Something Slender (and Awful) - Fear leads to anger

[x-hawkeye.livejournal.com]

After arriving home, Clinton Barton's foster fathers are the opposite of welcoming, and have a message from Clint's brother.



The cityscape stretched beyond even Clint's furthest sightpoint, skyscrapers that seemed to stretch into the glaringly bright grey clouds, and endless walk-up apartment blocks with dingy windows and soot-stained brick. A few cars chugged past, leaking streams of exhaust and disappearing as they continued down the blocks.

Except for the cars, and the occasional smog-filthy taxi, the city was empty. No pigeons no pedestrians, not even the ever-present NYPD or panhandlers. Not a single actual person in sight, except Mister Clinton Barton, and the echos of his footsteps as he ran up out of the subway station.

"Molly!" Clint's voice bounced back to him in an eerie facsimile of a slightly distorted echo. Old newspapers blew across the street in a wind he couldn't feel, modern tumbleweeds in an urban wasteland. He couldn't see Molly anywhere - nor could he find any sign of the attendant from the subway. "Shit," he muttered, running one hand raggedly through his hair. Something was seriously, seriously wrong here.

A musical trill rang out through the empty air, the familiar melody of his ringtone mixing with the buzzing of the phone's vibration from where it sat in his pocket.

Clint nearly jumped out of his skin as his phone went off, only to scrabble for his pocket a moment later. He didn't recognize the number on the display, but he answered the call anyway. "Hello?" At least he knew the phone worked, wherever he was. He could call someone for help - after he figured who it was that'd called him.

"Clinton." Steve's voice, stern with a hint of suppressed anger slightly slipping through, replied from the other end. "Where are you? You need to come home. Now" Click. The call ended.

Perhaps he had simply missed it before, but the street scene before him was intimately familiar. It had been his home for for the better part of a decade. He had walked these sidewalks countless times so that every crack, every crevice was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. And judging from where he was standing right now, he was standing in front the apartment he shared with his foster fathers.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Clint looked at it for a moment and frowned. He didn't know how he'd gotten here - this was his street, that was his building. He could see the curtain in his window near the top fluttering in the breeze - but he hadn't left it open. It'd been too cold to leave the windows open this morning. Rubbing at his forehead, Clint headed up the front steps. He knew there was something he was supposed to be doing, something involving Molly, but Steve had sounded angry and was pushing everything else from his mind as he used his key to unlock the door. Taking the elevator up to their floor, he stepped out and headed down the hall toward the apartment he shared with his foster fathers.

From behind the door a pair of voices could be heard. Steve and Andre were talking rapidly back and forth, raised in a heated discussion. Not quite yelling, but almost there.

Hesitantly, Clint put his ear to the door to see if he could pick out any specific words, but he couldn't - just the buzz of angry voices trying to keep quiet. Swallowing and trying to ignore the odd sinking feeling in his stomach, he turned the doorknob and nudged the door open so he could peer inside.

The voices stopped as the doorknob gave the telltale 'click' of the door being opened.

"Clint?" Andre's voice traveled through the apartment. Unlike Steve, he couldn't mask his emotions, and Clint could tell that his foster father had been crying. "We're in the kitchen."

Walking in slowly, cautiously, Clint let the door close behind him with a soft click and headed for the kitchen. "Um... what's going on?" He asked when he got to the doorway, taking in the scene before him.

Andre was pacing nervously in front of the sink, a spray bottle and rag in each hand. The kitchen, which was never really dirty anyways, sparkled as the result of a bout of stress cleaning. Every so often he would pause to spray and scrub at an invisible piece of dirt. Steve, on the other hand was seated very calmly at the table, drumming his fingers, and fuming over a stack of papers he was reading through. At the sound of his foster son's voice, he raised his head, removing his reading glasses and setting them on the table beside him.

"Clint." Steve rubbed at his temples as he shot a quick glance at his husband, who, to his credit, had set down the spray bottle and was now hovering nervously off to the side. Steve sighed. "We need to talk." He motioned to an empty chair. "Your brother called us. I guess they contacted him as part of the adoption process."

"You talked to Bernard?" Clint asked, stepping closer despite himself. It was obvious something was wrong from their expressions but he couldn't help feeling just a little excited. He hadn't heard from his brother in years and he hadn't expected to hear from him about the adoption thing. Of course, he realized he hadn't, but that wasn't the point. Maybe - maybe Bernard would want to see him before the adoption. A slight spike of guilt shot up from his gut as he thought that because he wanted to see his brother, he wanted to know his brother remembered him, maybe even wanted him to live with him instead of being adopted. "What'd... what'd he say?"

"He told us what you did," Andre said softly, choking back tears. "About why he left you. About why we shouldn't adopt you. How you're responsible for the deaths of everyone else in the family. That with your demanding and ungrateful nature you will as soon suck us dry. How you never contacted him. You don't love him, you don't love us!"

Clint just stood there for a moment, utterly frozen as those words sank in. "What?" His voice sounded funny to his own ears, sort of tinny like it was coming from a long way off. "He said - but no. That's not - that's not true. I didn't - but I wrote him." He was having trouble processing. He took a step forward, bracing one hand against the counter as he shook his head.

"Get out." Steve shoved his chair back so he could stand and glare at the teenager sitting at their kitchen table. "Get out of our house. And don't come back."



Vimala Ashdown Topaz is not afraid of the dark. She's not. She's just a little nervous right now.



"Let's not get separated, yeah?"

One minute Topaz was with Maddie, talking to her classmate, trying to figure out a way out of this...whatever it was.

The next - darkness.

No, not just dark. Absolute black. It was as if Topaz had closed her eyes - except her eyes were open and wide as her head snapped left and right. The sudden switch momentarily sucked the air out of Topaz's lungs, and she had to struggle to breathe. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, she coaxed herself over and over. It was just...dark. There was nothing to be afraid of. Besides the fact that it had appeared so suddenly, with no warning or reason. But that was fine, really. She could handle this.

"Maddie?" She called carefully. The sound seemed to be swallowed by the curtain of darkness.

Wait, weren't there light spells? Something in the back of her head twinged, rather painfully, at the mere thought of casting any spell. Oh, right. Seven spells in the span of half an hour. She was fried. Well, that was fine. It was just the dark. She could handle this, really. Ignore the fact that her heart was doing double time in her chest. It was fine.

She was fine.

"Remember, silence, quiet as a churchmouse. Our only chance is stealth, if you don't bollocks it up." It was Taboo's voice, astringent as old tea and coming from the dark, behind and above her like he was standing over his adopted daughter and looking down upon her.

Topaz's head snapped up, her heart jumping into her throat. Of course, there was only darkness above her, around her - and his voice. "Luca?" She whispered, unable to speak any louder. "Where are you?" She hadn't quite registered what he had said - her every thought was focused on the sound of his voice. Her father.

"Just go in. It's just the dark!" Taboo's voice came, words dragging out oddly, like an old cassette take. "Do I have to do everything myself? We never should've taken you home, waste of energy, and time, and food. We could've left you in the dark in that orphanage and bought a ruddy dog!"

"What?" Topaz whirled again, stumbling back a bit in her haste. Darkness, darkness, darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring her heart hammering in her chest, and tried to breathe evenly. Luca would never say that, she thought distantly as she opened her eyes again - not that it made any difference. It was still dark. Not that she was scared. She wasn't scared. "Luca, please," she almost begged. "This isn't funny."

The voice came again right behind her. "It is only the bloody dark! Afraid something might...get you?" As it said that, it walked past Topaz, brushing up against her arm.

She bit down a scream - barely - as she lashed her arm out, trying to bat away whatever was there. Breathing evenly was no longer an option, it appeared. Spell, spell, spell, need a spell, she thought desperately, scrambling to grasp at her own panic. She just needed enough energy for one light spell, surely she could pull that up?

She muttered out the spell in a shaky, hurried voice. A weak light flickered on and off for a few moments and, heartened, she poured some more energy into it, hoping, praying...

Another flicker, and the light died completely. "No, no, no!" She mumbled, trying again, but to no avail. She ran her hands through her hair, locking her fingers behind her neck. She needed to think. She needed to calm down, stop panicking, and just think.

"What is wrong?" The voice of Adam appeared in a hush whisper to her right before it came from the left. "Can't even conjure up a simple light spell?"

For a single moment, everything froze. Topaz's entire body went numb, the sound of his voice, so close, rendering her unable to move, unable to react. "You're not here," she whispered finally, her fingers curling into tight fists, nails digging into her skin to the point where she drew blood as she tried desperately to fight off the memories of her last encounter with the hateful man. Wherever Adam Destine was, there was no possible way he was in New York. Amanda would never have allowed anyone that evil to get this close. "You're not here."

"Not here? I can tell you I am very much here." Fingers trailed in her hair slowly before disappearing. "Just like you. Where did your Luca go now? Leaving you alone in the dark."

That did it. All of Topaz's carefully constructed self control shattered at the touch and she screamed, tripping and stumbling back in her haste to escape. She tried again to cast a spell - light, light, she just needed light, everything would be okay when she had light and she could see - and again it failed. "Bloody hell," she hissed, one hand flying to her hair when she'd felt the fingers. "J-Just stay away from me!" It probably would have been a lot more impressive if her voice hadn't been shaking so badly. "Get back!"

"What is the matter?" His voice came from behind her, the feeling of fingers traveling up her arms but pulled away quickly disappearing into the darkness. "You can't do it can you? Cast a spell."

This time she did trip, crashing unceremoniously to the ground, trembling from head to foot as she muttered the spell over and over, desperately trying to find the energy to make something - anything - happen. Her head was pounding now - the headache she'd been fighting off after her earlier spell-casting marathon finally fighting its way through - and she could feel tears stinging at the back of her eyes. "Stay back!" Her voice jumped about three pitches as she shouted. C'mon, just focus Topaz! Cast the spell, that'll shut him up good. Light, she just needed light, she just needed to be able to see...

She tried again. Nothing.

In the dark the slenderman bend over her, his arms stretched around her and started to pull at her clothing in different directions. "Can't do it. Luca left you alone in the dark and you can't do it."

"Stop it!" Topaz managed to gasp out, trying to crawl backwards, only to run into something, she jerked changing direction - no, something there as well. She was surrounded. She squinted uselessly, trying desperately to see through the darkness. She might as well have been blind. "Stop," she half whispered, half moaned, curling into a ball and cradling her head in her hands. "Please just let me go."

Dark, dark, dark. Everywhere she looked, there was nothing. She could still feel something touching her, pulling at her, but she couldn't see it. She couldn't fight it. It was dark - so, so dark - and she was utterly alone.



Hope Abbott finally confronts her mother, and gives into anger.



The firemen in their sooty protective gear had rushed towards the fire, and a strange-uniformed policeman had taken Matt and then Hope was alone, so quickly that it had seemed like she had only time to determine what was happening before it all happened and they were gone, and she was alone in a big empty echoing subway station. The tunnels for the trains echoed with noises - strange creaks and the sound of screeching metal and breaking glass, and the entire station was a dim and smoky grey, even the white lettering on the signs was dim like it was behind smoked glass.

And over all this, the tack-tack of a pair of high heeled shoes, measuring out steps in angry, righteous precision.

The sharp clicks startled Hope from her lightheadedness, firmly grounding her to her body. People just disappearing, a fire in a subway station and a weird looking policemen... It did not make one iota of sense. What she saw when she whirled around though, made even less sense. Stalking towards her, dark eyes glistering, was her mother, dressed in a perfectly pressed skirt suit and her hair perfectly coiffed.

Hope's eyes widened and a sharp spike of anxiousness hit. "Mother?!?!?!"

"You are late. Why aren't you dressed? Your hair is a mess and you have dirt on your face. Have you not remembered what I told? A young lady is always pristine no matter what." The slender!mother shook her head in disappointment. "You are such a disappointment. I knew leaving you with those 'kids' they will change you."

Blink... blink...

That was all she could do at the moment. She quickly glanced down her clothing and indeed, her skirt was mused and her shirt had become completely untucked. But after the morning she had had, it was not that strange! Hope sighed and a faint trace of annoyance could be heard in her voice as she replied: "Perhaps. But this morning's events were not very conductive to a pristine appearance, mother. Why, when I have seen you painting, your appearance is not always that pristine."

As soon as the last sentence left her mouth, her way widened and she firmly shut her mouth. That was not what she had intended to say!!! Instead she just stared, her eyes sparkling faintly.

"Really? You are going to tell me how I should look? IN MY OWN HOME?" Hope's mother seemed to grow slightly to tower over her daughter. "You are my daughter, you have no authority to tell me what to do."

The very tiny flame in the back of Hope's mind that has sprung up suddenly brightened as if someone poured some spirits into it. "No mother. Perhaps I have no authority to tell you what to do, but you choose to give up a big part of your authority when you send me away on the moment I needed my parents most!"

The slender!mom tilted its head to the side, "And you think that gives you the right to stand up to me? You are my daughter and what I do with you is my business." The woman continued to grow in size as she spoke. "What are you going to do about that?" The question was more of a challenge to Hope.

"When you practically chose to throw your child out of the home because she does not fit your mold anymore..." The flames in Hope's mind became more and more of a little inferno. "And still try to stuff her in the mold by browbeating her... I'd say that does give the child the right to stand up to her mother!!!"

"How will you amount to anything if you do not become a proper lady?" Mrs. Abbott walked forward towards Hope, her arms becoming longer. "You are throwing away your future. Everything we worked so hard for."

Almost without consciously wanting it, Hope's hand came up and delivered a firm smack again the 'woman's' cheek...

It was dead quiet for a few seconds, eyes from both sides going wide in shock. Then the fire in the back of Hope's mind turned into a pot of lava that boiled, twisting her face and making her eyes sparkle furiously.

The thing pretending to be Hope's mother didn't feel anything, but acted on it nonetheless. "Yes, you liked that, didn't you? Standing up to me. Showing me how brave you are? Hit me again. I dare you." Arms started to protrude, almost silently as they circled around Hope, "Or are you weak?"

That did it. The pot of lava didn't just boil merrily, it boiled over. With a strangled sound from her throat she jumped at the creature in front of her, toppling it to the ground and raking her nails over it's face. "Shut up! You have no idea what you are talking about. You've never had any idea what you were talking about!"

The slender!mom laughed as the arms started to poke and pull at Hope clothing, hair and arms. "You can't hurt me...you are...weak. You haven't even tipped the scales of the anger inside of you. Because you are weak."

"You have trained and drilled me like a show horse since I was old enough to walk. You kneaded me like I was a lump of clay with no shape of my own. I might have bent and bent even more, but you never broke me! So don't talk about me being weak!!!" Hope managed to grab the being's hair and pulled.

The distoted copy of Hope's mother continued to laugh at Hope's words, "At least a horse has more manners than you." The hair was pulled before she began to scratch at Hope, tearing at her clothing. It rolled and stretched to be hovering over Hope. "You can't even bring me down!" The voice coming from the thing sounded more and more monstrous. "Weak...nothing but a weak little girl!"

"I'd be rather weak and myself, then strong and your facsimile!" Hope raked her nails over the face, leaving scratches that should have bled, but didn't. She did manage to skirt one the eyes for a moment though and the being roared back, giving Hope the chance to roll away from it a little.

"That's right, give into your rage. Hate me." The slender!mom moved a bit and reached out with her arms to wrap around Hope's ankle. "If you rather be weak, then you can never stand up to me!"

Hope kicked out wildly, somehow landing a foot in the face of the thing wearing her mother's face. Quickly she pulled her leg free and pushed ending up sitting on it's chest, firmly pinning the arms in place with her knees. "I... WILL... STAND... UP... TO... YOU... WHENEVER... I... CAN!" Each word was punctuated by a slap in the creatures face.

As Hope sat on the monster, other slendermen started to gather, and under her, the one that had pretended to be her mother continued to laugh at Hope, "You call that a punch? More like a tickling feeling. No one will take you seriously with that arm."