. They jumped me from behind."
Trying to lighten the mood, Clark said, "Well, if it makes you feel any better: They jumped me in broad daylight, and I could even see their faces, but I don't know who they are either. I've never seen them before."
Scott suddenly grinned, obviously not expecting to be observed in the dark. He replied evenly, "I can tell you that there are four of them, one is most definitely Italian, the other three could be American or maybe Canadian, having been in-country for quite a while. The boss is the Italian one, 6' 1", maybe 6' 2". His three thugs are heavy, about 5' 8" stocky, not used to walking. Not very bright either." He suddenly stopped as if he'd given something away.
Clark was impressed. "How do you know all that?" he asked. "I thought they grabbed you from behind."
And just like that, Scott clammed up again.
Clark banged his head against the metal wall behind his back and sighed in frustration. Just when things had gone so well. It seemed his routine of "I'm a harmless reporter, you can tell me everything" wasn't working with this peculiar kid.
Sensing the other man's annoyance, Scott offered very quietly: "I may be blind, but my hearing is still intact."
Well, shit, Clark thought. That explained Scott's reticence to let him see or touch him. Maybe he'd been in an accident that disfigured him. But what Clark could see of his face looked normal.
Sneaking an infrared peek at Scott's features under the blindfold, Clark could detect nothing unusual. No injuries. On the contrary, Scott had a handsome - some might even say pretty - face, great cheekbones, a chiseled chin. Clark frowned. Looking deeper, he saw intact optic nerves and healthy brain tissue, nothing to suggest blindness in his young companion...but what was that? There was something attached to his optic nerve. Some kind of tumor, perhaps? But no, it seemed to belong, was healthy-looking, in working order.
Clark was no doctor, of course, but he couldn't see anything that would cause Scott to be blind, just an unusual configuration of his visual system. Puzzled, he opened his mouth to speak but remembered just in time that he wasn't supposed to know anything about the inner workings of the kid's head and brain.
He offered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
Scott laughed mirthlessly. "Don't worry about it. Some doubt about my perceptiveness doesn't come even close to damaging my ego."
Clark wondered what kind of trouble Scott had been in before to put that much bitterness into his voice. And that much pride. He looked too young and innocent to be a street kid, but Clark of all people knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. He was about to try and wheedle some more information out of Scott when the kid suddenly cocked his head as if listening to something - and smiled. He said, "We're almost there, I think."
"How do you know?" Clark inquired, but Scott talked over him.
"I know this sounds crazy, but if you see one of the goons carrying around some kind of special glasses and you get the chance to grab them - do it!" His voice had become authoritarian and self-assured. Gone was the sulky teenager from before.
Puzzled, Clark was about to ask why when the van suddenly stopped and he hastily had to pull out the piece of string and tie it loosely around his wrists.
Then the back doors flung open and two new thugs appeared. One stayed outside, covering the whole interior of the vehicle with his weapon, while the other man jumped in and grabbed Clark - now "bound" again - by the arms. "Don't try anything!" he warned and shoved him out the door towards his waiting companion.
Clark hopped down onto the concrete floor and risked a quick glance around. They were in another parking lot, surrounded by yet more warehouses and storage containers, no soul in sight. The whole place seemed to be abandoned.
The four kidnappers from before rounded the van. Two of them took a firm grip on Clark's biceps while a third entered the vehicle and helped his colleague with Scott. The boss stood by and watched.
The newcomer took care of the shackles while his companion towered over the kid, holding him down by the shoulders and dragging him upright when he wasn't bound to the wall anymore. Scott's arms got secured behind his back, though, and Clark grimaced.
"Is that really necessary?" he protested when the taller one of the gangsters grabbed Scott by the hair and almost dragged him to the door. "He's just a kid!"
The goon grinned, but it wasn't a pleasant sight. "He's no kid," he snarled. "He put my friend in the hospital, and we don't take kindly to that."
Surprised, Clark looked at the slender teen who shrugged as if to say, "Who, me?"
The thugs retaliated by pushing him out of the van - without any warning or support. Surprisingly, Scott didn't face-plant into the dirt but landed lightly on his feet, right in front of the kidnapper still holding a rifle. As if sensing the other man's close proximity, he took a step back - and right into the waiting grip of his former tormentors who had also exited the vehicle. He tensed for a moment but then relaxed, knowing as well as Clark did that they couldn't make a run for it - yet.
The group turned towards the closest warehouse, following their leader who was jiggling a heavy key ring.
One kidnapper lagged behind to shut the doors and rap on the side of the van twice. The vehicle sped away, to be parked somewhere hidden out of sight. Clark quickly turned around and memorized the license plate. He got a cuff to the back of his head in retaliation.
"Eyes front!" the gun-wielding goon commanded, and Clark obeyed. No use to antagonize their captors any further. If their treatment of Scott was anything to go by, they wouldn't mind roughing up their captives. On the contrary, they would probably relish it.
Clark still hoped they didn't plan to kill them because then he would have no choice but to intervene. And quickly. He glanced at Scott who was led by two of the thugs.
Now that Clark could finally see the kid in daylight, he realized his first assessment hadn't been far off. He looked to be about eighteen, maybe nineteen, with strong features that spoke of willpower but also experience of life, even with the blindfold covering half of his face. He was tall but pretty slim. His hair that fell almost into his eyes was a light brown, now mostly obscured by the piece of cloth bound around his head, but not badly cut.
Not a runaway then, Clark thought to himself. Not an undercover cop, either. He was definitely too young for that. A bruise on his left cheekbone spoke of a former struggle, probably from when he'd gotten captured.
The youngster's head was cocked again, and Clark wondered what the kid was hearing. Was he counting his steps, trying to get a feel for his surroundings? Or was he listening for some signal?
Scott's sudden announcement right before they had stopped at the second warehouse still rang in Clark's head. How had he known about their imminent arrival? Even Clark's superhearing hadn't given him any real warning because the gangsters hadn't talked on their short drive over.
Clark and Scott let them themselves be led away. They entered the huge building through a small side door and stood in an alley-like hallway with empty steel cages on both sides. Scott flinched when the stagnant air that tasted of metal registered, and Clark shot him a curious look. Had the kid been in a similar situation before?
Before he could voice his thoughts, the foremost thug opened the hatch of the nearest cell-like compartment and motioned for them to enter. Clark went in first, still not seeing a chance to escape with his identity intact. Scott followed immediately, propelled into the right direction by an unfriendly shove to his back.
Clark stopped him by speaking up before Scott could run into him headfirst. "Easy, kid. One more step."
Scott listened and stopped right next to Clark, turning around and following the noises with his unseeing gaze behind the blindfold. The kidnappers closed the door, secured it with a padlock, and stepped away. Only their leader remained behind and jeered at them. "Don't try anything stupid," he said. "My men are ordered to shoot on sight."
Getting more worried by the second, Clark glanced at Scott who showed no visible reaction to the thug's statement. That the bad guys had allowed Clark to see their faces didn't speak well for their captives' chance at survival.
The boss fingered something in his coat pocket, and Clark risked an X-ray glance: It seemed he was carrying the glasses Scott had mentioned earlier. They looked heavy, a little bit like sunglasses but made of a material Clark hadn't seen before. The lenses seemed to be red.
Baffled, Clark returned his gaze to the kidnapper when the man spoke up again, sending an angry glare Scott's way - who couldn't see him, of course. "I'll be back." He turned around and stalked off, further into the warehouse and through the door that separated their makeshift prison from the rest of the building.
The moment they were alone again, Clark loosened the cord around his wrists and regarded Scott who seemed to be just listening, standing in the exact center of their primitive holding cell. Fascinating. His thoughts seemed to be far away, though. Clark didn't know how he knew that, but the way the kid's head was held at an angle again stirred a memory of Scott doing the same thing while in the back of the van. Maybe he had superhearing, too?
Careful so as not to startle Scott, and making a lot of noise, Clark stepped over to the gate barring their escape, and rattled it experimentally.
Immediately, Scott spoke up behind him. "What are you doing?"
Not turning, Clark glanced the way the leader of the kidnappers had disappeared, looking through the closed door - thankfully the place wasn't laced with lead.
The warehouse was empty. At least for now. That should give them enough time to formulate a plan.
Clark could be out of here within a few seconds, of course, but he had to consider Scott. "Just trying the lock," he replied while eyeing the latch and surreptitiously bending it until a hairline fracture appeared right in the middle of the padlock. "It's not too strong. This whole place looks old and in bad repair. We should be able to get free easily enough."
The kid grunted, a derisive sound. "Right. There's just the problem of us still being bound. And in case you hadn't realized, running could be difficult for me right now." There was no self-pity in his voice, he was simply stating a fact. "I don't think you have a guide dog in your pocket?"
Grinning, Clark stepped over to Scott and said, "Well, I managed to get my hands free."
Scott immediately took a step back, away from Clark. "How?" he asked, clearly suspicious.
Stopping his advance, Clark replied in a calm voice, "I told you before, they used a simple cord to bind my hands. It was elastic enough to slip off. They don't seem to be too bright."
Not convinced, Scott stepped back once more until he hit the rear wall of their cell. "Or all this could be a trick. Maybe you're one of them."
That stopped Clark cold. The kid had a point. Trusting a stranger was hard enough. Trusting someone you couldn't even see was far more complicated.
He sighed and allowed, "Sure, I could be, but I'm telling you, I'm not." Great, what a convincing argument, he added mentally. I wouldn't believe me either.
Scott didn't move from his place by the wall, his bound hands pressed against the concrete behind his back.
Clark racked his head for some way to convince Scott of the truth. He finally had an idea when his eye fell on a discarded nail lying just outside their cage. He crouched low and reached for the hopefully sharp tool that he might use to cut Scott's bindings without giving his real strength away. "How about we get rid of your ties? Afterwards, you can still deck me if you like," he said, and stood.
That finally made the kid chuckle, and he relaxed a little. Scott's tone was very dry when he replied. "Highly unlikely. You're taller than me and definitely heavier. Right now I don't stand a chance against you."
Startled, Clark turned to him but refrained from asking the obvious question just in time. "I think the thug you sent to the hospital would disagree."
The kid raised his chin defiantly. "I had no choice. They grabbed me - I fought back."
Clark didn't know how much fighting skill a teen-aged, blind kid might have over a professional gangster, but then he returned to his previous line of thought. "Have you always been this good at judging heights, distances, and such?"
Scott shook his head. "Not always, no. It only started when my eyes…changed."
Clark noted the curious pause but didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "So you haven't always been blind?"
Scott stayed silent.
Clark raked a hand through his hair. So much for their newfound trust.
When Scott made no move to speak again, Clark fingered the nail and said, "I found a huge pin that could be just sharp enough to cut the zip tie. Wanna give it a try?"
After a few seconds of thought, Scott finally stepped away from the wall and nodded. "Okay. Give it your best shot. You're just lucky they left the handcuffs in the van. They probably thought the zip tie would prove resistant enough."
Grinning slightly, Clark dared to step nearer to Scott again and replied, "I told you, they're not very clever. They shouldn't have left us in here together, either. Don't they know that two prisoners in one place are always trouble?"
At this, Scott laughed out loud. "You, my friend, have been watching too many bad movies and cop shows." Then he sobered. "But you're right. They didn't try to disguise their voices either. I'm assuming you saw their faces?"
Clark started to nod, then he remembered Scott couldn't see him. Verbally, he added, "You're right. And yes, I know it's clichéd, but in the movies the bad guys never plan to let you live once you've seen their faces."
Now deadly serious, Scott said, "I know. So we better start on getting out of here before they come back."
Clark silently agreed. "So let's do this. This nail is sharp enough, but I'll have to be careful so as not to hurt you. Could you turn around, please?"
Scott stiffened, but then he obliged and turned his back to Clark, offering his bound hands for easier access.
Clark stepped up behind him, talking the whole time so the kid would know what he was doing. "Okay, thank you. Now, let me see…" He carefully grabbed Scott's wrists that were swollen and chafed. Angry upon seeing the injuries in real light, he said, "I'm sorry, but this might hurt."
Scott sounded impatient. "Just do it. I'll live."
The commanding tone was back in his voice, and Clark's brow furrowed. Then he shrugged and starting sawing away on the plastic band with great speed, cutting through it with ease. A few seconds later, he paused and warned, "Careful now, the thing may snap." He pocketed the nail, took hold of the binding on both sides of the cut he had made, and pulled. The zip tie flew apart with an audible crack.
Scott immediately stepped away, bringing together his abused arms in front of his body, and started rubbing the angry-looking welts on his wrists. Then he turned around and faced Clark, the blindfold still in place. "Thank you," he simply said
Clark replied in kind: "You're welcome." He threw the restraints into a back corner of their cell and turned to regard the metal mesh door again. "Ready to bust out?" he asked over his shoulder, and got rewarded by a confident smirk on Scott's face.
"Sure," the kid said. "Just point me in the right direction and I'll blast us out of the here."
The teen's tone gave Clark goose bumps all over. "You're joking." Or maybe he wasn't? Maybe Clark wasn't the only one hiding a secret? Then he mentally shook himself. He was definitely the only Kryptonian on Earth.
Scott snorted and shrugged. "Sure. Now how about we get out of here? We need to hurry, the thugs won't stay away forever." He rubbed his eyes under the blindfold, and all of a sudden looked like the teenager he really was.
The constant changes in Scott's demeanor were starting to give Clark a headache, and he swore to find out exactly who he was dealing with when all this was over. First they needed to escape, though. Clark grabbed the door once more, shook it mightily - and the bolt holding it in place snapped.
Scott flinched, then he asked, disbelief clear in his voice, "Did you just break us out of this cell?"
Clark didn't suppress his grin. "Yup. The door latch was rusty anyway," he said. "Now come on, we need to go. One step to the left, three forward, and you're through the door."
They quickly exited the primitive cage, but when Clark turned to the left and into the direction from which they had come, Scott stopped and turned right. "I can't leave yet," he said.
"What?" Clark stopped dead in his tracks but not before risking a quick look through the walls in every direction. There was no one in the direct vicinity. Everybody seemed to be assembled one building over. "We have to leave! We need to call the police."
Scott stubbornly shook his head. "I'm not leaving. You can go, but I need to find my friend. I know she's here."
"How?"
Scott stood his ground. "I just know. We have to get her before the goons move her again."
Clark frowned. "Move her where? And how do you even know this? You said you hadn't heard from her in a few days."
The kid just grinned. "And I was telling the truth, but now we need to move. If we sneak closer now, before they realize we're gone, we stand a chance of surprising them."
"We?" Clark sighed, knowing that he'd been manipulated. He could hardly leave a blind kid to his fate, right? He looked past Scott toward the warehouse the kidnappers were occupying. There were still no guards in sight, which had him worried.
Something wasn't adding up. First they kidnapped a kid and a reporter, dragged them out here so no one would ever find them, knocked said kid down a few notches - and then left them all to themselves without even posting a watchdog?
Clark looked at the group in the other building again and suddenly realized why no one was interested in them at the moment: The thugs were interrogating a girl! He flinched when one of the kidnappers slapped her - and at the same time, Scott's hand flew up to his cheek as if he was hurting, too.
Now Clark was really getting suspicious. He quickly scanned Scott again, but there was no hidden transmitter or receiver embedded anywhere that he could see. The kid didn't even have a filled molar. Weird. So how had he known the girl had been hit?
Scott suddenly turned without a word and started down the hallway created by the cages on either side. He kept his right hand on the "wall", walking steadily - but carefully because of old pieces of wood and metal clattering the floor - toward the rear door.
"Hey, kid, wait!" Clark ran to keep up.
The teen didn't listen, just kept going.
"Scott, please."
Clark squeezed by him in the narrow corridor and noticed the shiver when he came too close to the younger man. He planted himself in the middle of the hall and demanded, "Just stop."
That got the kid's attention. "What?!" he almost snarled, having no choice but to halt as well in order not to run into his companion.
Clark sighed and retreated a step. "I'm going to help you, but do you have any idea where you're going? What we're up against?"
"Yes."
"No, you don't," Clark argued.
"Yes, I do." Scott was adamant. "And even if I didn't, I would still go. They're hurting Jean!"
The kid came close to shouting now, and Clark interrupted him. "Keep your voice down!" he snapped, finally losing his cool as well. Then he asked, more calmly, "How do you know? Who are you anyway? And who is Jean?"
Scott crossed his arms in front of his chest, radiating stubbornness. Then he winced, and Clark just knew that the girl who must be Jean had been struck again.
"Fine!" Clark growled. "We're going. But we're gonna have a serious talk afterwards."
"Fine by me." Scott grumbled. "Lead the way."
Clark turned and instructed Scott to put his hand on his shoulder. The kid obliged unwillingly, recognizing the need for guidance, and then they were moving again, Clark constantly monitoring the way ahead of them.
They left the corridor with the depressing cages behind and entered the warehouse proper through the door the thugs had used earlier. The building was empty save for some old crates stacked against one wall, and Clark turned to Scott, "We're alone in here." His voice echoed in the huge space.
Scott winced at the loud noise. "Good. Can we go faster, please?" There was a new kind of urgency in his voice.
Clark risked a glance ahead and saw that all the thugs except for the leader and the big guy that had man-handled Scott earlier had left. Jean cowered in her chair, smarting from various cuts and bruises but not seriously hurt - yet. He turned toward Scott. "Do you trust me?"
Scott snorted. "It's a little bit late not to, don't you think?"
Clark chuckled despite himself. "Well, a few minutes ago you thought I was one of them. Now you want me to rescue your girlfriend."
The kid's sudden start confirmed Clark's suspicious. Jean was the youngster's girlfriend indeed. He didn't comment on it, though, but said, "Can you run if you take my hand?"
"Yes." Scott's answer was simple.
"Okay. Right or left?"
Scott offered his right hand, and Clark took it with his left. Then he used the connection to tug Scott along. "Come on, kid, we need to rescue a damsel in distress."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Scott managed a grin. "Lead on then."
They ran. Slowly, at first, because Clark wasn't sure how well Scott would manage without his sight, but the ground was even, and they made straight for the exit leading outside. They paused for a second when they reached it. Clark cracked the door and peeked outside - he still needed to keep up appearances - and then pulled the kid along.
The space between the two buildings wasn't big, and they arrived at the other side entrance within seconds. Scott caught his breath and resettled his blindfold while Clark looked around and listened for any movement in the vicinity. There were voices, but they were coming from far away, getting more distant by the second. The group of thugs - minus the two with Jean - was leaving the compound, it seemed.
Clark faced Scott again. The teen was listening, too, trying to get a feel for their surroundings, no doubt. "Come on, we'll take the fastest route," Clark said, and grabbed Scott by the arm. They made their way around the outer wall of the warehouse, keeping the facade to their left.
Clark made sure Scott was secured between him and the wall, and for once, the kid didn't seem to mind.
Scott moved with surprising speed and stealth, almost as if he'd done this before. He kept his left hand on the cool exterior of the building, constantly checking their progress.
Clark was still surprised by Scott's sure-footedness, but he thought it would have to be expected from someone blind. He knew there was more to it than simple loss of sight, though, because the kid was still wearing the blindfold - not complaining about it even once. In fact, he seemed to be almost glad the piece of cloth was still there. He continued to fiddle with it whenever they stopped moving.
Clark itched to get away from Scott, to just jump into the fray and rescue the girl, but he knew the kid was suspicious enough already. Besides, the thugs would probably connect the dots and realize the tame reporter they had captured was harboring a big secret. So he wasn't about to risk it, not until the situation became too dire.
Right now, the leader of the kidnappers was talking to Jean, still asking her questions she refused to answer. Clark could see the proud tilt of her head and her fearlessness even through the walls separating them.
Scott was getting more anxious, though. It seemed every question the girl refused to answer raised the gangster's annoyance, causing more fear and dread in Scott as well.
Clark frowned. Those two were definitely connected, but how? He had experienced enough strange things in his life on Earth - and in outer space - but he wasn't sure he really believed in telepathy. Science, biology, physics - those were things he understood. Even Clark's presence on the blue planet and his powers could be explained rationally. But reading minds or sensing someone else's presence wasn't on the list of things he wanted to believe in.
They finally reached the side door leading into the warehouse. Clark knew there would be enough cover for them inside with stacked crates and walls of shelves filled with old pipes, wood and junk boxes, but they still needed to be careful.
Scott, who was adjusting the blindfold once more, asked, "We're there, right?"
Clark started to nod and immediately thought better of it. "Yes," he said. "We need to be quiet, though." He glanced into the direction where the other thugs had vanished and saw their van speed out the front gate of the industrial complex. So far, so good. He continued, "I'll lead, okay? And yes, I know you don't like it" - that much was obvious in the kid's angry stance, - "but you need to trust me on this. You won't be able to see the danger coming, and I can react much faster to any attack than you."
Scott scuffed his feet, impatient to rescue his friend, and hardly listened. "Yes, yes. Can we go in now?"
Clark hoped that he was doing the right thing and opened the door leading into the building. Luckily it seemed to be well-maintained and didn't creak, but he proceeded very carefully nonetheless. Scott had gripped the back of his jacket and followed close on Clark's heels, his other hand stretched slightly to the front and out so he wouldn't hit his head on anything at that height.
They didn't speak, just sneaked in quietly, until they could hear angry voices coming from the other side of a huge stack of pallets. Clark peeked around the corner and saw what he had expected: The leader of their kidnappers was yelling at Jean who only shook her head in denial.
"I know you're one of them!" the thug hissed. "Tell me where the others are!"
What was he talking about?
Jean kept silent, but Clark could see that she was afraid despite the brave facade. Her hands were slightly shaking, and Clark didn't think her pale face was her natural coloring. It made her bright red hair stand out even more and gave the young woman, who seemed a few years older than Scott, a fiery, stubborn appearance.
Clark suddenly understood what the kid saw in her. Glancing to his companion, Clark noticed that Scott's knuckles had gone white. He seemed ready to pounce on the bad guys, no matter the risk to himself. Brave but stupid, Clark thought and tried to come up with a plan to get the thugs away from Jean, and himself and the kids out of here without anyone getting hurt.
The opportunity presented itself a few seconds later. The boss sent his underling away, who turned around and exited the warehouse through a door opposite the one through which Clark and Scott had entered. Only Jean and her interrogator remained.
Scott had moved not even a centimeter when Clark's hand shot out and stopped him. "Not yet," Clark whispered. "The other guy needs to be out of earshot first."
Scott nodded grudgingly, and Clark continued, "We need a diversion. Think you can make enough noise to get the thug's attention and then get away from here as quickly as possible? He may be armed, so you need to stay out of sight." He winced at his poor choice of words and hurried on, "There's a nice niche down the left-hand row of pallets where you can hide."
Angry at being delegated to hiding in the shadows, Scott was about to deliver a hotheaded reply when Clark cut him off, "I need just a few seconds to get to Jean, lose her bindings and come back straight here. He'll never get to you."
"Right." Scott sounded dubious but didn't argue. "See any pipes I could use to create a lot of noise? Any scrap metal?"
Clark grinned. "More than you'll need. Come here." He grabbed Scott who bristled but didn't resist. They stopped right in front of a huge basket of spare parts that looked ancient - and heavy. They would create so much noise that Scott would be able to sneak away without the thug ever hearing him move.
He quickly built a contraption which would enable Scott to create as much noise as possible without wasting too much time. Clark simply pushed a wooden staff in between the stack of pipes that looked wobbly enough on its own, and told Scott to put his hand on this improvised lever. Then he advised, "Count to twenty, then pull. I'll be close enough to get to Jean as soon as the goon comes looking for you. You should be gone by then. Left-hand corridor, about forty paces, turn left again, and I should have you in my sight. Go it?"
Scott actually snorted. "Yes, Mom." The teen continued before Clark could admonish him: "Now go. I think the guy is about to get seriously pissed off."
Clark cast him a glance the kid couldn't observe and left him with a silent pat on the shoulder. Time to get down to business.
Continued in Part 2 because the story was too long for one post.
Author: immertreu
Word count: ~12200
Summary: Superman/X-Men crossover: Scott Summers gets kidnapped. Clark Kent does as well. Adventures and friendships ensue.
A/N: Beta'd by IcyWaters. Many thanks!
This one is all James Marsden and Brandon Routh's fault... Could be seen as AU, it's only slightly based on all the "X-Men" movies of recent years and "Superman Returns".
Meeting of Heroes
by immertreu
November 2014 - November 2015
"Hey, let me go!"
Clark struggled against the three thugs holding onto him, but his resistance was more for appearances than by any real effort on his part. He could have shaken them off easily enough, but they didn't need to know his real strength, so he chose to wait for a better opportunity to break free. It didn't come. Instead, a white van rounded the corner of the warehouse Clark had been trying to investigate, and screeched to a halt next to the group.
The back doors flung open, and a man jumped out of the driver's cabin to join his companions still clinging to Clark.
"Get him in," the newcomer snapped.
Clark was starting to get a really bad feeling about this, but he still didn't try to get free in earnest because a noise coming from inside the van had grabbed his attention. Bringing his X-ray vision to bear and struggling only for show, Clark looked into the back of the vehicle and discovered what appeared to be a teen-aged boy, blindfolded and handcuffed to steel rings bolted to the wall.
He swore under his breath and received a backhanded slap across the face from the man who seemed to be in charge. "Shut up and move!"
The boss got right into his face, and Clark decided to play along. He didn't know what was going on, but he couldn't leave the other prisoner to his uncertain fate. He couldn't even speed into the van and get the kid out because all of the thugs had seen his face. Clearly.
Damn, he should have come here as Superman, but he wasn't even wearing the suit right now because he'd just finished an undercover job with Lois. Maybe that was a good thing, though, because the gangsters didn't seem to mind a little violence and would surely not be adverse to ripping their captive's clothes to make a point.
Clark dutifully bowed his head as if the blow had really hurt him, and let himself be dragged towards the back of the van. One thug bound his hands behind his back, then they heaved him up and shoved him into the darkened interior.
Clark stumbled, playing his role as a frightened and confused reporter, and fell onto his knees in the middle of the empty space. He looked up in time to see the boy flinch and shrink back at the noise. Then the heavy doors snicked shut behind them. The opening and closing of the front doors could be heard, and the van started moving again. Clark was perched on his feet not even one second later, already loosening the bonds around his wrists without snapping the cord. Luckily, it was slightly flexible. Getting out of zip ties without giving his strength away would have been much more difficult.
The other prisoner hadn't made a sound, but when Clark finally got free and started to make his way over to him, the boy started to shuffle around - further away from Clark. "Who are you?" he asked, and Clark silently reprised his former assessment. The kid might be slightly scared and uncomfortably bound, but he wasn't as young as he looked, his voice educated and strong. Clark guessed he might be about eighteen years old, give or take a year.
He stopped and steadied himself against the wall of the vehicle while putting the piece of string into his pocket. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said. "I got kidnapped as well."
The kid snorted in the dark. "Figures."
He seemed more amused than frightened now, and Clark cocked his head, listening to the young man's even breathing and steady heartbeat. Yep, definitely not too scared.
Puzzled, he tried again: "My name's Clark. What's yours?"
The kid hesitated, but then he sighed and answered. "Scott."
He didn't elaborate, and Clark didn't ask. Instead, he said, "Keep talking so I can reach you, Scott." He didn't need to hear Scott to find him in the dark, of course, but the kid wasn't supposed to know that.
Another snort. "Why? Can't you see?"
Annoyed by the sudden animosity in Scott's tone, Clark took a few steps without answering and bumped into something soft - the kid's leg. Scott jerked back, suddenly frantic again, and Clark stopped his advancement. "It's pitch black in here," he said calmly - and not quite truthfully - as if nothing had happened, and hunkered down by the kid's side. "You probably don't know because of the heavy blindfold. Don't!" he added when the boy tried to move further away from his searching hands. "I just want to get you free."
But Scott didn't listen and wriggled away. "Forget it. They used zip ties and steel handcuffs, impossible to break." The kid took a breath to steady his rising voice and added, "Trust me, I've tried."
Clark glanced at the kid's hands and winced. Yep, he'd tried all right. Scott's skin was broken around his wrists, and red welts were starting to form from his violent attempts at getting free. The thin material of his long-sleeved black t-shirt hadn't been able to protect him much. Scott didn't seem too bothered, though, so Clark didn't comment on his injuries.
The bonds would obviously be no problem for Superman, but he wasn't yet sure how to proceed without giving himself away. The boy seemed harmless enough, yet Clark wasn't about to share his secret with everyone who needed rescuing. Surely there would be an opportunity for escape when they finally reached their destination - where ever that might be. He just hoped they would be able to escape very soon or he'd get an earful from Lois about unnecessary risk-taking later.
Clark relented. "Oh, okay. But at least let me take off the blindfold."
That got an unexpected violent reaction. Scott jumped as far away from Clark as his bindings would allow and curled into a protective ball, shaking his head vigorously. "No!" His voice trembled with fear - no, it was more than that. It was heart-felt terror. "You can't!"
Clark raked a frustrated hand through his hair and settled down against the wall, stretching out his legs. Something wasn't right about the kid, but he couldn't quite name it. Everyone else would have been more than happy to lose the cloth over their eyes, even in the darkness, but Scott was obviously afraid of something. What exactly that was remained to be seen. No pun intended.
He decided to play along for a now but couldn't contain his curiosity. "All right, I won't come near you again. Just tell me: What did you do?"
Silence reigned.
"Come on, kid, I just want to help. They bound my hands with a simple cord, but you get blindfolded and cuffed to the wall? You a cop or what?"
Still no reply. Scott stayed curled-up into a ball, his face turned away from Clark.
"Okay, you know what? Let's start again." He turned to face Scott - who couldn't see him, of course - and said, "My name really is Clark. I'm a reporter. I was about to check out a warehouse because there have been some weird disappearances in the area lately when these guys jumped me and stuffed me in here with you."
Scott scoffed and finally sat up again, still as far away from Clark as the chains would allow, though. "Then you're as stupid as I was. They'd snatched me at the entrance to the biggest warehouse a few minutes before you showed up."
Clark tried very hard not to take offense at the kid's choice of words and eventually decided to cut his fellow prisoner some slack. It wasn't every day that you got kidnapped in broad daylight and driven to God-knows-where without any means to escape.
"What were you doing there?" he asked instead, keeping his tone level and risking an X-rayed glance outside. They were still driving through the industrial district that lay southeast of Metropolis.
Just when he thought Scott would never answer his question, the kid spoke up. "I was searching for a friend of mine. I knew she'd been in the area, but when I didn't hear from her for a couple of days, I went to the last place I knew she'd visited and started asking around. That's when they grabbed me." He paused and added, "I don't even know who they are. They jumped me from behind."
Trying to lighten the mood, Clark said, "Well, if it makes you feel any better: They jumped me in broad daylight, and I could even see their faces, but I don't know who they are either. I've never seen them before."
Scott suddenly grinned, obviously not expecting to be observed in the dark. He replied evenly, "I can tell you that there are four of them, one is most definitely Italian, the other three could be American or maybe Canadian, having been in-country for quite a while. The boss is the Italian one, 6' 1", maybe 6' 2". His three thugs are heavy, about 5' 8" stocky, not used to walking. Not very bright either." He suddenly stopped as if he'd given something away.
Clark was impressed. "How do you know all that?" he asked. "I thought they grabbed you from behind."
And just like that, Scott clammed up again.
Clark banged his head against the metal wall behind his back and sighed in frustration. Just when things had gone so well. It seemed his routine of "I'm a harmless reporter, you can tell me everything" wasn't working with this peculiar kid.
Sensing the other man's annoyance, Scott offered very quietly: "I may be blind, but my hearing is still intact."
Well, shit, Clark thought. That explained Scott's reticence to let him see or touch him. Maybe he'd been in an accident that disfigured him. But what Clark could see of his face looked normal.
Sneaking an infrared peek at Scott's features under the blindfold, Clark could detect nothing unusual. No injuries. On the contrary, Scott had a handsome - some might even say pretty - face, great cheekbones, a chiseled chin. Clark frowned. Looking deeper, he saw intact optic nerves and healthy brain tissue, nothing to suggest blindness in his young companion...but what was that? There was something attached to his optic nerve. Some kind of tumor, perhaps? But no, it seemed to belong, was healthy-looking, in working order.
Clark was no doctor, of course, but he couldn't see anything that would cause Scott to be blind, just an unusual configuration of his visual system. Puzzled, he opened his mouth to speak but remembered just in time that he wasn't supposed to know anything about the inner workings of the kid's head and brain.
He offered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
Scott laughed mirthlessly. "Don't worry about it. Some doubt about my perceptiveness doesn't come even close to damaging my ego."
Clark wondered what kind of trouble Scott had been in before to put that much bitterness into his voice. And that much pride. He looked too young and innocent to be a street kid, but Clark of all people knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. He was about to try and wheedle some more information out of Scott when the kid suddenly cocked his head as if listening to something - and smiled. He said, "We're almost there, I think."
"How do you know?" Clark inquired, but Scott talked over him.
"I know this sounds crazy, but if you see one of the goons carrying around some kind of special glasses and you get the chance to grab them - do it!" His voice had become authoritarian and self-assured. Gone was the sulky teenager from before.
Puzzled, Clark was about to ask why when the van suddenly stopped and he hastily had to pull out the piece of string and tie it loosely around his wrists.
Then the back doors flung open and two new thugs appeared. One stayed outside, covering the whole interior of the vehicle with his weapon, while the other man jumped in and grabbed Clark - now "bound" again - by the arms. "Don't try anything!" he warned and shoved him out the door towards his waiting companion.
Clark hopped down onto the concrete floor and risked a quick glance around. They were in another parking lot, surrounded by yet more warehouses and storage containers, no soul in sight. The whole place seemed to be abandoned.
The four kidnappers from before rounded the van. Two of them took a firm grip on Clark's biceps while a third entered the vehicle and helped his colleague with Scott. The boss stood by and watched.
The newcomer took care of the shackles while his companion towered over the kid, holding him down by the shoulders and dragging him upright when he wasn't bound to the wall anymore. Scott's arms got secured behind his back, though, and Clark grimaced.
"Is that really necessary?" he protested when the taller one of the gangsters grabbed Scott by the hair and almost dragged him to the door. "He's just a kid!"
The goon grinned, but it wasn't a pleasant sight. "He's no kid," he snarled. "He put my friend in the hospital, and we don't take kindly to that."
Surprised, Clark looked at the slender teen who shrugged as if to say, "Who, me?"
The thugs retaliated by pushing him out of the van - without any warning or support. Surprisingly, Scott didn't face-plant into the dirt but landed lightly on his feet, right in front of the kidnapper still holding a rifle. As if sensing the other man's close proximity, he took a step back - and right into the waiting grip of his former tormentors who had also exited the vehicle. He tensed for a moment but then relaxed, knowing as well as Clark did that they couldn't make a run for it - yet.
The group turned towards the closest warehouse, following their leader who was jiggling a heavy key ring.
One kidnapper lagged behind to shut the doors and rap on the side of the van twice. The vehicle sped away, to be parked somewhere hidden out of sight. Clark quickly turned around and memorized the license plate. He got a cuff to the back of his head in retaliation.
"Eyes front!" the gun-wielding goon commanded, and Clark obeyed. No use to antagonize their captors any further. If their treatment of Scott was anything to go by, they wouldn't mind roughing up their captives. On the contrary, they would probably relish it.
Clark still hoped they didn't plan to kill them because then he would have no choice but to intervene. And quickly. He glanced at Scott who was led by two of the thugs.
Now that Clark could finally see the kid in daylight, he realized his first assessment hadn't been far off. He looked to be about eighteen, maybe nineteen, with strong features that spoke of willpower but also experience of life, even with the blindfold covering half of his face. He was tall but pretty slim. His hair that fell almost into his eyes was a light brown, now mostly obscured by the piece of cloth bound around his head, but not badly cut.
Not a runaway then, Clark thought to himself. Not an undercover cop, either. He was definitely too young for that. A bruise on his left cheekbone spoke of a former struggle, probably from when he'd gotten captured.
The youngster's head was cocked again, and Clark wondered what the kid was hearing. Was he counting his steps, trying to get a feel for his surroundings? Or was he listening for some signal?
Scott's sudden announcement right before they had stopped at the second warehouse still rang in Clark's head. How had he known about their imminent arrival? Even Clark's superhearing hadn't given him any real warning because the gangsters hadn't talked on their short drive over.
Clark and Scott let them themselves be led away. They entered the huge building through a small side door and stood in an alley-like hallway with empty steel cages on both sides. Scott flinched when the stagnant air that tasted of metal registered, and Clark shot him a curious look. Had the kid been in a similar situation before?
Before he could voice his thoughts, the foremost thug opened the hatch of the nearest cell-like compartment and motioned for them to enter. Clark went in first, still not seeing a chance to escape with his identity intact. Scott followed immediately, propelled into the right direction by an unfriendly shove to his back.
Clark stopped him by speaking up before Scott could run into him headfirst. "Easy, kid. One more step."
Scott listened and stopped right next to Clark, turning around and following the noises with his unseeing gaze behind the blindfold. The kidnappers closed the door, secured it with a padlock, and stepped away. Only their leader remained behind and jeered at them. "Don't try anything stupid," he said. "My men are ordered to shoot on sight."
Getting more worried by the second, Clark glanced at Scott who showed no visible reaction to the thug's statement. That the bad guys had allowed Clark to see their faces didn't speak well for their captives' chance at survival.
The boss fingered something in his coat pocket, and Clark risked an X-ray glance: It seemed he was carrying the glasses Scott had mentioned earlier. They looked heavy, a little bit like sunglasses but made of a material Clark hadn't seen before. The lenses seemed to be red.
Baffled, Clark returned his gaze to the kidnapper when the man spoke up again, sending an angry glare Scott's way - who couldn't see him, of course. "I'll be back." He turned around and stalked off, further into the warehouse and through the door that separated their makeshift prison from the rest of the building.
The moment they were alone again, Clark loosened the cord around his wrists and regarded Scott who seemed to be just listening, standing in the exact center of their primitive holding cell. Fascinating. His thoughts seemed to be far away, though. Clark didn't know how he knew that, but the way the kid's head was held at an angle again stirred a memory of Scott doing the same thing while in the back of the van. Maybe he had superhearing, too?
Careful so as not to startle Scott, and making a lot of noise, Clark stepped over to the gate barring their escape, and rattled it experimentally.
Immediately, Scott spoke up behind him. "What are you doing?"
Not turning, Clark glanced the way the leader of the kidnappers had disappeared, looking through the closed door - thankfully the place wasn't laced with lead.
The warehouse was empty. At least for now. That should give them enough time to formulate a plan.
Clark could be out of here within a few seconds, of course, but he had to consider Scott. "Just trying the lock," he replied while eyeing the latch and surreptitiously bending it until a hairline fracture appeared right in the middle of the padlock. "It's not too strong. This whole place looks old and in bad repair. We should be able to get free easily enough."
The kid grunted, a derisive sound. "Right. There's just the problem of us still being bound. And in case you hadn't realized, running could be difficult for me right now." There was no self-pity in his voice, he was simply stating a fact. "I don't think you have a guide dog in your pocket?"
Grinning, Clark stepped over to Scott and said, "Well, I managed to get my hands free."
Scott immediately took a step back, away from Clark. "How?" he asked, clearly suspicious.
Stopping his advance, Clark replied in a calm voice, "I told you before, they used a simple cord to bind my hands. It was elastic enough to slip off. They don't seem to be too bright."
Not convinced, Scott stepped back once more until he hit the rear wall of their cell. "Or all this could be a trick. Maybe you're one of them."
That stopped Clark cold. The kid had a point. Trusting a stranger was hard enough. Trusting someone you couldn't even see was far more complicated.
He sighed and allowed, "Sure, I could be, but I'm telling you, I'm not." Great, what a convincing argument, he added mentally. I wouldn't believe me either.
Scott didn't move from his place by the wall, his bound hands pressed against the concrete behind his back.
Clark racked his head for some way to convince Scott of the truth. He finally had an idea when his eye fell on a discarded nail lying just outside their cage. He crouched low and reached for the hopefully sharp tool that he might use to cut Scott's bindings without giving his real strength away. "How about we get rid of your ties? Afterwards, you can still deck me if you like," he said, and stood.
That finally made the kid chuckle, and he relaxed a little. Scott's tone was very dry when he replied. "Highly unlikely. You're taller than me and definitely heavier. Right now I don't stand a chance against you."
Startled, Clark turned to him but refrained from asking the obvious question just in time. "I think the thug you sent to the hospital would disagree."
The kid raised his chin defiantly. "I had no choice. They grabbed me - I fought back."
Clark didn't know how much fighting skill a teen-aged, blind kid might have over a professional gangster, but then he returned to his previous line of thought. "Have you always been this good at judging heights, distances, and such?"
Scott shook his head. "Not always, no. It only started when my eyes…changed."
Clark noted the curious pause but didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "So you haven't always been blind?"
Scott stayed silent.
Clark raked a hand through his hair. So much for their newfound trust.
When Scott made no move to speak again, Clark fingered the nail and said, "I found a huge pin that could be just sharp enough to cut the zip tie. Wanna give it a try?"
After a few seconds of thought, Scott finally stepped away from the wall and nodded. "Okay. Give it your best shot. You're just lucky they left the handcuffs in the van. They probably thought the zip tie would prove resistant enough."
Grinning slightly, Clark dared to step nearer to Scott again and replied, "I told you, they're not very clever. They shouldn't have left us in here together, either. Don't they know that two prisoners in one place are always trouble?"
At this, Scott laughed out loud. "You, my friend, have been watching too many bad movies and cop shows." Then he sobered. "But you're right. They didn't try to disguise their voices either. I'm assuming you saw their faces?"
Clark started to nod, then he remembered Scott couldn't see him. Verbally, he added, "You're right. And yes, I know it's clichéd, but in the movies the bad guys never plan to let you live once you've seen their faces."
Now deadly serious, Scott said, "I know. So we better start on getting out of here before they come back."
Clark silently agreed. "So let's do this. This nail is sharp enough, but I'll have to be careful so as not to hurt you. Could you turn around, please?"
Scott stiffened, but then he obliged and turned his back to Clark, offering his bound hands for easier access.
Clark stepped up behind him, talking the whole time so the kid would know what he was doing. "Okay, thank you. Now, let me see…" He carefully grabbed Scott's wrists that were swollen and chafed. Angry upon seeing the injuries in real light, he said, "I'm sorry, but this might hurt."
Scott sounded impatient. "Just do it. I'll live."
The commanding tone was back in his voice, and Clark's brow furrowed. Then he shrugged and starting sawing away on the plastic band with great speed, cutting through it with ease. A few seconds later, he paused and warned, "Careful now, the thing may snap." He pocketed the nail, took hold of the binding on both sides of the cut he had made, and pulled. The zip tie flew apart with an audible crack.
Scott immediately stepped away, bringing together his abused arms in front of his body, and started rubbing the angry-looking welts on his wrists. Then he turned around and faced Clark, the blindfold still in place. "Thank you," he simply said
Clark replied in kind: "You're welcome." He threw the restraints into a back corner of their cell and turned to regard the metal mesh door again. "Ready to bust out?" he asked over his shoulder, and got rewarded by a confident smirk on Scott's face.
"Sure," the kid said. "Just point me in the right direction and I'll blast us out of the here."
The teen's tone gave Clark goose bumps all over. "You're joking." Or maybe he wasn't? Maybe Clark wasn't the only one hiding a secret? Then he mentally shook himself. He was definitely the only Kryptonian on Earth.
Scott snorted and shrugged. "Sure. Now how about we get out of here? We need to hurry, the thugs won't stay away forever." He rubbed his eyes under the blindfold, and all of a sudden looked like the teenager he really was.
The constant changes in Scott's demeanor were starting to give Clark a headache, and he swore to find out exactly who he was dealing with when all this was over. First they needed to escape, though. Clark grabbed the door once more, shook it mightily - and the bolt holding it in place snapped.
Scott flinched, then he asked, disbelief clear in his voice, "Did you just break us out of this cell?"
Clark didn't suppress his grin. "Yup. The door latch was rusty anyway," he said. "Now come on, we need to go. One step to the left, three forward, and you're through the door."
They quickly exited the primitive cage, but when Clark turned to the left and into the direction from which they had come, Scott stopped and turned right. "I can't leave yet," he said.
"What?" Clark stopped dead in his tracks but not before risking a quick look through the walls in every direction. There was no one in the direct vicinity. Everybody seemed to be assembled one building over. "We have to leave! We need to call the police."
Scott stubbornly shook his head. "I'm not leaving. You can go, but I need to find my friend. I know she's here."
"How?"
Scott stood his ground. "I just know. We have to get her before the goons move her again."
Clark frowned. "Move her where? And how do you even know this? You said you hadn't heard from her in a few days."
The kid just grinned. "And I was telling the truth, but now we need to move. If we sneak closer now, before they realize we're gone, we stand a chance of surprising them."
"We?" Clark sighed, knowing that he'd been manipulated. He could hardly leave a blind kid to his fate, right? He looked past Scott toward the warehouse the kidnappers were occupying. There were still no guards in sight, which had him worried.
Something wasn't adding up. First they kidnapped a kid and a reporter, dragged them out here so no one would ever find them, knocked said kid down a few notches - and then left them all to themselves without even posting a watchdog?
Clark looked at the group in the other building again and suddenly realized why no one was interested in them at the moment: The thugs were interrogating a girl! He flinched when one of the kidnappers slapped her - and at the same time, Scott's hand flew up to his cheek as if he was hurting, too.
Now Clark was really getting suspicious. He quickly scanned Scott again, but there was no hidden transmitter or receiver embedded anywhere that he could see. The kid didn't even have a filled molar. Weird. So how had he known the girl had been hit?
Scott suddenly turned without a word and started down the hallway created by the cages on either side. He kept his right hand on the "wall", walking steadily - but carefully because of old pieces of wood and metal clattering the floor - toward the rear door.
"Hey, kid, wait!" Clark ran to keep up.
The teen didn't listen, just kept going.
"Scott, please."
Clark squeezed by him in the narrow corridor and noticed the shiver when he came too close to the younger man. He planted himself in the middle of the hall and demanded, "Just stop."
That got the kid's attention. "What?!" he almost snarled, having no choice but to halt as well in order not to run into his companion.
Clark sighed and retreated a step. "I'm going to help you, but do you have any idea where you're going? What we're up against?"
"Yes."
"No, you don't," Clark argued.
"Yes, I do." Scott was adamant. "And even if I didn't, I would still go. They're hurting Jean!"
The kid came close to shouting now, and Clark interrupted him. "Keep your voice down!" he snapped, finally losing his cool as well. Then he asked, more calmly, "How do you know? Who are you anyway? And who is Jean?"
Scott crossed his arms in front of his chest, radiating stubbornness. Then he winced, and Clark just knew that the girl who must be Jean had been struck again.
"Fine!" Clark growled. "We're going. But we're gonna have a serious talk afterwards."
"Fine by me." Scott grumbled. "Lead the way."
Clark turned and instructed Scott to put his hand on his shoulder. The kid obliged unwillingly, recognizing the need for guidance, and then they were moving again, Clark constantly monitoring the way ahead of them.
They left the corridor with the depressing cages behind and entered the warehouse proper through the door the thugs had used earlier. The building was empty save for some old crates stacked against one wall, and Clark turned to Scott, "We're alone in here." His voice echoed in the huge space.
Scott winced at the loud noise. "Good. Can we go faster, please?" There was a new kind of urgency in his voice.
Clark risked a glance ahead and saw that all the thugs except for the leader and the big guy that had man-handled Scott earlier had left. Jean cowered in her chair, smarting from various cuts and bruises but not seriously hurt - yet. He turned toward Scott. "Do you trust me?"
Scott snorted. "It's a little bit late not to, don't you think?"
Clark chuckled despite himself. "Well, a few minutes ago you thought I was one of them. Now you want me to rescue your girlfriend."
The kid's sudden start confirmed Clark's suspicious. Jean was the youngster's girlfriend indeed. He didn't comment on it, though, but said, "Can you run if you take my hand?"
"Yes." Scott's answer was simple.
"Okay. Right or left?"
Scott offered his right hand, and Clark took it with his left. Then he used the connection to tug Scott along. "Come on, kid, we need to rescue a damsel in distress."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Scott managed a grin. "Lead on then."
They ran. Slowly, at first, because Clark wasn't sure how well Scott would manage without his sight, but the ground was even, and they made straight for the exit leading outside. They paused for a second when they reached it. Clark cracked the door and peeked outside - he still needed to keep up appearances - and then pulled the kid along.
The space between the two buildings wasn't big, and they arrived at the other side entrance within seconds. Scott caught his breath and resettled his blindfold while Clark looked around and listened for any movement in the vicinity. There were voices, but they were coming from far away, getting more distant by the second. The group of thugs - minus the two with Jean - was leaving the compound, it seemed.
Clark faced Scott again. The teen was listening, too, trying to get a feel for their surroundings, no doubt. "Come on, we'll take the fastest route," Clark said, and grabbed Scott by the arm. They made their way around the outer wall of the warehouse, keeping the facade to their left.
Clark made sure Scott was secured between him and the wall, and for once, the kid didn't seem to mind.
Scott moved with surprising speed and stealth, almost as if he'd done this before. He kept his left hand on the cool exterior of the building, constantly checking their progress.
Clark was still surprised by Scott's sure-footedness, but he thought it would have to be expected from someone blind. He knew there was more to it than simple loss of sight, though, because the kid was still wearing the blindfold - not complaining about it even once. In fact, he seemed to be almost glad the piece of cloth was still there. He continued to fiddle with it whenever they stopped moving.
Clark itched to get away from Scott, to just jump into the fray and rescue the girl, but he knew the kid was suspicious enough already. Besides, the thugs would probably connect the dots and realize the tame reporter they had captured was harboring a big secret. So he wasn't about to risk it, not until the situation became too dire.
Right now, the leader of the kidnappers was talking to Jean, still asking her questions she refused to answer. Clark could see the proud tilt of her head and her fearlessness even through the walls separating them.
Scott was getting more anxious, though. It seemed every question the girl refused to answer raised the gangster's annoyance, causing more fear and dread in Scott as well.
Clark frowned. Those two were definitely connected, but how? He had experienced enough strange things in his life on Earth - and in outer space - but he wasn't sure he really believed in telepathy. Science, biology, physics - those were things he understood. Even Clark's presence on the blue planet and his powers could be explained rationally. But reading minds or sensing someone else's presence wasn't on the list of things he wanted to believe in.
They finally reached the side door leading into the warehouse. Clark knew there would be enough cover for them inside with stacked crates and walls of shelves filled with old pipes, wood and junk boxes, but they still needed to be careful.
Scott, who was adjusting the blindfold once more, asked, "We're there, right?"
Clark started to nod and immediately thought better of it. "Yes," he said. "We need to be quiet, though." He glanced into the direction where the other thugs had vanished and saw their van speed out the front gate of the industrial complex. So far, so good. He continued, "I'll lead, okay? And yes, I know you don't like it" - that much was obvious in the kid's angry stance, - "but you need to trust me on this. You won't be able to see the danger coming, and I can react much faster to any attack than you."
Scott scuffed his feet, impatient to rescue his friend, and hardly listened. "Yes, yes. Can we go in now?"
Clark hoped that he was doing the right thing and opened the door leading into the building. Luckily it seemed to be well-maintained and didn't creak, but he proceeded very carefully nonetheless. Scott had gripped the back of his jacket and followed close on Clark's heels, his other hand stretched slightly to the front and out so he wouldn't hit his head on anything at that height.
They didn't speak, just sneaked in quietly, until they could hear angry voices coming from the other side of a huge stack of pallets. Clark peeked around the corner and saw what he had expected: The leader of their kidnappers was yelling at Jean who only shook her head in denial.
"I know you're one of them!" the thug hissed. "Tell me where the others are!"
What was he talking about?
Jean kept silent, but Clark could see that she was afraid despite the brave facade. Her hands were slightly shaking, and Clark didn't think her pale face was her natural coloring. It made her bright red hair stand out even more and gave the young woman, who seemed a few years older than Scott, a fiery, stubborn appearance.
Clark suddenly understood what the kid saw in her. Glancing to his companion, Clark noticed that Scott's knuckles had gone white. He seemed ready to pounce on the bad guys, no matter the risk to himself. Brave but stupid, Clark thought and tried to come up with a plan to get the thugs away from Jean, and himself and the kids out of here without anyone getting hurt.
The opportunity presented itself a few seconds later. The boss sent his underling away, who turned around and exited the warehouse through a door opposite the one through which Clark and Scott had entered. Only Jean and her interrogator remained.
Scott had moved not even a centimeter when Clark's hand shot out and stopped him. "Not yet," Clark whispered. "The other guy needs to be out of earshot first."
Scott nodded grudgingly, and Clark continued, "We need a diversion. Think you can make enough noise to get the thug's attention and then get away from here as quickly as possible? He may be armed, so you need to stay out of sight." He winced at his poor choice of words and hurried on, "There's a nice niche down the left-hand row of pallets where you can hide."
Angry at being delegated to hiding in the shadows, Scott was about to deliver a hotheaded reply when Clark cut him off, "I need just a few seconds to get to Jean, lose her bindings and come back straight here. He'll never get to you."
"Right." Scott sounded dubious but didn't argue. "See any pipes I could use to create a lot of noise? Any scrap metal?"
Clark grinned. "More than you'll need. Come here." He grabbed Scott who bristled but didn't resist. They stopped right in front of a huge basket of spare parts that looked ancient - and heavy. They would create so much noise that Scott would be able to sneak away without the thug ever hearing him move.
He quickly built a contraption which would enable Scott to create as much noise as possible without wasting too much time. Clark simply pushed a wooden staff in between the stack of pipes that looked wobbly enough on its own, and told Scott to put his hand on this improvised lever. Then he advised, "Count to twenty, then pull. I'll be close enough to get to Jean as soon as the goon comes looking for you. You should be gone by then. Left-hand corridor, about forty paces, turn left again, and I should have you in my sight. Go it?"
Scott actually snorted. "Yes, Mom." The teen continued before Clark could admonish him: "Now go. I think the guy is about to get seriously pissed off."
Clark cast him a glance the kid couldn't observe and left him with a silent pat on the shoulder. Time to get down to business.
Continued in Part 2 because the story was too long for one post.