Work Text:
It had all started from an old wives’ tale Queenie had heard from her grandmother while growing up on her father’s farm. The tale spoke about enhancing one’s children while in the womb, and once they were born into the world, they would do extraordinary things.
Queenie had needled her own mother for information on this subject, and if she had used this during her pregnancy with Queenie and her sister. Of course, she had denied the allegations, but Queenie couldn’t figure out how the daughters of poor farmers had gained the intellect they had. Laying the matter to rest, Queenie hadn’t thought about the old folk tale until she had found herself pregnant many years later.
After having affiliating herself with a large mafia family in London, Queenie had married the boss’s second son and had found herself up the duff in under a year. With her own connections growing every day, she couldn’t afford to give birth to a child that couldn’t defend themselves. Countless, sleepless nights found her pondering over the issue until the tale had popped into her mind, seemingly from the depths of her mind.
“What could go wrong?” She had muttered to herself.
Indeed, what was the worst that could happen?
She would humiliate herself in front of her reluctant husband, but seeing as the man made an arse out of himself half the time, she wasn’t bothered. Making up her mind, Queenie had set out to perform the ritual that would ensure that her future child would have a leg up against the competition.
After months of doing the most tedious and inane tasks during her pregnancy, Queenie finally found herself popping the little bugger out of her eight hours after going into labor. Exhausted, she stared down at her son and gave him a firm look.
“You better have been worth it. I didn’t do all that shite for nothing, Deckard.”
For the most part, Deckard was the perfect baby. He rarely cried, slept at convenient times, and wasn’t picky in the least when he was finally weaned. Good thing, too, because Queenie was getting quite irritated with conducting meetings with bone-headed arseholes staring at her tits while Deckard fed. However, even with these traits, there didn’t seem anything out of the ordinary with her firstborn.
What Queenie hadn’t realize was just how quickly Deckard had been progressing in his development. It hadn’t been until her twin had come to visit and commented on his ability to talk so early that had her perking up.
“What do you mean?” Queenie shot her sister a questioning look.
“Well, my Jamie didn’t say his first word until he was six months, and yet Dex here is saying quite a few,” Madeline explained. Her own son was just shy of five years old, giving her sister the leg up in the situation.
Narrowing her eyes, Queenie could only scrutinize Deckard as he played with his cousin. Perhaps the tale had been correct. Time would tell.
Deckard was four years old when Queenie had finally figured out that the rituals had indeed worked.
Sitting in her office, Queenie leaned back at the documents spread out in front of her and felt a migraine coming on. Her little empire had finally started expanding outside of her husband’s family, leaving the once powerful mafia in the dust with the power she was accumulating. She now had operations all over Europe—ranging from drug trafficking to different types of frauds and even a few heists thrown in occasionally. However, with all these operations came the responsibility of running them on the other side of the continent. She had been managing so far, but since she had not been able to visit all the places her power was spreading, things were quickly becoming complicated.
Eyeing the full bar to her left, Queenie wouldn’t have noticed the door just barely opening to reveal a glimmer of light from the hallway, a small shadow darting into the room. Raising an eyebrow, Queenie watched as Deckard carefully made his way over to her desk. He was still quite small, but that didn’t impeded him at all in his endeavors to run from her and his father during bath time.
“Come here, Dex,” Queenie sighed as the boy tried to stay stealthy. She would need to consult with a few of colleagues when she should start his training. Deckard was incredibly intelligent, already speaking in full sentences and using vocabulary she wasn’t quite sure where he picked up. While he was still wobbly in his physical motions, he seemed to know everything that was going on.
Picking the boy up, Queenie settled him on her lap, allowing him to scan the document on the desk in front of them. Many were in foreign languages, while others were in the chicken scratch her subordinates called handwriting. Once again, Queenie wasn’t sure how Deckard knew how to identify certain words when he was still learning to pronounce all of his letters. But, with the boy having inherited his sweet tooth from his father’s side, she wasn’t surprised when he had learned the words ‘chocolate’ and ‘candy’.
“Whatcha doin’, mum?” Deckard asked, looking up at her with his wide eyes.
“Working, love,” Queenie sighed. She ran her fingers through his hair, almost petting him like a dog. “There’s some people annoying mummy.”
Annoying her was an understatement—more like trying to undermine her in any way they could because they knew she wasn’t there in person to stop them.
“Then why don’t you show up and scare them?” Deckard’s face scrunched up as if he was trying to solve a difficult equation.
“Because—” Queenie went to explain before her jaw snapped shut. Fingers frozen in Deckard’s hair, she could only stare down at the boy in shock. “How did you come to that conclusion, Dex?”
“What?”
“Why did you tell me to ‘show up and scare them’?”
Deckard blinked up at her as if she had just announced the sky was purple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You said it.”
“I most certainly didn’t.” Queenie snapped.
“Yes, you did!” Deckard insisted, face settling into a pout. “Not with your mouth. But you said it!”
“Not with my mouth…” Queenie whispered to herself. It couldn’t be—! “Deckard, I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that for mummy?”
“Yes.”
“Do I and your da ever say things without our mouths?”
Deckard nodded enthusiastically. “All the time! You and da talk about everything without using your mouths.”
“When?”
He screwed his face up in thought before shaking his head, not knowing how to answer her question. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Queenie began to contemplate the situation.
The only way Deckard could even hear her, or Victor, speak without talking was if he could hear their literal thoughts. However, that would explain several things; from Deckard having a larger vocabulary, being able to identify words already, and overall developing faster than others his age. If he was constantly hearing and connecting to his parents’ thoughts, that would have a considerable affect on him.
“Dex,” Queenie spoke slowly, looking down at his brown eyes, nearly losing herself in their depths. “When can you hear us speak without using our mouths?”
“Ummm,” he bit his lip in thought. “When you or da give me a hug. When you pick me up. Right now.”
Frowning, Queenie looked her son up and down before deciding to try something. Grabbing him under his armpits, she lifted him off her lap to place him back on the ground. Shoving her chair a few feet from him, she stared at him critically.
“What about now?”
Deckard shook his head.
Humming in understanding, Queenie felt a smirk begin to form on her lips. So, the old folk story hadn’t been wrong. Her son was able to read other’s minds when he touched them. She could practically feel herself shaking with excitement at the idea of using this to her advantage. Meeting his confused gaze once more, Queenie smiled, showing off almost all her teeth.
“How do you feel about going on vacation, Dex?”
Once Deckard’s talent had been discovered, neither Queenie nor her husband hugged Deckard again. There were no more head pats, no hand holding, and no being carried either—nothing that involved skin to skin contact.
Perhaps the decision had been harsh, often times causing Deckard to have his rare temper tantrum at the refused touches. After a few slaps from his father, and no doubt hearing his angry thoughts, those complaints soon disappeared.
Elated by the new power Queenie wielded, she didn’t hesitate to bring her son and husband on her new travels. Initially, she had wanted to leave Victor back in London, but seeing as she didn’t trust anyone else with Deckard, he was a resource at the moment. Even if he spent most of his time wandering the streets bar hopping. At least he stayed loyal and always came back begging for her to come to bed with him, whiskey heavy on his breath.
As for Deckard and herself, their days were spent in more meetings than not. Even though Deckard was no longer suckling at her breast, and now either sitting on her lap or hidden behind her legs, Queenie Shaw still struck terror into any that stood in front of her.
The trio had been moving all around Europe, slowly dipping their toes in the Middle East and Asia as already a year had passed since the discovery of Deckard’s power. Lounging back in a lush chair, Queenie allowed a predatory smile to slip across her face as her right-hand man dragged in her latest victim.
“What do we have here, Jules?” Her voice was sickly sweet as she reached for her tea cup. Unceremoniously, Jules dropped the man to the floor, whimpers escaping the black hood over his head. He struggled unsuccessfully against the binding at his wrists, and when he made to stand, Jules kicked the back of his knees, causing him to come crashing back down on the marble floor.
Next to her chair, Deckard let out a small squeak at the rough treatment of the man. Queenie ignored it—if Deckard was going to take over her empire, he would need to get used to the sight of others kneeling before him.
“Please, ma’am!” The man’s voice was thick with fear as he choked on a sob. “I swear I didn’t know what my men were doing! I would never betray you like that!”
Boredom was the only emotion on Queenie’s face as she stared down at the quivering man. “Am I to believe that there was a usurper amongst your men, one that you had no knowledge of?”
“Yes, ma’am!” The man cried out.
Rolling her eyes, Queenie motioned for Deckard to approach the man. She knew fully well he had intended to betray her from the very start, and decided it would make the perfect example for the crime world of Turkey to know not to cross her.
Quiet as a mouse, Deckard moved hesitantly towards the still struggling man. The boy had gone through this process a dozen times now—whoever had caught Queenie’s ire would be brought before her, their eyes covered, and allowing Deckard to practice his talent without fear of being discovered. Even with this experience, he was far too cautious. Queenie would have to quickly train him out of the habit; a Shaw should never cower before those beneath them.
Deckard’s little hand reached for the man’s exposed collarbone, making both jump at the sudden contact. They boy’s hand was barely on the man before he was pulling away, dashing right back to Queenie. Keeping her hands well away from Deckard’s, she raised an eyebrow at him, expectant. His little throat bobbed up and down as he stared up at her, swirling emotion in his wide eyes.
“He’s lying, mum,” he spoke in a shaky tone. “I-I could see him calling you horrible names.”
“What else?” She pressed. Name calling could be considered a pleasant experience compared to the things she had witnessed.
Gulping, Deckard struggled to continue, but finally did so after a few calming breaths. “He was shoving a lot of people into big boxes. I think he wanted to sell them…”
Her eyes snapped over to the man, who began to struggle even harder. Stepping forward, Jules grabbed the back of the man’s neck to cease his movements. “I never would have expected one of my own business associates to be participating in human trafficking.”
The last words are spat out as if she had eaten something rotten.
“No! He’s lying!” The man begged. Queenie was thankful for the hood—no doubt snot and tears were running down his face. “Please! I am not that type of man.”
Glancing towards Deckard, she could see traces of disgust in the boy’s face, along with hints of anger underneath. Nodding to herself, Queenie made a gesture to Jules.
“If there’s anything I hate more than a liar, it’s someone who thinks they can put a price tag on another human being. Get him out of my sight,” Queenie hissed, venom thick in her voice.
As Jules dragged the man out, his pleading words falling on deaf ears, Queenie put a hand on Deckard’s head. He had yet to grow much over the year, Queenie thought to herself. Smiling down at him, she could see the pout on his face forming as he heard said thought.
“I’m gonna be super tall some day.”
“Sure, Dex.” Queenie smirked back.
Their year abroad quickly came to a screeching halt when Queenie found out she was pregnant once again.
Neither she nor Victor had planned on having more children. It had simply not been a goal of either of theirs, thus silently agreeing Deckard would be their singular child. However, as Queenie shared the news with Deckard, a happiness she had never seen before on the boy’s face appeared. He was practically jumping off the walls in his excitement—an oddity for the normally quiet child.
“I’m gonna be a big brother!” He cheered for the umpteenth time.
They were in the penthouse suite of an upscale hotel, plenty of room for Deckard to run around and shout the news over and over. Rolling her eyes, Queenie placed a hand on her still flat stomach, her mind just as active as Deckard.
While having another child was unexpected, it wouldn’t be without its benefits. Since the rituals had worked during her first pregnancy and given Deckard a wonderful gift, then it wasn’t too much of a stretch to assume she could do the same for this one as well. Would her other child also be able to read minds, or would they be able to do something equally extraordinary?
The benefits certainly were compelling, even if her husband didn’t agree. When he had heard the news, he had stormed out of the suite, no doubt to drown his anger at the nearest pub. It didn’t matter what he thought—Queenie had already made up her mind.
With the rituals already in full swing for her second pregnancy, Queenie didn’t give much more thought to her second child. That was, until Deckard put his hand on her bare stomach one day in her second trimester, and announced:
“They have weird thoughts,” he grumbled, confusion marring his young face.
“They?” Queenie questioned.
“Yeah. Both of them,” Deckard clarified.
Scowling, Queenie could only blame herself for not considering that twins would be likely.
Well, at least she would have a chance for two more children with powers.
Grunting, Deckard hit the thin mat for the umpteenth time that afternoon. His whole body felt like one giant bruise, muscles twitching from the exertion they had been put through for the last few hours. Slowly getting his hands under him, Deckard got to his knees before hearing the barking voice of his instructor.
“Get up, boy!”
Towering above him was Robert Nasher, an ex-military officer who had experience working with the armed forces. While he was only one of Deckard’s instructors, he was by far the biggest bastard. Hissing under his breath, Deckard got to his feet and stood ramrod straight as he faced the large man.
With an ugly sneer marring his already scarred face, Nasher snarled. “I don’t know why your parents even both with a runt like you. I bet your baby sister could do better than you.”
Deckard clenched his fists, but ultimately kept his mouth shut. His parents didn’t care one bit if his instructors decided to give him a ‘punishment’. Simply meeting the man’s harsh gaze, Deckard tried not to reveal the utter exhaustion that was running through his limbs, making them feel as if they were filled with lead.
Ever since his siblings had been born, his parents had decided that he would no longer accompany his mother to her meetings. Instead, he would stay in London with his father and train his body. Apparently, he needed to learn how to defend himself—for what Deckard didn’t know, but didn’t dare question his parents’ decision.
Thus for the last year, every day after school and private tutoring, Deckard was required to work with three different instructors in various fighting styles. He much more preferred the older lady who taught him taekwondo; at least she had sense enough to allow breaks.
Keeping his head held high, Deckard waited for Nasher’s next commands.
“Let’s see if you can actually throw a punch, runt,” Nasher snarled before his arm whipped out at the boy’s face.
For the next hour, Deckard was thrown against the mat over and over. Through the countless matches, Deckard became aware of one of his teeth feeling much looser than it had before the training session, along with an odd coppery taste. The only upside was that Deckard was allowed to wear short sleeved shirts during these training sessions.
The ability to hear his opponents’ thoughts was extremely advantageous.
Even though his body didn’t know the moves to block the next hit his opponent was planning, he was quick enough to dodge about half the time. It pissed Nasher off to no end, leaving Deckard feeling victorious, even if he left the room barely able to move without pain.
Finally, Nasher called the lesson to an end. Leaving Deckard sprawled out on the floor, the man ascended the stairs of the basement and hopefully wouldn’t return until next week.
Too tired to move, Deckard didn’t know how long he lay there, simply allowing his mind to drift away from the physical pain. His mother always complimented his mind-reading powers, but how could he be remarkable if he couldn’t even defend himself? What use was the power if it never got him anywhere?
Once again wishing he was never given such power, Deckard whimpered as he finally sat up. Hopefully, his teachers would stop asking about the bruises he was always sporting, especially now that his father was becoming more irritated by every call from the school. Why he was the one getting upset when it was his mother who had the issue swept under the rug time and time again.
Getting upstairs proved to be more of a challenge as he heaved himself up the stairs as fast as his body could manage it. Which to say, wasn’t very fast at all.
The house was quiet as Deckard made his way through the kitchen and further inside. No doubt his mother was off making her rounds through London to check on things before her next trip, while his father was already at the pub. Sometimes he would be visiting his brother and act as if he was still part of the family business. However, Deckard had heard enough of the man’s drunken rants to know Deckard’s grandfather had kicked him out of the business a long time ago. Even going as far as forcing Victor to change his name to Shaw when he got married.
Peeking his head out into the hallway, Deckard double checked that all was calm before making his way upstairs. After his lessons, Deckard was supposed to start on his chores, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything for a while. His body hurt far too much.
His journey upstairs was near silent as he held his breath, waiting for the nanny to come baring down on him at any moment. She was a harsh woman, the wart in the middle of her forehead acting like a third eye as she seemed to sense when he would sneak into his siblings’ nursery. Luckily for Deckard, Misses Crawd was a heavy smoker and didn’t hesitate to take her breaks. Not hearing the woman’s thick boots, Deckard ventured closer to the door at the end of the hall.
The doorknob creaked as he turned it, making him cringe at the noise. Holding still with his breath caught in his throat, Deckard waited for a slap to the back of the head, and yet nothing came. After an eternity, his shoulders slumped in relief, and he finally made his way into the nursery. The door clicked softly behind him as two pairs of curious eyes watched him approach.
“’Ello Oh, Hatts,” Deckard whispered, a smile nearly splitting his face in two. Now standing in her crib, Hattie made grabby hands at him, babbling the whole time as Owen sucked on his pacifier.
With both their parents hyper-vigilant of the twins’ activities, it hadn’t taken them long to figure out that Hattie’s power was different to Deckard’s. She couldn’t read minds, instead proving herself to be a talented empath. At first, they had all assumed that she was simply reacting to the overall atmosphere like most children did. But, as she began to crawl, she had started showing signs of knowing a person’s feelings without them revealing them.
Through quite a bit of trial and error—as Hattie was a baby—their parents had found out that Hattie could indeed feel others’ emotions if she was in the same room as them. If the person moved further away, she wouldn’t be able to perceive them, but that didn’t matter in the least. Their mother was pleased all the same.
“De! De!” Hattie whined at him, still reaching out to him. Smiling back, Deckard scooped her up into his arms and was immediately bombarded with an onslaught of happiness. Since Hattie didn’t have thoughts using words, instead it was waves of emotions and images being shoved at him. Relishing his sister’s radiant thoughts, he turned to Owen. Meeting those large, brown eyes, he sighed.
They had yet to figure out what power Owen had.
He was neither a mind reader nor an empath.
Deckard didn’t know if he was more worried about Owen’s possible power, or what would happen if Owen never showed any type of power. What would their parents do if he never presented anything? Would they disown him?
Soft gurgling from the twins helped to push those thoughts away as Owen made desperate grabby hands at him just like Hattie had done. Laughing at the baby’s antics, Deckard placed Hattie on the rug in the corner before going back for Owen. Once both babies were crawling on the floor, neither hesitated to climb all over him.
Deckard urged the joy his siblings were feeling to seep into his very bones so he wouldn’t forget this no matter what life threw his way. No matter if it was his parents’ constant stream of demands, or whatever fate had in store for him.
As long as his little brother and sister were safe and happy, then that’s all he needed.
“Where is he?!”
Jumping nearly a foot in the air, Deckard hissed as his hand touched the hot pan he was using. The meat inside the pan popped and sizzled in response to his pain. Turning off the stove, Deckard quickly left the kitchen to see what his father was yelling about now.
He could hear running feet above him, whether running from or to their father’s voice he wasn’t sure. But he knew just who was going to be taking the brunt of their father’s anger. Finally coming to stand in the hallway leading to the front door, Deckard stared down the towering man that was huffing and puffing like a bull.
Which was a little ironic since the man was covered in red paint. The substance had coated his head and continued to drip down the rest of him. Deckard was sure that even without the paint, his father’s face would have been equally red with anger.
“What happened?” Deckard asked, trying to keep any kind of emotion out of his voice.
“What the bloody hell do you think happened?” His father snarled. “Where is that little shite?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, boy!”
His roar nearly made the walls shake and left Deckard shrinking into himself, instinctively wanting to run from the man, but he didn’t dare. Keeping his back straight, Deckard met his father’s furious gaze and didn’t respond. Best to let the man rage at him than going after his siblings. However, instead of simply screaming and cursing his name, the man’s eyes narrowed.
“Go get your brother.” His voice was low with threat. When Deckard didn’t move, he screeched, “Now!”
Tempted to defy him, Deckard swallowed hard when he saw a type of rage he’d never seen before in his father’s eyes before. As he ascended the stairs, Deckard already had a dozen scenarios how things could go from bad to worse. At the top of the stairs he was met with two fearful eight-year-olds who stared at him pleadingly. Sighing, Deckard nodded towards the stairs.
“C’mon, Oh. Da wants you,” Deckard said softly. At the boy’s terror, Deckard whispered. “I won’t let him touch you.”
Weakly nodding, Owen followed after him, both their steps silent as they approached their father. The man had barely scrapped off the paint on his face, leaving odd stripes across his nose and cheeks.
“You!” Their father barked. “I know it was you who dropped the bloody paint on me!”
“No, I didn’t!” Owen immediately countered. “I was in my room with Hatts!”
“Then were did it come from, you little creaton?”
“I don’t know! I seen the neighbor’s paintin’ their fence last week,” Owen spoke rapidly. Deckard bit his lip at the blatant lie, but with how earnest Owen was, he was quite believable. That is if he hadn’t seen the little bugger swipe the can of paint a few days ago.
Their father snarled under his breath, no doubt being swept up in Owen’s lie. Their mother always said he wasn’t the brightest man in London. The brothers stayed perfectly still as their father scrutinized them until his eyes finally swept back over to Deckard.
“Touch him.”
“What.”
“Touch him and tell me if he’s lying!” Their father snapped.
Deckard blinked.
Not the sharpest, indeed.
Gently taking Owen’s arm, Deckard gazed into trusting eyes and wished Owen could read his thoughts back. Most of them consisting of Deckard silently yelling at Owen for pulling such a prank.
“It’s true, Da. Oh was upstairs was upstairs with Hatts. He couldn’t have done it.”
The red was slowly reappearing on the man’s face as vicious snarls poured out through his lips. After an eternity, he stormed past them and towards the bathroom upstairs. Deckard knew Hattie was smart enough to make herself scarce as they listened to the stomping feet finally settle after a door slamming.
Glaring fiercely, Deckard whirled on Owen.
“What were you bloody thinking?!”
“I didn’t do it!” Owen insisted. He wasn’t wrong either. Deckard had clearly seen the memory of Owen whispering to a squirrel to push the can of paint off the roof.
“You can’t keep telling animals to pull pranks!” Deckard hissed, careful to keep his voice down. Their parents had yet to figure out Owen’s power. Better they think him powerless than having a useless power that wouldn’t benefit their family at all.
“But, Deck!” Owen whined.
“No. This is the last time, Owen.”
It wasn’t the last time.
“Again.”
Deckard nearly winced at the ice in his mother’s voice as the simple command vibrated against the concrete walls around them. The single, bare lightbulb above them caste everything in a pale, sickly yellow tint that didn’t help the roiling of his stomach. Neither did the silent sobbing of the man sitting across from Deckard.
Joseph Lowery.
Deckard would never forget the man’s name.
Not after he had been forced to relive the man’s entire life simply to extract vital information from the man.
Why she didn’t simply have the man tortured for the information, Deckard didn’t know. But, when she had demanded he use his powers on the captured man, there was no way Deckard could refuse. With both of his siblings getting older, their powers had grown as well. Hattie had become more proficient with her analysis of people’s emotions and manipulation came easier to her, gaining their mother’s approval. Owen now had a small army of animals all over London bringing him information, spying, and even stealing for him.
As for Deckard, well.
He had become very accustomed to wearing layers of clothes.
However, at that moment, there was nothing he could do but reach over and grab the bound man’s hand.
There wasn’t anything to write home about when describing Lowery; the man was average height, a little pudgy around the middle, while his once pristine suit was now wrinkled with specks of dirt and blood. He was tied to a chair, an arm chained to the table for Deckard to grab. He was gagged with tape, and his eyes were bloodshot from the sobbing he had been doing since Deckard had been brought in. No doubt he knew once Deckard was done doing whatever he was doing, Lowery wouldn’t be leaving the little room alive.
All around them were Queenie’s henchmen, with the woman herself standing directly behind Deckard. Feeling her intense gaze creating a hole in the back of his head, Deckard took a deep breath before gently placing his fingers on top of Lowery’s.
Once again, Deckard was met with memories of a woman and a little girl.
Lowery’s wife and daughter.
Pushing down the bile rising in his throat, Deckard mentally pushed those thoughts away and went deeper than the man’s surface thoughts.
In all honesty, Deckard had no idea what he was even looking for. His mother had simply dragged him into the basement of a random building and shoved him in a chair across from Lowery. She had demanded that Deckard figure out what Lowery was hiding and told him nothing else.
So, over the last two hours, Deckard had slowly pieced together the man’s life. He had grown up in Essex, gotten married two times before his daughter was born, and was currently doing something incredibly shady at his job. Focusing on that, Deckard delved deeper into Lowery’s mind, forcibly shoving away years of memories until one in particular looked promising.
He could see Lowery going into work, his office on the top floor of a bank. Deckard could practically hear the soft thump as Lowery threw his briefcase into a chair and the muffled steps as he went towards a painting. Pushing the oil painting aside, a small safe shone in the morning sun. Deckard watched as the code was put inside and revealed many different files.
Blinking, Deckard pulled away from the man.
“There’s a safe in his office. I’ll give you the code.”
Lowery’s eyes bulged from his face as he desperately shook his head in denial.
“What was in there?” Queenie’s voice was emotionless.
“Blackmail on various clients.”
Incomprehensible sounds escaped Lowery and Deckard couldn’t help the pity that was added to the lead ball of emotions forming in his stomach. The man had played a dangerous game and had attracted the attention of Queenie. Truly one of the worst outcomes.
“Get him out of here.”
Deckard watched blankly as Lowery was dragged out of the room, chair and all. When the man’s watery, grey eyes pleaded at him, Deckard turned his head away.
Maybe he could send something to his soon-to-be widow.
“Why did it take so long?”
Eyes snapping up, Deckard stared at his mother. She was standing where Lowery had just been sitting, a cold fury settled across her features.
“What do you mean, mum?”
“It took you two hours to pull that information from him.”
“You didn’t tell me what I was looking for,” Deckard snapped, exhaustion already deep in his bones. “I had to fucking look at his memories to even know what you wanted!”
“Don’t you take that tone with me,” Queenie hissed. It was as if the air had been sucked from his lungs as Deckard stared at his mother. Balling up his hands, Deckard lowered his eyes so as not to see the snarl on his mother’s face. “Two bloody hours, Deckard! You should have been able to do it in half an hour! You’ve gotten lazy.”
Jaw clenched incredibly tight, Deckard wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked a tooth.
“I’m sorry, mum.”
“It’s as if you’re not even trying!” Queenie slammed her hand down on the metal table, the sound echoing against the walls. “How hard was it to find Lowery’s job? Or what he’s been up to for the last three years? What the fuck where you looking at instead?!”
Deckard flinched at his mother’s increasing volume, and shrank in on himself.
“He kept thinking about his family,” he mumbled. “I-I got lost in his memories. I had to figure out how to move around his surface thoughts.”
The room was completely silent. Deckard refused to meet Queenie’s gaze. He wasn’t expecting the sudden force slamming into his face. The back handed slap nearly shoved him out of his chair, not because of the strength behind it, but rather because of all the thoughts shoved at him.
Disappointment.
Failure.
“That boy will never amount to anything!”
“I taught you better, Deck.”
What would your brother and sister think of you?
“You’ll need more practice.” His mother’s voice was cold and sharp as a knife.
Deckard’s heart sank.
Freezing rain soaked Deckard to the bone as his knees crashed into the harsh, cracked ground of the alley he found himself in. Clutching his stomach, Deckard lost the fight and felt himself retching. His throat burned as acid raced up and out, the dinner he had made a few hours ago reappearing. He continued to heave. Soon enough, his stomach was empty and there was nothing left to expel.
That didn’t stop his body from dry heaving.
Tears and snot flowed down his face, mixing with the rain. All Deckard could hear was the rushing of his blood in his ears.
And the phantom sound of a gunshot.
At the very thought of shooting a gun, Deckard fell forward onto his hands, his stomach muscles contracting harshly. A harsh, broken sound escaped his lips as tears blurred his vision.
“Brixton…”
The name slipped through without thought.
“Why?”
It began as a whisper but slowly turned into a scream.
“WHY?!”
Fire licked up Deckard’s throat from all the abuse he had put it through, but he didn’t care in the least. He continued to scream the question at the thundering sky.
Sitting on his knees, Deckard didn’t know when his hands had begun clawing at his face, but he didn’t bother to stop. Not when he felt skin rip under his nails, nor when salty tears pooled into the shallow wounds.
Pain from various parts of his body tried to overpower his consciousness, but it was all pushed to the side as an image seared its way into Deckard’s very soul.
Three shots.
It was part of their training.
Deckard knew it. Had done it several times before.
But, this had been different.
He had put three shots into his fiancé.
The very person he had loved with his whole being, only to face the ultimate betrayal.
How had he never seen this coming?
The question rang in Deckard’s head from the very moment Brixton had muttered the word ‘Eteon’. The resulting fight had taken a back seat as Deckard had desperately tried to find when he had missed the signs. How had Brixton kept such an enormous secret from Deckard?
They had held each other, kissed countless times, there had been less times that hadn’t been touching.
So, how had he missed Brixton becoming brainwashed by this growing cult?
There had been times Deckard had even delved deeper into Brixton’s mind, fulling wrapping himself in the love the other man held for him. He had seen Brixton’s childhood with his three sisters. He had seen the harsh training Brixton had faced. Deckard had even relived the day they had met through Brixton’s eyes and fell harder in love with him.
How had he never seen this coming?
Deckard’s arms fell limp against his side, and he simply sat there, letting the rain pelt his face with stinging drops. Each one felt like the very bullets he had put into Brixton.
Closing his eyes, Deckard imagined that the raindrops were indeed Brixton’s revenge.
All he could hear was the ringing of those three shots as he felt the dirty alleyway disappear from his consciousness.
How had he never seen this coming?
Owen found Deckard passed out in an alley three days after he had learned his brother had gone rogue.
When they had been children, it wasn’t unusual to find Deckard muttering under his breath about how thankful he was their parents didn’t allow animals in the house. Owen would always laugh because that rule never stopped him in the least.
No matter how many times the nanny, their parents, or Deckard himself chased an animal out of the house, another would be there to take its place.
There was never a time Owen didn’t use his power to his advantage.
Whether that be stealing something from the kitchen, pickpocketing, or making a distraction, he would always have a little accomplice by his side. So much so, Owen would claim Hattie as one of these creatures.
She never did appreciate being compared to an animal.
It wasn’t until Owen truly understood what their mother did for a living did he finally know what he could truly do with his powers. With a promise of food and warm places to sleep, soon enough, Owen had an army of animals at his beck and call.
It had begun with the small rodents in their yard: squirrels, chipmunks and the occasional mouse. They were excited to talk to him and shared every little interesting piece of information they had on hand for less than a handful of seeds. Soon enough, he had recruited the various birds that were attracted by the offered food. They had quite a bit to say about London as a whole.
From there, every stray and domestic animal was on his payroll.
It was simple: if Owen was looking for something and they had information, they would be rewarded greatly.
Animals were just as easy to manipulate as humans were.
This odd, information-gathering ring allowed Owen to start planning his own heists, recruiting his sister almost the same way he convinced the animals. Deckard would tag along mostly to keep them safe, but Owen knew he was just as addicted to the rush of a good heist. Not once were they caught when they had so many lookouts.
Even as he grew older, Owen never stopped using his powers to his advantage.
After all, nobody suspected a literal birdbrain to be spying on them.
Understandably, it wasn’t just his powers that allowed him to rise in the ranks. His intellect took him even further. Soon, he found himself leading squads of men on top secret missions and ready for yet another promotion. It was all so easy for him.
That was, until the world came crashing down.
It all started when he was arrested.
“For the last bloody, fucking time,” Owen snarled, “I have no idea where Deckard is!”
His shout did nothing to the two men sitting across from him. The two MI6 agents could have been made out of stone for all the emotion they showed. Owen didn’t know who they were, but he knew their type: get the job done, any way necessary. Growling, Owen tightened his fist and could feel his fingernails digging into his palm.
“We find that highly unlikely,” one of the agents drawled.
Sneering, Owen knew he wouldn’t be convincing either of them.
The interrogation lasted over ten hours before they finally decided to let him go. Spitting and cursing, Owen had left the building promising death and destruction. So busy in his bitching, he hadn’t noticed the stray dog walking beside him until it barked at him. Glaring down, Owen snapped at it.
“What?”
“We found your missing pack member.”
“Take me there and I’ll buy you a steak.”
With gusto he was lead to the alley Deckard had been hiding in for the last few days. Looking down at his brother, Owen had been tempted to turn around and leave him to wallow in his own pity.
Deckard’s clothes were ripped and dirty, the holes showing various open wounds that were threatening to fester. He was still soaked from the thunderstorm the night before, and the way he wrapped his arms around his knees did little to keep him warm. With his face tucked into his arms, he didn’t even look up when Owen approached him. Owen could only stare at him with disgust.
This was what his brother had become?
He looked no better than the strays Owen employed.
Shaking his head, Owen leaned down and grabbed up Deckard’s arms. Once his brother was on his feet, Owen finally saw his face.
“Owen.” The simple word was barely a rasp and seemed painful. Even standing face to face, Deckard wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead preferring to stare at the ground.
“Deckard.”
Owen had always prided himself on his intellect and even an idiot could tell the scratches on Deckard’s face was self-inflicted. Slowly letting out a breath through his nose, Owen was careful not to let any skin contact come between them. The last thing Deckard needed was to hear Owen’s thoughts.
They were far from flattering.
“Here,” Owen said. Taking off his jacket, he forced Deckard into it. Roughly pulling the hood over Deckard’s head, he harshly grabbed his arm and led him out of the alley. Whistling, he called the stray dog over. “Scout ahead and see if there’s any Bobbies.”
Deckard was silent as he was pulled along. Owen didn’t bother being gentle.
The evenings in London can be very harsh at times.
This night wasn’t an exception.
But, for all Owen noticed, he could’ve been anywhere in the world as he watched the light show down below. He didn’t bother keeping his laughter in, instead allowing it to ring out and over the roofs of London.
On the street below him, sirens and screams intermingled to create a cacophony that was music to his ears.
What was once thought of as just another tall building amongst countless others, was the MI6 headquarters. Fully ablaze.
After handing Deckard over to their mother and watching him being ferried away to who knows where, Owen had set to work on getting his revenge. If those MI6 agents thought he had been making empty threats, then they were dead wrong.
It had only taken a week to create loyalty with the mice hiding inside the building and another to have them plant enough explosives for maximum damage. Of course, he had stolen quite a bit of secrets to make himself extra cash on the side. The British Government weren’t the only ones in the blackmailing business, after all.
He had already received numerous offers on the list of agents he had acquired as well. By the next morning, MI6 would be out at least a dozen spies across the world.
Served them right.
“I shouldn’t have expected any less from you.”
Body stiffening, Owen cursed himself for getting distracted by the fires down below. He always had been too fascinated with flames. Turning around, Owen saw Hattie had found his little vantage point atop another building and was walking towards him. He didn’t see any weapons in her hands, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t armed. She wouldn’t be his twin if she wasn’t carrying some kind of weapon.
“Come to enjoy the show with me?” Owen smiled, a hint of maniac glee showing.
The harsh autumn wind whipped around them as Hattie stopped a few feet from him, her face blank—just like those agents interrogating him.
Not for the first time Owen felt a large wave of hatred towards his siblings crash over him.
When they had been younger, he hadn’t noticed Deckard and Hattie’s powers as much. In fact, he had relished the knowledge that he didn’t have to even speak for his brother and sister to understand how he felt. All he needed to do was either be close to Hattie or touch Deckard for them to know. Talking hadn’t been necessary unless he wanted to trick someone. His siblings had figured that out fairly quickly.
However, as he got older, he finally understood how unfair the universe had been. Out of the three, why had he been the one left with such a useless power?
Instead of being able to read people’s minds or their emotions, he had been left talking to animals. For far too long he had watched from the sidelines as his siblings moved through life, everything easy for them. With no effort, Deckard had risen through the ranks and became highly respected by many in his field, so much so he had been offered a job as a special agent. And of course, everything went perfectly for Hattie.
All Hattie had to do was be in the same room as someone and she knew immediately what to do. It didn’t matter what the situation was, all she had to do was analyze it and then she was set. She hadn’t needed to do much training to get the same job offer Deckard had received only a few years earlier.
Just imagine an empath special agent. Owen was sure she had a flawless success rate.
And now, here she was, no doubt experiencing the storm of emotions that was swirling inside Owen.
Good. She needs to know how fucked up this whole thing is.
With the knowledge that his twin could feel everything he did, he had learned early on how to identify his emotions and how to quell them. At this moment, he didn’t bother. Let her feel the disdain and resentment coursing through him.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Hattie’s words were nearly swept away by the strong wind around them.
“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t,” Owen sneered.
“Countless people’s lives are going to be ruined, Owen!”
“And what about Deck’s life?!” He screamed back.
“He knew what he was doing when he killed his team!”
“Are you serious? Do you really believe that utter shite they’re feeding you?!”
Hattie’s lack of response was answer enough. Scoffing, Owen shook his head. “You really think Deckard killed his team, don’t you?”
“You think he isn’t capable of doing it?”
“Answer the fucking question, Hatts!”
“Yes.”
Owen blinked.
In all honesty, he should have expected his sister’s blunt answer. She was never one to sidestep an issue.
Staring at Hattie, Owen couldn’t believe the woman standing across from him was his twin—the one person in the world he should be able to rely on. The person he should have trusted the most in the world.
But, in that moment, he didn’t know her at all.
Silence fell between them as the information processed for him. Down below, the sounds of sirens were stronger than ever as firefighters were desperately trying to put out the strong flames. The artificial lights of the city caste the rooftop in twisting shadows that Owen felt perfectly represented his heart.
“You’re an idiot for believing everything they tell you,” Owen eventually said. A flicker of anger crossed Hattie’s face before it settled back into indifference. “Of course, you always had been the idiot of the family.”
This time, the fury stayed on her face.
“Even with your little powers, it takes you so long to figure anything out. Hopefully it don’t take too long for you to figure out these people are lying to you.”
“At least my power is actually useful,” Hattie sniffed. “I’m surprised mum and da even bothered keeping you. You’ve always been the useless one in the family.”
Owen’s knuckled creaked with how hard his fists were clenched.
Even without powers, Owen could feel the smugness radiating off her.
Taking a deep breath, Owen glanced one last time at the carnage below. He could see at least two body bags being brought out of the still smoldering building. There would be plenty more tomorrow once he sent the list of agents out. Oh, how he would love to see the look on Hattie’s face when she received the news.
“I hope they’re worth it,” Owen nodded towards where MI6 had once stood. “Because from now on, I only have a brother.”
Hattie looked as if Owen had slapped her.
Smirking at her reaction, Owen headed towards the exit. His job here was done and he was far from finished; his life of crime had just begun after all!
“I’ll be seeing you,” Owen whispered as he passed his little sister. “Agent Shaw.”
It was a rare, sunny day in London. The city sparkled in the early afternoon sun. On the streets, Deckard could see people rushing from place to place, all of them living in their own little worlds. Surely such a day would have been cherished by school children and others alike. No doubt the parks were full of people enjoying themselves, perhaps even frolicking without a care in the world.
Meanwhile, Deckard tightened his grip on his gun.
There were times he wished his mother had never cursed him with his powers. Or rather, he wished his and Owen’s powers were swapped. Life would have been far easier if he couldn’t hear what other people were thinking, instead chattering on where to find the best nuts with a squirrel.
Hell, life with no powers would have been ideal.
Maybe then he wouldn’t have to listen to the rhythmic beeping of several machines next to him, all of them monitoring his little brother’s comatose body.
“They say if you want a glimpse of the future, just look behind you,” Deckard spoke aloud. “I thought that was a load of shite, but now I know you can’t out run the past. When we were kids, you’d always start fights with the biggest bastards in the yard. I always had to be the one to finish them.”
Stepping away from the window, Deckard turned towards where Owen lay in the hospital bed, dead to the world. His heart twisted in his chest as he roughly sat down and stared down at Owen’s now extremely scarred body. He had hoped to never see a single scar on his little siblings’ bodies.
“You’d steal from the corner shops, but it was me who braved the old man’s belt,” Deckard sighed. He could remember each time he had lied to his father about his little siblings’ misbehaving. And he remembered every single punishment that came with admitting to each crime. “I hoped that you’d out grow it—that playing gangster would’ve made you harder, smarter, better.”
Deckard had honestly hoped that after Owen had gotten a taste for leadership in the army, then maybe he could finally understand what it meant to take responsibility not only for his own actions, but for those under his command. Even when Owen had announced his criminal career, Deckard knew he would take the world by storm. Hopefully following in their mother’s footsteps would teach the same lesson.
He wished had hadn’t been so wrong.
“But deep down, I guess I always knew you’d end up like this, despite everything I did teach you,” Deckard could feel regret rushing through every vein in his body. Why hadn’t he run away with his little brother and sister? They could have received a better life anywhere else. “Still, you’re my flesh and blood. I’m not gonna let them get away with what they did to you.”
Against his better judgement—damnit! He knew what was going to happen—Deckard reached out and touched Owen’s hand.
The only thoughts he could hear were sensory responses.
Warmth.
Breath in and out.
Swallowing thickly, Deckard refused to let a single tear fall.
Would he ever hear his brother’s thoughts again?
Refusing to answer that question himself, Deckard stood and headed towards the door. With a short pause, he didn’t even look over his shoulder at the two nurses cowering in the corner. “If anything happens to him, I’ll be coming for you next.”
It was far from an empty threat, but Deckard wouldn’t be the one enforcing it. Instead, his mother would be the one. She had been the one to inform him that one of Cipher’s little goons had been seen in Owen’s room. Together, they had agreed that Owen would be moved from the military hospital to one that was almost entirely under Queenie’s control so that no more uninvited guests could show up.
Destruction followed him out of the hospital like an old friend, the sounds of screaming and small explosions like a beautiful symphony.
Putting on his sunglasses, Deckard got to work.
“Didn’t anyone tell you not to mess with a man’s family?”
There were moments like this where Deckard wished his power was instead time travel so he could go back in time to knock some sense into Owen’s head before the little bastard messed with Dominic Toretto.
Leaning his head back against the freezing cold concrete behind him, Deckard wrapped his arms tighter around his knees and closed his eyes against the harsh lights above. The jumpsuit he was wearing was scratchy and seemed to be growing larger as the days went by. Meanwhile, the heavy metal door that separated him from the rest of the prison did nothing to seal out the noise of passing guards and other prisoners.
He had been in prison for six months, and during those months, he was only allowed one hour of exercise time a day, thus making it much harder to stay in shape. Besides that, Cipher seemed to have shifted gears from getting closer to Owen and had instead tried to poison Deckard. So, along with his muscle mass lowering, his overall weight had dipped since he couldn’t trust half the food offered to him.
Not like any of the guards cared.
If they had their way, he would’ve been dead a long time ago.
Since that option wasn’t on the table, they instead enjoyed their little visitations a few times a week. Deckard had no idea how many times he had ended up in the infirmary, but let’s say he wasn’t an unfamiliar face to the nurses.
After his confrontation with Toretto, Deckard opted for staying in prison for some time for several reasons. First, he needed Cipher to stop going after Owen, so that goal was achieved. Second, he needed time to process what he had experienced at the hands of Toretto and his little crew.
With every hit, impact, and touch from Toretto, Deckard had not only been physically hurt, but mentally assaulted as well.
He never would have predicted to feel the emotions and thoughts Toretto dealt with daily.
The utter desperation the man held onto had left Deckard choking and nearly clawing at his own throat. Toretto had left him dangling off a cliff, barely hanging onto the thin thread of sanity that was the love of his family and friends. If he lost that, then all was lost.
These feelings had bombarded Deckard only for a second before another punch had been launched at his face and the full brunt of Toretto’s rage had slammed into him.
It was like falling and being caught by clawed hands, infinite screams of the damned calling for blood. The fury in Toretto’s very blood tore at Deckard’s skin with such hunger that he couldn’t do more than try and satiate the beast.
While Deckard had held his own in his fight with Toretto and no doubt would’ve won if they had more time, he still shivered at the thought of the man’s endless pit of emotions and memories. He could clearly feel the roar of fear at the sight of the man’s nephew nearly killed by the bomb Deckard had sent him. Which was quickly followed by the clear determination for Deckard’s own death at the news of his friend’s death.
Normally Deckard didn’t shy away from the feelings of his opponents. If anything, he used it to his advantage. And for added guilt to his already bloodied hands.
Toretto had been different.
Toretto didn’t do things half-assed.
He had planned to take down Deckard, and there was nothing that would stand in his way.
“Damnit, Owen,” Deckard breathed out.
A loud commotion outside his cell had him on his feet in less than a second. Mostly because of the familiar voice that was growing closer. Peeking through the window of his cell, Deckard’s eyebrows rose at the sight of one Luke Hobbs.
He was another man Deckard had been far too overwhelmed by during their fight.
If Toretto was an endless pit of emotions that threatened to kill anyone that dared to harm his loved ones, then Hobbs had been the complete opposite.
Hobbs and Toretto were the same in the way they both loved and would fight tooth and nail to keep someone safe. However, it was obvious that Toretto didn’t know what to do once the fight was over—all he knew was how to fight and protect. On the other hand, Hobbs was one that seemed to glow once the fight was over.
Deckard had seen through Hobbs’ memories when he had won countless other fights; he would embrace his victory and share the feeling with the ones he had saved. He would wrap them up in his arms and cherish them. The love for his comrades, his friends, and especially his family had nearly blinded Deckard.
Secretly, Deckard had been relieved to hear he hadn’t killed the man.
It would have been a damn shame.
Especially when he learned Hobbs was a single father.
Flinching at the thought, Deckard couldn’t help but watch in interest as the man in question was escorted to the very cell across from Deckard. Frowning at the suspicious coincidence, Deckard felt his body stiffen.
Someone had planned this.
But who?
Filing the question away for later, Deckard knew he wasn’t going to let the opportunity escape him.
“Well, well, well,” Deckard called out. “If it isn’t Luke Hobbs behind bars! Look at that. The bent cop got his day.”
Already, rage was sparking in those expressive eyes. As Hobbs was put into his cell, the door slamming shut, Deckard decided to keep poking the bear. After all, it was the most amusing thing that had happened in months. Besides Deckard breaking the nose of a guard that had taken the frequent beatings a step too far.
“You know that color looks good on you!”
“Yeah well, it’d look a hell a lot better with your blood on it,” Hobbs called back just as fast.
Kinky, Deckard chuckled to himself. “Yeah, good luck with that, Hercules. Lawman gone bad—such a cliché. Oh well, welcome to the club.”
Deckard wasn’t sure why he had said that. He already had a sneaking suspicion that Hobbs wasn’t there fully by his choice or decisions. But he hadn’t been wrong either—it wasn’t unheard of cops going bad, especially when enticed by people like Toretto.
“I wouldn’t get that twisted, son,” Hobbs responded. “We ain’t in no club. We got nothing in common. And unlike you, I’m not gonna be here long.”
“Bring a shovel with ya?” Deckard sneered. “Better get to diggin’. Wanker.”
Feeling a shot of pleasure at Hobbs’ rolling his eyes at the quote, Deckard decided he was already enjoying his new neighbor. Especially when Hobbs started on an impromptu work-out session.
Of course, Deckard couldn’t let this go without commentary.
“That it?!” Deckard called over the pounding of Hobbs’ fist on the wall. “Is that all those blown-out muscles will give ya? All show and no go!”
“Fuck!”
Intrigued, Deckard watched as Hobbs—with zero hesitation—began bench pressing the concrete seat in his cell. Eyebrows hitting his non-existent hairline, Deckard felt himself salivating at the mere sight. Quickly shaking himself out of his flash of horniness, he put on his mask of indifference again.
“Oh, I got plenty of go!”
Is this asshole seriously flirting with me? Deckard wondered.
“You must’ve misplaced that when I kicked your arse up and down that office of yours!”
“Just like you Brits to rewrite history?”
“All I know is I wasn’t the one to be thrown out of a four-story window.”
“Jumped! I jumped out four-story window saving my partner’s life! Because where I’m from, we don’t settle fights by throwing bombs!”
Well, then hopefully he didn’t meet any other Shaws. Deckard could remember vividly when Hattie and their cousin Jamie had constructed a few at a wedding, handing them out as party favors.
“Do you honestly think you could beat me in a straight up, old-fashioned fist fight?”
“Let me tell you,” Hobbs spoke up. “You and me, one on one, nobody else around. I will beat your ass like a Cherokee drum!”
Mouth falling open a bit, Deckard could only stare at Hobbs. He’s definitely flirting with me.
“Maybe one day we’ll find out,” Deckard responded hoarsely. He was hoping it would be in a few hours when they were finally let out for yard time.
“You better hope that day doesn’t come!” Hobbs snarled back.
As soon as those words left his mouth, Hobbs’ cell door was opening, and a wave of guards came crashing into his cell. Although he was confused at what was happening, Deckard didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth—even when he knew everything had been orchestrated by some unknown puppet master.
It was easy to get out of his cell. Seriously, who wired this prison? Actually relieved by all the other cells opening up as well, Deckard ran around the explosion of fights that were breaking out everywhere. His mother had snuck in a blueprint of the prison his first week, so it was easy for him to navigate to the exit, but he wasn’t expecting Hobbs to follow him out.
A hand wrapped around his wrist and suddenly Deckard was transported into an endless sea of emotions and thoughts.
Adrenaline. Chase. Catch. Prey. Anxiousness. Frustration.
“I’ll do this my way, Nobody!”
“What about your daughter?”
Gasping, Deckard and Hobbs rolled, their brief contact broken and left them on their feet and ready to keep their fight going. However, the sound of a dozen guns being cocked left both of them frozen.
“About time you guys showed up!”
Deckard glared at the smiling man.
He could feel Toretto’s phantom emotions flash through him as he watched Mr. Nobody.
Deckard didn’t trust him. At all.
Taking the smallest sip of a Corona, Deckard listened to the chatter around him. His ear was carefully honed on Baby Brian’s babbling as he met his parents for the first time. All around him were the rest of Toretto’s crew as they ate and laughed with each other. While Deckard kept clear of Nobody and his little protégé, he didn’t mind talking with Hobbs.
And of course, his daughter, Sam.
He missed when Hattie and Owen had been her age—things had been so much simpler, especially their thoughts. A child didn’t have as many thoughts or memories to bombard him with, and they were far more direct with their emotions.
When he had handed over Baby Brian, he had been reluctant to because he could feel the utter adoration the little boy radiated off of him. Deckard could easily get addicted if he wasn’t careful.
Leaning back in his chair and watching Sam pester Ramsey, Deckard was pulled out his pleasant haze by a small tug on his sock. Frowning, he glanced down to be met with the little, beady eyes of a rat.
“’Ello,” he mumbled. The rat didn’t make a sound, instead moving it’s body and pointing with it’s nose towards the door. Deckard didn’t hide his eye roll. Of course Owen couldn’t simply text him and sent a messenger instead. “I’m comin’.”
The still full drink was abandoned as Deckard stood and discreetly making his way towards the door. He wasn’t part of this crew and hopefully wouldn’t encounter any of them ever again.
He ignored the sharp twist in his chest at that thought.
“Leaving so soon, princess?”
Freezing with his hand on the doorknob, Deckard looked over his shoulder to see Hobbs slinking up to him, a smirk on his face.
“You know Owen—I can’t leave him alone for a second.”
“I haven’t heard any explosions yet,” Hobbs chuckled. “I’m sure you can leave him for a bit longer. Come on, stay for a while.”
Deckard didn’t let it show on his face that he would much prefer staying here than listening to Owen bitch about Cipher for the umpteenth time. “Can’t, mate.”
Hobbs didn’t look convinced, but eventually his shoulders sagged in acceptance. Putting his hand out, he flashed Deckard a blinding smile.
“Well, I have to say, I really did misjudge you, Shaw,” Hobbs began, sincerity pouring off of him. “While neither of us were excited to work together, at the end of the day we made a pretty good team. So, what do you say? Want to do this again sometime?”
Eyes wide, Deckard could only stare at the offered hand.
Anyone else would assume Hobbs was simply asking to go on another mission, but Deckard could read through the lines.
Maybe…maybe they could spend more time together…
Finally taking Hobbs’ hand, Deckard felt his heart stop.
Heart-wrenching devastation.
“Shaw didn’t make it.”
Pain exploded in his hand as it met metal and left a large dent.
Elation.
Shaw was alive!
Lust.
Want.
Need.
Something more?
Coming back to himself, Deckard tried to untighten his muscles, but they stayed painfully knotted as his mind tried to understand the excess emotions swirling inside him.
No.
He couldn’t go through this again.
He couldn’t put a bullet through another lover.
Snatching his hand away from Hobbs, he met the man’s shocked expression with a snarl.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the bad blood between us,” Deckard hissed, the lies coming hard and fast. “I might’ve teamed up with this sad excuse for a crew to avenge my brother, but that’s as far as it goes. Just because we stopped that cunt doesn’t mean we’re suddenly best friends.”
Almost as if a switch had been flipped, Hobbs face had gone from open and friendly to closed off and ready to throw Deckard off the roof.
“Then I guess it really is time for you to leave,” Hobbs snapped, his tone chilly.
Turning, Deckard refused to take one more look around. No doubt the rest of the crew had noticed something had happened and would want the details. Throwing the door open, Deckard tried not to hear Baby Brian’s babbling voice or Sam asking what had happened. The trip down the stairs was a blur as he ignored the lift entirely—he was sure that if he stopped for a moment then something inside him would surely break.
Before he even knew it, he was back in the bright afternoon sun and standing on the street.
“Deck!”
Completely on autopilot, Deckard followed Owen’s voice and threw himself into the passenger seat of the green sports car. Seeing Owen open his mouth, Deckard shook his head and grunted:
“Just drive.”
Small snowflakes floated through the night air, illuminated by the streetlights and surrounding buildings. They drifted lazily before settling on Hattie’s bare arms before quickly melting and coating her already soaked skin further. On her part, Hattie had forgotten it had begun snowing, her gaze fixed on a point in the distance as her hand repeatedly brought a bottle to her lips. The beer reeked of hops and filled her nostrils with the distinct smell.
She always preferred a higher end of liquor, but on nights like this, she stuck with the same kind of shitty beer that her father had drank throughout their childhood.
Hattie was convinced that if Owen could see her now, he would be giving her shit for not at least finding a better brand. Meanwhile, Deckard would shake his head in disappointment and quickly leave the room so she couldn’t feel said disappointment.
After all, it was the most common emotions she could feel from those around her.
From their mother and father to her employers, no one seemed to ever be satisfied with her work.
Another swig of the cheap beer, more freezing snowflakes along her arms, and a quick glance at her silent phone.
She still hadn’t mustered up the courage to read the unopened message in full.
“Hatt, I think we need to take a break…”
Hattie didn’t need to read the rest of the message to feel her world shatter into a million pieces.
It was always the same:
‘Hattie, why don’t you ever tell me what you’re feeling?’
‘No, you don’t know what I’m feeling! Don’t act like you do!’
‘If you know I’m angry, then you should know the reason why!’
Again and again, Hattie thought she had finally cracked the code on how to communicate and keep a steady relationship, but once again, she had failed. Why did she have to listen if all it took was feeling their emotions? She could obviously feel that they were angry! So, why did she need to go through the verbal game of figuring out why?
Relationships were so fucking exhausting.
Chugging the rest of the beer, Hattie glared down at her phone.
She thought Ramsey would’ve been different.
Ramsey never seemed upset that Hattie didn’t want to talk about how she felt. She was surrounded by emotions every damn minute of the day, and didn’t have any energy at the end of the day to finally separate her own feelings and the lingering emotions drifting around her. Especially if a partner was around, stinking up the air with their own feelings.
All she wanted to do at the end of the day was numb all of those pesky emotions.
She desperately missed Owen.
Growing up, life had been perfect. With Owen being her twin, he didn’t need the same power to be able to know what she was feeling; he just knew. As they grew older and Hattie complained about getting overwhelmed by the world around them, he had learned how to mask his own emotions around her. She had finally been able to hang out with someone and not be assaulted by feelings not her own.
Too bad Deckard never learned that trick.
Nobody would have expected it, but Deckard was a bleeding heart and wore it on his sleeve.
“Damnit…” she growled to herself. Why was she suddenly thinking of her brothers? She hadn’t talked to either of them in years.
Once more, the bottle was brought to her lips only for her to notice she had already finished it. Cheeks flushed and blood slowly beginning to boil, she raised her arm and threw the bottle as hard as she could onto the floor. She’d regret it in the morning when she had to sweep her balcony, but at the moment she couldn’t care less.
Hattie stared down at the sparkling glass and couldn’t help but compare it to her heart. So beautiful, but broken beyond repair.
“We can either do this the hard way or the easy way.”
Hattie had met many agents who had said something very similar to Luke Hobbs, but the level of smugness they had extruded from him had been different. In fact, he had a strong sense of sincerity that she hadn’t been expecting—even if he enjoyed his cheesy one-liners a bit too much.
But, even with his sincerity and earnestness, Hattie didn’t have time for him.
She would be dead if she didn’t get this damn virus out of her, and soon.
It was easy enough to get a gun and take down the single guard watching her. Seriously? I’m a wanted criminal and this is all they give me?
However, Hobbs wasn’t done as he came rushing in. Using her body as a full weapon, she quickly had her legs wrapped around his neck and a gun pointed between his eyes.
“This isn’t the dance you wanna be doing with me,” he growled above her, once again his voice and emotions not quite matching. He played the macho man very well, but to Hattie it was obvious he simply wanted to solve the situation without violence.
“Oh really?”
“I eat bullets all day long.”
“For breakfast and lunch? Because it’s dinnertime!” She struggled to get the words out as she fought against his strong grip on her arms.
“I’ll count down for you. Three…”
“Two…”
“Hobbs!”
Blinking, Hattie turned her head at the far too familiar voice.
Deckard didn’t look any different from the last time she had seen him eight years ago. His face looks far more stressed, and eyes just as hard, but it was the emotions that were coming off him in waves.
Longing.
But for what?
Untangling herself from Hobbs, she looked between the two while keeping her gun on Deckard.
“What are you doing here?” She snapped at Deckard.
“Saving you!”
“I don’t need any saving!”
“Nah, no, no, on. This is my house, and your god damn girlfriend isn’t going anywhere,” Hobbs said firmly. Quickly pointing her gun at him, Hattie felt utter contempt at that comment. However, what shocked her was the jealousy powering off Hobbs. Who is he jealous of?
“That’s disgusting,” she hissed.
“Girlfriend? That is my sister!”
Both Shaws waited as the information processed in Hobbs’ mind, before he eventually had a comeback.
“Bullshit, she’s too good looking to be your sister.”
Immediately, the jealousy was gone from Hobbs and replaced by relief and hope. What the fuck is going on?
Deciding to leave the issue for later, Hattie focused on the issue at hand:
The stupid virus that would kill her.
They had a plan.
Get to the machine that’d extract the virus from her veins and avoid Brixton at the same time.
Easy enough.
Or at least, it appeared that way to others, but for Hattie—she had no idea if she was in hell or in the stupidest rom-com ever.
Faking sleep, she sat next to Deckard and was thankful that there wasn’t any skin contact between her and Deckard or else he would have heard her silent laughter.
“…like hanging balls on a dog…”
“…the vertical tango…”
Hattie swore her mouth was filled with blood at the insults the two were exchanged right next to her. Her dentist would get after her for biting her cheeks and tongue so hard. But, how could she not bust a gut, especially when the air marshal came out of nowhere and immediately clocked the two as a bickering couple and wanting a threesome?
All the while, she could feel Deckard and Luke both lying to themselves that the issue was Luke wanting to get with her, and not that they wanted to fuck each other’s brains out.
Eventually, they stopped their petty argument and ignored each other. Organizing her thoughts, Hattie didn’t mind poking the metaphorical bear that was her brother. Without showing that she was actually awake, she slipped her hand over his and projected her amusement as hard as she could.
Deckard snatched his hand away and Hattie didn’t bother hiding her giggle at the embarrassment pushing at her. Hopefully Luke liked Deckard’s blushing face.
“Hey!” Deckard’s shout brought Hattie out of her battle haze. She barely heard his voice over the car’s engine, the explosions around them, and the bullets whizzing past them. Taking her eyes off the enemies racing towards them, she carefully kept her balance on the car’s frame as she looked down at her brother.
“What?!”
“Do you trust me?”
It was the last question Hattie had ever expected.
Of course she trusted her big brother.
Deckard was the person she thought of instead of their parents. He was the one that made her favorite foods without her asking. He was the person who had whipped away her tears over and over. He was the one that had reached out between them to save her life.
Even if he had actually killed his team so long ago, she still would have trusted him with her life.
There had been so many times he could have misused her trust simply by touching her and looking into her mind, but there had never been a time where she had worried about that. If there was anyone she would have trusted with the powers to read minds, it was Deckard.
Swallowing thickly, Hattie realized that not once since they reunited did Deckard touch her without her permission or her initiating contact.
Even now, as he looked up at her with hope pooling in his eyes, he didn’t dare reach out and take the answer from her mind.
Mouth suddenly dry, Hattie nodded.
She would always trust her big brother.
The kiss with Luke had been impulsive.
It wasn’t the first time she had allowed someone else’s emotion to influence her actions.
Like most things, it had always started with Owen; he would sneak a peek at her and have the beginnings of mischief snaking off of him. Without any convincing, she’d be going along with one of his heists, the consequences be damned when she got to have fun with her twin.
When she became older, she could feel lust from her partners and would let herself drown in the sensations as kisses turned into much, much more. It was addicting to allow her emotions to combine with another’s.
Even on the battle field, both her team and enemies would contribute to the raging amount of adrenaline coursing through her. What better what to feel alive to literally feel your enemy’s fear battering against you? Or even their very life disappearing as she put a bullet in them?
So, she wasn’t surprised when Luke’s pining and the trepidation of what would happen next had lead them to their short kiss. Pulling away as quickly as she could, she could feel the same regret coming from Luke.
All in all, she doubted Deckard would mind.
Especially if Jonah couldn’t get the machine to work and she had to die.
“Deck.”
Out of the corner of her, she could see him turning to her, but she didn’t do the same. Instead, she stared into the large bonfire the Hobbs family had made in celebration of their victory. All around the fire was the family that had taken them in and had defended them at all costs. She had no idea how they would ever repay them.
“What is it, Hatts?”
His voice sounded gruff, but his tone was gentle.
No matter how intimidating he seemed, Hattie knew the truth: her brother was broken.
Brixton might have boasted being above normal humans with his cybernetic advancements, but his emotions were the same as everyone else’s. With every word he said to Deckard, she had slowly pieced everything together: Brixton and Deckard had been more than comrades.
She had no idea why Deckard had never told her about Brixton, but she didn’t blame him. Not after the kind of betrayal he had faced and then her own refusal to believe him. If she had been Deckard, she would never have forgiven her.
If she had to guess, then Deckard had never seen Brixton’s betrayal coming and Brixton had never seen Deckard’s bullets coming either. It had been a nasty situation, and she could only imagine the suffering Deckard had gone through—alone.
“I wish we weren’t like this.”
Hattie didn’t need to explain. He understood perfectly.
“Me, too.”
Looking down at the long-forgotten beer bottle in her hands, Hattie began to fidget with it.
“Have you ever told anyone? About…”
“No.”
They spoke quietly, barely a scrap of emotion in their voices. It was a huge risk to ever consider telling anyone about their powers—a death sentence.
Don’t get her wrong. With every new partner, Hattie had wanted to scream at them that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She had been born this way and had to deal with the consequences every moment of her life. Deckard might have different powers, but that didn’t mean he didn’t face the same loneliness that she had. Hopefully, Owen had managed better than both of them.
She doubted it though.
“Hattie,” Deckard spoke hesitantly. “What is this about?”
Taking a deep breath, Hattie glanced at her brother. While his face was smooth, she could feel his concern clawing at her and demanding to know what was going on. The fire danced in his eyes as he looked at her pleadingly.
“I think…” she trailed off, wondering if she should even say this. Feeling the spike in Deckard’s concern, she decided it was for his own good. “I think we should tell Luke.”
Shock.
Bewilderment.
A drop of betrayal.
And finally…
Hope.
“Why?” Deckard eventually choked out.
“He’s different,” Hattie said simply. And she knew he had felt it too. He must have if the strong feelings pulsing off of him meant anything.
“What if he doesn’t understand?”
“Then we tried.” She shrugged. “He’s not the type to sell us out.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Scoffing, Hattie gestured around them with her beer bottle. All around them the Hobbs family was happily celebrating in any way they could. From a small group dancing off to the side, others becoming steadily more drunk, and even others chasing all the kids back inside and into bed. She had spotted Luke following Jonah into the garage a while ago and knew the brothers were catching up.
Next to her, Deckard nodded.
If Luke was willing to bring them to his family and save their lives, then there was a good chance he was willing to keep their secret.
“Look, Deck,” Hattie sighed, and placed her drink on the ground, still full. “I don’t know about you, but it’s been hell living with this. I fucking hate it and wish I could travel back in time to stop mum from ever doing this to us. But, there’s not much I can do other than live with it. So, I think it’s time we share the burden.”
This time, it was Deckard who wouldn’t meet her eyes and found the fire infinitely more fascinating. Making up her mind, Hattie reached out and grabbed Deckard’s hand. Instantly, he tried to pull away, but she held fast.
Forcibly, she shoved all her memories of past partners at him. All the fights, the loneliness, the absolute hunger of wanting intimacy, and the crushing aftermath that left her black out drunk for days on end. She could feel the shock and despair coming off him as he realized what she had gone through these last eight years.
“None of this is your fault, Deck.”
“I should have been there…”
“I was the one to cut you out,” Hattie said sharply. Keeping one hand in his, she used her other to grab his face and force him to look at her. His eyes were suspiciously misty as he stared at her. “I made my own choices and there’s nothing you could have done anyway. I shared this with you, Deck, because I want us both to do better from now on. No more running. No more ruining our own lives. From now on, we do this together.”
That small wisp of hope was growing stronger and stronger as she spoke until Deckard was slightly nodding in agreement.
“And you think Hobbs is the best way to start this?”
“Yes.”
With their contact, she knew the instant Deckard finally came across why she was insisting that they both tell Luke. His face turned bright pink and he jerked his head out of her hand, but she kept her other one locked on his hand.
“Y-you—!” He hissed.
“Oh, come on!” She whined loudly. “It’s so bloody obvious!”
“We—I—there’s no way!”
“What? That you’re both idiots and too stupid to admit anything?”
“No!”
Laughing, Hattie tried to share the hilarity of the situation with Deckard. She wasn’t quite sure how his power worked, but she hoped that he could tell that she wasn’t laughing at him. He was currently pouting, but didn’t try to pull away again.
“I think he’ll understand, Deck,” Hattie whispered.
Deckard was silent in thought. She could feel indecision pouring off him, but didn’t push him further.
“I’ll consider it,” he mumbled. Beaming, Hattie leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. Love exploded from him as he met her eyes. “I’m glad you’re back, Hatts.”
“Me, too.”
Luke could feel exhaustion settling deep into his bones as he finally dragged himself towards a spare room. After preparing for Eteon’s attack, taking down Brixton, and then celebrating for the rest of the day, well, Luke was ready for bed. Yawning loudly, he wasn’t expecting for a shadow in the hallway to morph into a Shaw.
Blinking down at Hattie, Luke instantly felt guilty.
Why had he flirted with her so much? He really shouldn’t have led her on that way, especially with that kiss.
“Hey, Hattie,” Luke started lamely. “About earlier—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hattie interrupted him, shaking her head. “I understand. It was a stressful time, and we were simply comforting each other.”
“Oh, well. I’m glad you’re not mad,” Luke frowned. He wasn’t expecting this to go so smoothly.
“But—”
Ah. Here it comes.
“I do need a favor from you.”
Raising an eyebrow, Luke looked her over. She didn’t look like she was up to something, but one could never be sure when dealing with a Shaw. He had learned that the hard way far too many times.
“What?”
“I need you to fuck Deckard.”
“What?!”
In all honesty, who could blame Luke for squawking like a bird when those were the words coming out of her mouth?
“Stop it,” Hattie huffed and rolled her eyes. “I know you’ve been panting after him like a bitch in heat. Just do something about it. He feels the same way.”
“He does?” Luke blurted out. From the way he spoke the last time they saw each other had left Luke convinced Deckard hated him.
“He’s been through a lot,” Hattie explained. “He doesn’t trust easy, but I talked with him. I think he’s ready to try dating again.”
“With me?”
“If you’re going to be this dense, then I’ll go ask Jonah,” Hattie snapped.
“No!” Luke yelped. “I mean, no. I can do it. Gladly.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Hattie snorted. “He’s down the hall. Don’t keep him waiting.”
“And you’re what? Totally fine with this?” Luke questioned, smelling something fishy going on.
“No,” Hattie shrugged. “But I’d rather he be happy than moping around like some love-sick damsel for the next few months. It’s annoying.”
Her nonchalance was suspicious, but Luke knew if he truly wanted any real information out of her, it’d take the rest of the night. He’d much rather spend that time with Deckard.
“Well, if it’s you asking, I guess I have no choice.”
Hattie rolled her eyes before turning around and walking away. Only to throw over her shoulder:
“You hurt him, and I’ll make sure nobody can find your body.”
With those parting words, Hattie disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Luke completely befuddled.
Chalking it up to being a Shaw thing, Luke quickly made his way towards the room Deckard was staying in.
Hopefully the rest of the Hobbs family was too drunk to be woken up by any odds noises in the night.