“Kal.”

“Mmf.”

“Kal.”

……..

“Jaiki, Kal.”

The low growl accompanying the additional word had him grunting and rolling over to rub at his eyes. He glared at his brother reproachfully, for all the man was looming over his bed in the small space provided and had a better face for it, he felt that, given the late, or despicably early, hour, he had every right to express his irritation. Prhy, however, rarely did anything without good reason. So, for all his annoyance, and great wish to wake up without sleep deprivation, for once, please!, three times was all it took. At the very least, he could be grateful that the bed he was on could not be lifted up without risking injury. That used to be his brother’s preferred wake up call.

So, he sat up, still trying to get a bit of stubborn crust out of one eye and squinted up through the dim light shining in from the window. “What?” If he was a little snappy, it wasn’t his fault. He always woke up grumpy. Prhy was good at ignoring him.

“Gu hemen.”

“We’re here? Where’s here? For heaven’s sake, Prhy, I’m too tired for Euskara.” In all honesty, he probably should have known what the man meant, they’d discussed it the night before and he knew where they’d been headed. But he was apparently too tired to think at all. His brother, snorting, condescended to help him out. “Loud girl’s farm. Smells. Gizona hitz egiten… outside.”

“What?!” Kal was awake and full of energy after all, when he realised what his brother had been trying to tell him. Bolting upright, he shouldered past Prhy to swing the trailer door open and stare in dismay at the farmhouse they were apparently parked beside. And there was the man Prhy had promised him, blinking right back at him, hand raised to knock. “Ah, excuse me, sorry, is this Samantha Bray’s home?”

With nothing but boxers on, a bedhead, and obviously confused state of mind, Kal was quite sure he was making an incredible first impression. But he honestly hadn’t expected Prhy to park the trailer right outside the girl’s front door. Was that more or less creepy than his original plan of parking a bit off the road and walking up to knock politely on the front door? He had no idea. But he was wondering if they’d get chased off the property at gun point.

When he was merely frowned at, which was all good and proper considering the circumstances, but not altogether useful, he frowned right back and considered the possibility of messages getting passed along. The man would do for that, well enough. “Right well, anyway, could you pass along that we’re hoping to have a word with her? S’only a brief bit of a chat, promise.”

Heck, it might even only be one word if they let Prhy do the talking…

With that, message suitably delivered because there was no way he was going to step any further out of the trailer in socks and boxers, Kal tried out a smile that turned into something more like a grimace, shut the door again, and turned to tell Prhy exactly what he thought of this whole fiasco. They’d come here because they’d been nearby when he’d seen an article in the paper about some car getting wrecked while parked and two teens getting sent to the hospital. Later news had mentioned that one was dead. The other, however, he’d suspected might need some help. There hadn’t been many details released, but enough to leave that measure of uncertainty about the situation, so, just in case it was a mutant, they’d made a detour.

It wouldn’t be the first time they picked up mutants in need. They’d met more than a few troublemakers or just always in the wrong place at the wrong time sort of people. And what with the trend of powers manifesting during puberty, he wasn’t really surprised. Usually, however, they didn’t drive right up to anyone’s door and just announce themselves so openly. Sure, it was still night and all, and Prhy would know better than most if anyone else was about, but it was still… “Couldn’t at least have given me some warning, huh? Oh no, just up an’ at ‘em, Kal, rise and shine we got guns and pitchforks at the door an’ I don’t want to deal with ‘em, you do it.”

Grumbling and muttering to himself, he dragged on the jeans and shirt he’d thrown over the seat back after he’d turned it into his bed, glaring at his brother’s back all the while. “What’s wrong with a morning hike, eh? S’good to stretch the legs out, stay low, under the radar. Isn’t like there’s any chance the good gov’ment’s gonna be turnin’ its big ol’Sauron eye thisaway any time soon. Oh no, not a chance!”

When he’d pulled on his long coat (an affectation that either made him look mysterious, or suspiciously like a flasher) and found his boots and there’d still been no response from the man lying in the back, looking right peaceful, damn him, Kal narrowed his eyes at the lump before huffing and banging down the steps and out the door. “Now I’m talking to myself. Bloody fat bastard.”

He growled and kicked the grass, having learned a few of his manners from his brother, they’d been living together too long. Then, stuffing his hands in his pockets and cursing the chill still in the air, he strode towards the house, hoping they’d ask first, shoot never.

“Sammy. Sammy, get up. We’ve got to go.”

Someone was jostling her shoulder violently, trying to pull her from the fog of sleep. Samantha grumbled and made to shake them off, burying her face deeper in a rough cotton pillow.

“Sammy, people are here for you. Get your bag.”

The panicked whisper sliced through her sleep muddled brain, words tumbling over each other until their meaning settled in. Samantha’s eyes snapped open as she scrambled to get to her feet, tripping over her own bedspread. Large, weathered hands caught and steadied her. Her father looked down at her, his leathery face unnaturally pale. Samantha swallowed.

“Meet me out the back door in five minutes,” he instructed, pressing a loop of keys firmly into her hands. “If I’m not there, you take the truck and you run. You go to Jim’s old cabin, and you lock everything down, y’hear?”

“I’m not leaving without you, dad—“ Her voice came out in a strangled rasp. Already she could feel her vocal cords shifting as panic surged through her blood. Not now, not now.

“You damn well better,” he snapped, and gently pushed her towards her things. “Five minutes, Sammy. Go.”

Nodding mutely, Samantha Bray rushed through haphazard piles of clothes, searching for—there. Grabbing the large, camping bag, she fumbled with the latches. She could hear her father moving down the stairs, through the house, beginning to unlock a safe. That gentle sound, found by impossibly sharp ears, made her blood run cold. If her father was going for a gun—she couldn’t think about that.

Four minutes and twelve seconds later, Sammy was buckling the bag tight, slinging the strap over a shoulder. She’d pulled a hoodie and jeans on over her pajamas and knotted her sneakers on bare feet. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she willed herself to be still, focusing on extending her hearing.

Sounds leapt at her in a rush—water in the pipes, the house settling, birds in the trees, cattle in the barn rousing for the day, heart beats—heartbeats on the patio—her father’s voice, gruff—I’ll ask you to kindly take your trailer off my property and not come back—the distinct click of a rifle being gestured—

Fifteen seconds until she had to be out the back door. She pressed the keys to her chest, heart hammering as she began to creep down the stairs. Eight seconds at the base of the stairwell. The back to her right, the front to her left, pulse screaming in her ears, voices—

Sammy went left.

She could see her father’s back through the screen door, rifle held but, mercifully, not pointed directly at the intruding heartbeats. Samantha couldn’t do anything without hurting her father, even if she had known how, but she couldn’t do nothing.

“Dad?” She called, walking through the foyer, drawing to a halt at the screen door. He twisted, looking at her with furious, terrified eyes. Samantha spoke quickly, her voice peaking just a little too high, “Is everything alright?”

“Woah, now, mate…”

Hands up, trying for placating, but not quite escaping that universal I know I’m in trouble, please don’t shoot me set to his arms, Kal slowed his approach significantly when the man came back out. Armed and dangerous this time. Had he been standing at the door? Couldn’t take a man that long to grab a rifle he wanted it bad, could it?

He didn’t know, he didn’t own one, had never had to stick it some place out of sight but still in mind. Prhy had a tendency to break the things, intentionally, as soon as no one else was looking. Too much noise, he always glared, never actually out and said it though. So, Kal liked to figure he didn’t like the violence inherent in them either, but that might have been romanticising his brother’s grunts a little much. “I ain’t keen t’have anything in common with swiss cheese t’day. Don’t want no trouble, just a few words. Hear me out, I’ll get gone soon’s I’m done you still want us out. Boot my rear off’n your porch personal you want the satisfaction, I jus-t…”

Oh hello…

While his arms didn’t drop, his words did dry up when another voice broke in. He’d been rambling a little there, to his chagrin. But what else was a man to do with a gun being so handily presented him. At least the fellow hadn’t been pointing it at him. Not until he twisted towards that voice. Dad, was it?

Well, he supposed he could understand the sentiment, but he was beginning to doubt his brother’s sanity. Honestly, parking them right on their front lawn like it was no big deal? What did he expect? A hug?

Being as unintrusive as he knew how (which is to say, being rather straightforward about his staring), Kal looked over the man’s shoulder towards the young woman who appeared in the doorway. Her shape was blurred by the screen, a dingy sort of image, like static on a tv screen, but she was visible enough. And his jaw set as he ran through the first questions he’d been holding in. Could she kill him? Yes. Staring? No. Touch? No. Stop his heart? Yes. But that’s what killing meant… Stop his heart to kill him through… anything now, c’mon what was it now? Pheromones! Could she? No. Well, that was good to know. He wasn't sure he'd got the right method down, there... Howsabout screaming? Yes.

Right, Prhy’s going to love this one… Wickedly, his first solution was a gag, but Kal knew that wouldn’t cut it, or endear him to either father or daughter. His first priority, however, was in convincing them he meant well, and hadn’t any affiliation to whatever had them spooked. Government, lawmen, or just angry neighbours seemed a good bet. The trouble was, he didn’t have anything obvious with which to convince them. Well, nothing immediately to hand, but…

Please don’t shoot me...

Hands still up, staying to either side of his head as though he was supporting an invisible beam, Kal set his teeth to his lower lip and gave a sharp whistle, long enough to catch in the ears with a faint ringing, but not long enough to annoy the man he was trying to signal. Please don’t be playing deaf still, oh Lord on a lark… He saw the girl flinch wildly, staring, and grimaced ruefully as the trailer door banged open behind him, but decided not to look, what with the gun still wavering uncertainly in a direction more or less encompassing him. Whelp, that’s three upset. And they’d all be blaming him, he was sure.

“Sorry there, little lady, weren’t no intention a’mine to worry you, I was only wanting t’get a bastard outta bed. Had it coming, too, he got us all out ours so earLY.” The last word came out louder and harder than he’d intended, as a heavy hand swatted the back of his head. For a moment, he forgot the gun as he slapped a hand to the hurt and turned to glare at the half-dressed and scowling man meant to make all the difference in this endeavour. Alright, he deserved that.

For his own part, Prhy didn’t bother with formalities or trying to convince anyone to let go of whatever made them feel they had the upperhand. He just cuffed Kal quiet and said what he’d come out to say. “Idiot brother.” It was less an apology than a statement of fact as he jerked a thumb towards Kal, and he snorted before continuing. “You need help, we help. You don’t, we go.”

His shrug spoke volumes. He didn’t care what they said, he’d heard her father waking her up. He knew they did need the help, but he wasn’t going to push if they didn’t want to admit it. The real reason he was out there had more to do with his shirtless state than his hearing. You could say anything you wanted to a frightened man and girl, but showing took less time, and was more likely to be believed. And as he turned back to the trailer, dismissing the lot of them with another glare for Kal, the heavy, coarse hair growing along his spine bristled when he rolled his shoulders, bringing up a hand to wriggle a finger in his ear.

Clearing his throat in the silence that followed, Kal tried another smile. Friendly, like. “What he said… We uhh, well, we got similar reasons for laying low, see? But being in the area, we just thought y’might, dunno, need a hand, so t’speak. Didn’t mean to be presumptuous or nothing, just wanted to get in ‘fore anyone else, is all.”

He’d lowered his arms by then, and was standing as casually as he could manage with his hands back in his coat pockets, and his expression caught somewhere between apologetic and wary. This part didn’t always go so well, as one white scar on Prhy’s shoulder showed. Folks could deny it for their own kids, but letting mutants, on top of them being strangers, in could be asking too much.

To say that this was strange was something of an understatement.

To say that it was really god damn weird was closer, but didn’t quite encapsulate the situation. Samantha wasn’t sure if there even were words sufficient. The man on the porch was…well…odd. Not odd in the ‘living on the streets due to unmedicated mental illness’ but odd in a way that suggested he was perhaps on the way there. He had the look of hard living, clothes worn past their peak and long hair that was in dire need of a cut.

He also looked nothing like she imagined her captor might. That was enough to give Samantha pause. Not so much her father; he’d redirected his rifle squarely to the man’s center mass, finger resting alongside the trigger. Samantha hung back behind the screen door, keys still clasped to her chest, uncertain.

And then things got worse. The strange man whistled, sharper than she’d anticipated. She’d been listening to the farm, hunting for sounds of others, for rustling in grass or footsteps that heralded a trap. She flinched, a hand uselessly pressing an ear shut. Pain lanced through her skull, ringing in her head for a dizzying moment; and then another flinch at the bang of metal and plastic.

Then there were footsteps, so loud and she took a terrified step back. Could she outrun them? She was quicker than she looked, and the strange man was no spring chicken, but the footsteps had become a man who did look like he was living on the streets due to aforementioned unfortunate circumstances. Samantha held her breath as her father swept the rifle between them, shifting to plant himself more solidly in front of her. Samantha wanted to grab his hand and drag him away, slam the door and make this stop.

The stranger of the two spoke gruffly, voice thick and sentences clipped.

Help? She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know what help they could offer. Her father seemed less than impressed, and she could hear his heartbeat quicken. She tried to dim her hearing, but with adrenaline surging through her veins it was a useless endeavor.

“I don’t believe you,” Her father snarled, fixing the guns sights back on the first strange man. But Samantha had shifted, looking over her father’s shoulders to catch the man’s gaze. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, her knuckles white around the keys.

“I killed a boy,” she rasped, eyes stinging as her vision blurred. Her father swore, shushing her, but she couldn’t help the words from falling. “I didn’t mean to—I just wanted him to stop and I don’t know how I did it.”

The number of people who believed him right off were few and far between. The number of people he’d have trusted once they admitted to believing a complete stranger so quickly in a tense situation was even smaller.

Said something about him then, that he was standing there anyway, didn’t it just?

He always preferred it when the kid was a runner. No parents to deal with then, unless they wanted to go back home. And then, well, then they made their own show of force sometimes, just in case. But acting tough here hadn’t been the plan. Calm and rational decisions, right? Get on their good side, avoid the guns, avoid the shouting, but if he’d wanted to avoid the trouble, he’d have paid attention when Prhy sighed long-sufferingly beside him after the story had come onto the TV at the diner.

He’d found the next words, small platitudes, and few extra points, walking around the issue until the time seemed ripe to throw down the gauntlet and let them decide. But before he could even open his mouth, she cut him down to size. Sometimes, he wished Prhy wasn’t so good at getting to the heart of the problem.

The irreverence of his mind for bringing up the first few lines of Bohemian Rhapsody wasn’t helping either, and Kal raised a hand to press thumb and forefinger to his eyes, rub at his face and maybe just rub away the memories that brought a little close for comfort. Never worked though, and his grimace was plenty obvious when his hand fell back to his side. At the trailer’s steps, Prhy snorted, more to himself than anyone else, before he turned around and sat right where he was to keep an eye out from there.

“Ayuh, luv, we heard- well, nothing sure, but…” They’d held to the same certainty their waitress had when she glared at the screen and muttered about the dangers of letting them loose like that. “Been around the block a bit, yeh?”

He smiled, not too wide, just easy in the moment. He let go his worry about that gun barrel and her father, glad to note the man wasn’t trigger happy with where he was putting his finger. This was all on her, but it wasn’t her fault, just her problem. He thought he could understand a bit of what she was feeling. He wanted her to know he wasn’t judging, but he’d never been too good at straightforward serious. “My guess is y’used your words.”

The rest of his guess he kept to himself, though he wasn’t so out of touch with the world to have forgotten what two kids in a parked car might mean. As far as he could figure, no meant no. She’d just had a little extra back up, was all. He couldn’t spare a whole lot of care for a kid he’d never met who’d brought this into her life without her asking for it.

“And us here, we can help figure that out with you. Nothing fancy and no guarantees. Isn’t ever any guarantee this life, but we ain’t riskin’ our skins for nothing, Samantha. If isn’t something we’re good for, we can find you someone else. Wasn’t no one but ourselves brought us here we heard the news. We only want to help cuz I think we can.” Well, Prhy could, at any rate. "All I'm asking is some chance to talk."

Kal spoke low and quiet, earnestly. He knew they only had the one chance to convince her. And that was half the battle won. If she didn’t want to come, she wouldn’t be. But he didn’t want to back down until he was convinced there was nothing else he could do. Her father, while armed and definitely dangerous, was not the one who’d have final say. Children could have a greater power over their parents than most wanted to admit. More importantly, Kal wasn’t afraid of a few break and enter legalities when it came to keeping kids safe.

She looked a little older than their usual range of troublemakers, but he just figured that would make it easier, if she didn’t have so many hormones pulling her every which way. Well, he was allowed a little optimism once in a blue moon, wasn’t he?

It wasn’t that she trusted them; Samantha simply couldn’t see any way out of her waking nightmare. For days now, she had tucked herself into her room, knees drawn to her chest, listening across the farm for sirens, for footsteps and whispers of disgust. Quitting only when her body forced her to sleep, she had to live it all over again--pushingtryingtolaughitoffwristspinnedteeththatshouldhavefeltsogoodskincrawlinggetoffgetoffGETOFFglassshatteringcarframesnappingprisongoinglimpeyesbloomingredthatawfuldripofrcrimsonherthroatraw.

Samantha shuddered, folding her arms beneath her chest as if she could keep herself from falling apart.

The strange man offered something like sympathy, something like knowledge, as if there were answers he knew how to find. She didn’t trust him, but no one else had offered information. The police who had interviewed her had only refrained from cuffing her because they couldn’t find proof. But they would; somehow they’d figure out what was wrong with her and she’d never see the light of day again.

Samantha didn’t want to die in a cage.

“Sammie,” Her father turned, gun lowering to the wood of their porch. His eyes searched hers, the lines in his face deeper than ever. He’d aged so much in the past few weeks, and her heart stung to know that it was her fault. She should have run, should have kept him out of this entirely. Nodding almost imperceptibly, she opened the screen door, standing aside. Reluctantly shifting out of the way, he nodded towards the house.

“No funny business, y’hear?” His voice carried a promise, and Samantha’s heart broke to think that her father might stain his hands red because of her.

The house had clearly seen better days; furniture was in need of reupholstering, paint had chipped on the window frames, and there was little sense to the clutter scattered across most every surface. A narrow hall lead to a kitchen, several pots and pans sat unwashed in a deep sink. Unopened mail covered the scratched table. Samantha scooped up the envelopes, dropping them on the counter.

“Can I—get you anything? Coffee, water?” Samantha looked cautiously to the two strangers. Her father settled against the fridge, the rifle resting in relaxed hands. His pale eyes tracked their movements, deep furrows above his greying brows. Samantha gestured to the mismatched chairs. “Um—what are your names?”

Shoulders curled in, eyes wide open or glazed, though her expression closed up from that brief bit of hopeful he thought he’d seen and Kal was watching maybe a little too closely, but he didn’t think anyone could have missed the way her crossed arms said lost and lonely. Vulnerable. No wonder her father was pointing that… oh.

Much as he’d been acting casual, he only relaxed when that rifle finally lowered all the way, hands unfisting in his pockets and shoulders dropping visibly. He couldn’t help the relief. Getting shot wasn’t on his bucket list. Especially not at close range. If the distance made a difference, he wasn’t actually sure, it was mostly the principle of the thing, being able to add an especially onto an already emphatic statement. He wasn’t sure if he’d won through yet either, but he knew the threat of violence was more or less passed, provided he and Prhy behaved.

Behind him, picking up on the lowering tension, his brother reached into the trailer and grabbed a shirt to pull on as he stood up to join them again, his quiet scowl not losing an inch of ground despite the warming reception. For his own part, Kal took the man at his word, though he couldn’t help a quick laugh as he walked through the door, letting out his own nervous energy as he openly looked around. “If this ain’t already funny business, sir, I’d like t’know what you get up to your daily routine.”

Still shaking his head a little, he took in the homey clutter and sense of lived in making do, eyes darting up to the ceiling that weighed far heavier over his head than what he was used to before he turned his gaze back to the young woman. He was tempted, after Prhy calling him an idiot, to ask for coffee, but restrained himself, with effort and a sigh. “Water, if it’s no trouble, please. He’ll have the same.”

A thumb towards Prhy included him in the conversation, though he hardly looked interested. His eyes were blearily staring at the table’s corner, not really seeing it as he focused his attention beyond the kitchen to the walls and rooms around them, listening more closely to the shift and settle of an old house, waiting for the telltale huff of breath that might prove they weren’t alone, waiting for a heartbeat, though he hadn’t smelled anyone else while walking down the hall. Unlike Kal, who was trying to pretend he felt at home and perfectly comfortable in the hope that he might believe the lie himself, Prhy made no attempt to look friendly. He wasn’t threatening either, just distractedly grumpy.

So, when Kal dragged one of the proffered chairs a bit closer to the wall and sat down, his brother remained where he was, sturdy, solemn, and very much in the way, hands fisting for the duration of the chair's movement. Kal eyed him for a brief moment by way of excuse not to immediately answer her question. It was a pretty simple one, and not a lot of conversations got far without it, but he still had to lick his lips and swallow his initial desire to bull through and pretend he hadn’t heard her. As far as he knew, no one was actively looking for them anymore, but that could change if the wrong set of ears caught wind of them. And names were easy to trace, but he didn't like lying.

“I’m Kal.” Short, to the point, not easy to mess up. Prhy could introduce himself if he felt like it, but he probably didn’t. And no last names. Most people assumed it was short for something, spelled it wrong in their heads, and that was fine by him. But names weren’t really why he was here, so when she handed him a glass of water, he thanked her and drained the lot. Wasn’t food, but he was thirsty too, and probably better than barging in asking them to feed him. Finished, he leaned back, rolling the glass between his palms and watching it catch the light.

“Like I said before, I figure we might be some help to you.” He spoke quietly, not doubting this expectation, though he’d yet to learn just what it was about her that Prhy, particularly, could help her with, he just figured they’d find out soon enough, or it was just a matter of anyone willing to offer. He hadn’t been too specific in his questioning at the time. “We’ve seen this sort of thing before.” He paused there with a grimace. “Well, not exacts, but you ain’t the only one got up to something troublesome as wasn’t the usual, catch my meaning? Hard enough just growing up, but can’t say Him up there hasn’t got a bit of humour. Only as He’s not figured out what’s funny yet.”

He raised his head then, tilting it back lazily rather than rolling his eyes up to meet hers. “Now, I ain’t certain on particulars, but seems yours is a voice thing, yeh? Not good for practising around nosy neighbours. We could get you out of here, somewhere isn’t no one would think t’look,” That was probably exaggeration, but it was better than them heading out to anywhere others knew about. “Keep you safe, out of trouble, help with figuring out what you can do, we’ve plenty of experience there. Heading off on a roadtrip, harder to track if you’re out with the law or in anyone’s sights. Introduce you t’a few other helpful fools ‘long the way.”

It was a big jump from being stranger to roadtrip chaperones, but Kal didn’t want to waste time here, and being under a roof was weighing on his nerves worse than he wanted to admit. He switched his glance over to her father then, shrugging. “We’ve got space for two more, though might be some camping necessary.”

The truck could seat five, and the table sat four, six if you squished. Technically, the beds were large enough to fit two each, if a little cozily, and they’d have shared one bed and given Sam the other if she came alone, but he wasn’t sure the idea wouldn’t give her father apoplexy, so, he extended the offer to them both. And he knew Prhy would draw the line at a grown man sharing their space. They had a tent though, and the nights weren’t that chilly.