A Superhero, the Secretary, and Breaking Into the Manor

He'd not meant to be sick, he really hadn't.

And now, he could hardly reach his phone.

Which the always unflappable and chaotic Mr. Wainburr had way too much fun tormenting him with.

On a good day he would scream and shout and complain, perhaps threaten to fib-- much as he abhorred doing it-- to his Dad to get the man demoted from Director's good graces. Wilhelm used the man's name sparingly and never without reason. Otherwise, he was the cruel, brilliant, and callous Director who puppeteered the organized Underworld simmering just beneath the surface of a truly picturesque and lovely suburban town.

But his head simply hurt too much and fever plunged his brain to boiling water still on the stove despite dense, vast swathes of steam and the lingering tinge of gasoline.

He moaned to the sheer despair of this situation.

To which Wainburr stopped the laughter and jeering nicknames, having fun with the little son.

He placed the phone down, still out of his hand's meager reach, and sat himself on his other side, facing his back and the bookshelf.

"Do you want a classic or those comics you like?"

"Manga," he complained, "Shoujo." A racking, raspy cough cutting off anything else.

Once it settled he requested the penultimate volume of his latest romantic reading endeavor.

"You got it Heartbreak."

He cringed, hearing his moniker come out of an enemy's mouth.

A dubiously aligned enemy but still-- he was an enemy long as he worked with the Director. His Father.

******************************

Wilkes couldn't be considered presentable.

Just an hour ago having contentedly enjoyed his stories in a fuzzy pink robe ashamedly stained with barbecue sauce over a few loving years where they'd gone through many takeout boxes and some cheap beer every few months.

He'd not had time to fix his bedhead once the kids stormed through his house making a ruckus, clearly having individually cut school.

He had not agreed to adopt teenagers.

Nor for those teenagers to stalk another innocent kid who likely knew nothing of what was going on.

Nevertheless he took their information and made use of it to get a blueprint for a wealthy, cutthroat executive's private estate.

"Willie says his room was at the highest floor, furthest from anything and anyone else. Gave him more privacy and more opportunity to sneak out, especially with the overgrown old hedge maze in the way."

"There's three ways to get into that room through the regular entries and hallways," Eli pointed out, fingering both the North and West avenues of the main centerpiece of the property.

"Yeah, only he also installed an escape hatch or something of the kind in the room a month in," the leather clad boy surmised, sipping at his drink as his aviators slipped just a bit. His uniform sloppily done and barely compliant with his dress code. "And I don't believe for a second that the added benefit wasn't being able to steal him away or intrude at whatever time the Ol' Yeller saw convenient."

"Then we should make sure to take out that entryway and any security bound to be there," Eli concluded.

"Alright kids, I'll deal with that," Wilkes decided, having so far watched them in silence, letting them lead.

While he wasn't completely sure this situation was the nefarious kidnapping and torture plot a long time coming he'd be hard pressed to take even the most minute suspicions less than seriously.

That little Oliver orphan boy had somehow weaseled this disgraced hero with bad joints and a watch list of guilty pleasure melodrama stories on TV out of both some expensive car parts, nice little keepsakes and pictures-- before returning them-- and into an odd spot of affection and Mama Bird territorial instinct.

Besides, these new kids in the hero beat, breaking several laws acting independently and the like, were on this particular Crime Lord's list all the same, they were going to confront the man, better they begin to pick up how to keep the battle on their terms and at their paces. Send a message and send a warning.

Whatever was the matter, the little orphaned Heartbreak wouldn't so quietly disappear into nothing. And this Director would need to know that intimately before he considered raising the "disciplined" hand.

"Likely he'll come to check in during his lunch break which according to the company and Raji's visits is ten past one, with the travel to the manor already accounted."

12:45 would be crunch time.

"Through the rose gold bathroom window, that's a blind spot on the mounted cameras, from there beeline for the office, and then across the hall Rayo," Eli said to the leather jacket Vampire Boy, "keep watch from that room, I think its either a parlor or a display room for something or another."

"And no stealing anything," Wilkes added in an authoritative tone.

"Geez fine," he sulked drink empty, tossing the empty plastic cup into a corner trash bin.

Wilkes checked his watch. "10:50."

The trio rushed out, tearing through the door into the driveway. On it Wilkes kept two cars, one a decommissioned undercover vehicle that would pass for an old, shuddering powder blue minivan.

***************************

In an almost deafening silence Jason Wainburr tensed, never at ease in too serene of circumstances. His hyperactive, always morbid mind made and wired for intrigue and violence.

An empty bowl and its tray were in his hands.

Nevertheless he took a deep breath, conscious of his heartbeat, satisfyingly loud and strong.

The boy had settled into some much needed sleep and he'd been cooperative to boot. Having downed the entire thick cream clam broth and a hunk of simple white bread.

"Goo' nigh.'"

And without another thought settled with his eyes closed and his breathing slow and tranquil. It stirred an unexpected sense of "caring." in a region of his body he'd been sure was carved hollow.

Jason was aware to make sure the door didn't groan and squeak too loud when he shut it and even walked in longer, more graceful strides than usual. Not too easy in platform combat boots.

Care is an odd emotion to have. Care had often been associated with guilt, associated with leverage and control.

What he should, as any decent human being, propose himself to care about.

Did he not care, about the very few things in his life that had earned affection? And what was wrong with him to not? Had they, who were nurturing his talents at great expense to themselves, done something?

Absolutely.

But it had done nothing to do about //caring.//

Eventually the word itself became a vile one tasting sickening on his tongue.

And anger had taken its place. Dark, uncomplicated, consuming anger that had simply snarfed his heart whole as recompense for the troubling presence of a meat suit that had entrapped it's amazing force.

However Jason by no stretch hated children or even resented them. Did not demean them, did not generalize them into yet more faceless inhabitants of a reprobate of a society. Did not, would not, wish them active harm or dirty his hands.

And in that at least, he and his chief, superior, and housing agent were the same. The man this adopted son of his so spitefully insisted was just "The Director."

He had liked paternal, uptight, and radiantly generous and content Heartache from day one. Had thought, it was unfortunate he surely had a loving family, Jason would have otherwise snatched him up and never let go. But no, instead they played their game. Seize him, jab a needle in his neck, then fight a bit or let him puzzle his way out in a right fit that put him in a spandex wedgie giving mood.

That never failed to have Jason laughing, even at the honcho's death glares each and every time. Mocking each and every rage when he broke yet another set of crystal studded wine cups or delicate computer discs full of crypto.

Once the stuff was washed and put away in the kitchen cabinet, Jason dried his hands intent to give his boss a status update. And remind him not to fill his lunch break with the usual bitch-fest with the old, bitter ladies in fake emeralds and imitation snake skin bags. Since he'd already been bursting at the seams about his son he spiked a fever.

Being a known fact, of course; "heroes don't get sick! If they did I wouldn't need the gas or the morphine to keep that kid alone, still and not in a biting mood for more than three minutes!"

His phone speed dialed the number.

"Yes," drawled his boss in disinterest and disdain palpable.

"Hey dickweed just wanted to give you a heads up, Wilson crashed already."

"WHaT!" he yelped, voice cracking at the edge. "Oh my goodness--"

"Into his bed, he's asleep."

"Well don't scare me like that," Boss man groused. "You know he looked awful in the morning, didn't even--"

"I know, I know, didn't even have the energy to ask if breakfast was laced with truth serum or how he'd loooove to get the name of your explosives contact."

"Or that mercenary who hit his precious Underdog," Boss agreed, "as if I needed to rent a missile when two fingers would crush baby bird's skulls. Anything more is just in terrible taste."

"But he is... better now is he?"

"Yup," Jason assured, popping the 'P.' "Look sir, he's gonna be wiped for a few hours at this point at most with the headache before the medicine really starts kicking ass like it's supposed to and yes I checked on the off in a billion trillion chance it was expired. He's still coughing and frankly pretty gross stuff coming out his nose but that's normal. He is a snot-nose."

Sarcasm was heavy in his voice. Boss got so mom-like, the chance was too hilarious to pass up. Ah, this kid, this kid was heaven.

"Yes, yes of course. And well he doesn't know does he? That I'm coming by?" he asked tightly.

"Yeah you hired me cuz of my big, fat, sensuous mouth sweet cheeks."

"I can and have whacked other assistants for less," he reminded in a weary, unfettered tone. Ughhhh, exactly why it was hardly fun anymore and why he liked the occasional rise from Will. Kid still hadn't gotten the concept of a scabbed over, grown-up facade.

"I think we both know how that ends," and just to really hammer it in he blew a singular, pucker of a kiss to the phone.

The exhale that left did not sound wholly healthy or polite but it did the trick and made a nice tingle shiver down in a very special spot.

"Well good, I'll still be by, but otherwise make sure he sleeps. He needs the rest."

"You got it. See ya."

"Yes, see you."

And with that the line clicked dead.

And Jason could stop looking pretty leaning over a pristine crystal counter and instead sit pretty in the grand library with a Stevie King.

That had been the plan at least.

And is what he would report a few hours, before the alarm had gone off.

Only abruptly cut by the Blackout procedure.

Active for the event of assassins.