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The Man Who Saved Me (Updated 30 Jan - Chapters 1 to THE END)


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I just finished reading all eleven chapters of this story.  Speech500, this is extraordinary!  Dean is my favorite kind of fantasy character - powerful enough to be scary, but a gentle, caring man.  Nnnff!  It's hot when he shows off his unbelievable strength, but when that immense power is restrained, he is very, very sexy.  I'm looking forward to the "anal spelunking," but no matter where you go with this, I will be anxiously waiting for the next part.  Thank you so much for the time you spend writing and sharing it with us.  You're a real prince.

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Once again, apologies for the delay. In my defence, it's been a busy week, what with Christmas and all. Here's a longer-than-usual chapter as an apology. 

Chapter 12

It’s a cold Saturday night and our building is having heating issues. Without the luxury of Dean’s warm body wrapped around me, a duvet and hot water bottle will have to do. I sit back, my eyes trained on the computer screen. A video is playing – it almost looks like drone footage of London’s glittering skyline. But it's moving far faster than any drone. As the camera in Dean’s mask streams live to my computer, I get to understand for the first time what it must be like to fly as he does. The microphone feed reduces to a loud rumble as he cuts through the wind, but when he stops and looks out over the city, I get just a hint of the freedom he must feel every day. And the immense power that comes with it.

“Okay Romeo, I’ve got one” he says, using the code name we devised to prevent my identity from appearing on the videos or being overheard by civilians. “A mugging. Two assailants – one of them is armed. About three miles away.” He sounds nervous. This is his first outing as a superhero, after all. The thing he’s been agonising over for so long.

“Go for the gun before anything else.”

“Got it.” The camera nods up and down.

 “Now go make me proud.” Unlike Dean, I don’t have a mic. He said it wouldn’t be necessary. Apparently it’s no challenge for him to focus his hearing on me, even halfway across London, to pick up every word I say. Honestly it feels a little weird, like I’m talking out loud to an empty room.

The footage flickers and glitches for a moment as Dean blitzes through the air. The connection struggles to keep up. The few frames that reach me are blurred. But as quickly as he started moving, he comes to a dead stop, and I’m treated to a bird’s eye view of five individuals, faintly silhouetted against the glow of a street lamp, their long shadows stretching out behind them. Two stand together and the others surround them. Another flicker, the sound of shouts, and Dean is in front of the couple, shielding them with his mammoth chest. He raises a hand to reveal the stolen pistol, almost comically small in his paw. I didn’t even see him take it. “Get out of here.” He booms.

“Make sure you get a close up of each face.” In response to my advice, the camera turns to take in each mugger for just a second.

“The fuck do you…” One of the men begins, but his voice trails off as Dean slowly tears the gun in half like a dry twig. Metal grinds and crunches under the pressure of his thick fingers, so loud that all five witnesses cringe or put their hands over their ears. The man visibly pales. He takes a gulp as Dean hands him the two pieces, staring down at them as if he can’t believe what he just saw. “What the fuck?”

One of the other men – taller, with shaggy blond hair – grips his baseball bat with one hand, rears back, and swings as hard as he can. It soars with enough force to kill any normal man on impact. But not Dean. The instant the wood makes contact with his chiselled abs, it’s reduced to splinters. The crack echoes off nearby buildings. Dean’s attacker howls in pain, gripping his hand.

“You have a sprain. You’ll be fine. Trust me, that could have gone much worse.” Dean says, matter-of-factly. His head snaps around to the third mugger, who jumps back like a startled deer. “There’s a knife hidden in your waistband. Give it to me.” When no one moves, he cranks up the intimidation. “Now!”

With shaking fingers, the man digs into his coat and produces the dagger, placing it in Dean’s hand as if any sudden movement could provoke him.

“Good. Now get out of here.” Each word comes out harsh and deep. “And don’t even think about trying this shit on anyone else. I’ll be watching you. All of you.” The assailants don’t need any more persuasion.  They almost trip over each other in their rush to escape their almost-seven-foot, super strong, invulnerable vigilante.

The rest of the situation is simple. Dean takes an account from the victims and offers to fly them home. They politely decline. After wishing them a good evening, he shoots into the night sky.

“How was that, Romeo?”

“It was incredible! You just saved two people from a mugging, and managed to look like a total badass doing it.” I wish I could reach out and hug him.

His excitement is palpable. “Yeah, did you see the look on that guy’s face when I ripped up his gun? I want to see the replay of that when we’re done.”

“Well you did want to make a criminal piss himself…”

“I didn’t think it’d happen so quickly.” He laughs. “I can’t believe I was so worried about this whole crime-fighting thing. It’s easy.”

The next encounter is a fight between two rival street gangs. He mentions that the combatants are barely teenagers, and we agree to take a lighter touch. Dean lands slow enough that everyone has a chance to see him fly. “Okay, guys. This stops right now.” He says in a tone that commands authority without being overtly threatening.

For the most part, the fighting tapered off when he arrived, but a few gangsters continue trying to guy one another. Dean casually snatches their weapons and lightly pushes them away from one another. It’s not hard to establish dominance. He’s at least two feet taller than the biggest one of them, and three times as broad. When it comes to physical power, it’s clear who’s in charge.

All it takes are a few demonstrations of strength and a basic explanation of his power before the guys are asking him for selfies. He happily obliges, even letting a few of them sit on his shoulders while he flies around, or allowing them to cling onto his massive arms while he effortlessly curls them up and down - all while avoiding letting anyone record his voice or remove his mask. Getting the gangsters to surrender their weapons is pathetically easy once Dean offers to let them choose how they’re destroyed. Even I have to admit it’s cool to watch him reduce a knife to liquid with heat vision, or crush one into a metal ball and then chew it like butter.

They beg him to come back tomorrow to play basketball with them, and after waiting for me to give my permission, Dean arranges a time and place. These boys could do with a male role model. I know how this shit works – boys without fathers, without anyone to look up. Society has failed them and shunned them, but the criminal underworld welcomed them with open arms. If a guy like Dean could show them what a real man is like, even just for a little while, that might be enough. What’s more, it could help us track down the masterminds behind these gangs. The men who really need to be put away.

As the night progresses, my input becomes more infrequent. Dean knows what he’s doing. If anything, I’m a distraction. So I sit back and snuggle into my duvet, watching TV and occasionally glancing at the screen or voicing a few words of encouragement. Once or twice, he encounters dilemmas where the right approach isn’t obvious, or the morality of the criminals and victims isn’t strictly clear. When he needs my opinion, he asks for it. But even then, I try to act as more of a sounding board than a guru. He’s the most morally upright, intelligent man I’ve ever met. No one knows the answers to these questions better than him. He just needs to believe in himself. Sometimes he comes away from an encounter regretting how he acted. I offer reassurance, listen to his concerns, and give an honest appraisal. Even though my part in this is small, I can tell he needs me here. And I’m happy to help in any way I can.

Dean is caught up in dealing with a jewellery shop burglary when someone knocks on the door. It’s late. I’m not expecting visitors. I would warn Dean, but he has his hands full. I’m not sure he’s even listening out for me all the time any more. Realistically, it’s probably a tenant from somewhere else in the building who got drunk and lost their key. That’s happened a few times. In the case of one girl – poor, sweet, stupid Lucy - it’s happened so many times that she gave me a copy of her key to keep. So with this in mind, I cross the flat and unlock the door.

“How can I…” The blood freezes in my veins. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Stood before me is a huge man. Nothing compared to Dean, but still enormous in his own right. At 6’2 and 250lbs of muscle and a little fat, he boasts the build of a pro rugby player. Coincidentally, that’s exactly what he is. He’s wearing one of his tight shirts – he doesn’t have any others – showcasing off the huge mounds and troughs of his roided out body, every inch covered in veins so thick that they show through the material. I can’t imagine what would go through someone’s head when they walk out onto a rugby field and see this monster on the other team. Even if he didn’t take pleasure in breaking anyone smaller than him (which is almost everyone), the guy is like a human battering ram. He looks like he could crush cinderblocks in his bare hands. Having grown up with him, I know he can. So when he looms over me, backing me against a wall, it’s hard to swallow my terror. “Blake?”

I will never – could never – forget this man. Despite my best efforts, he has been carved into my memory and will linger there until I die. He slams a fist into the wall beside my head. Dust trickles from his fingers, and there’s a distinct crater in the brickwork. This isn’t going to be the casual bullying he used to do. I can see something far darker burning in those eyes. He’s not going to twist my arm or give me a slap, he’s not going to pin me down and laugh as I struggle, and he’s not going to hoist me from a flag pole. The child who did those things is gone, and a man stands in his place, just as bitter and sadistic, but so much more powerful.

Blake wants to seriously hurt me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

“So, little brother. This is where you’ve been hiding.” He takes a huge step towards me, filling my vision with his mass.

I muster up enough control to back away. “How did you find me?”

“Saw you on TV.” he growls. Of course, the interviews, the articles. After building a career and finding Dean, I’ve grown so complacent. I assumed I could never be tracked down. I thought I was safe.

“Y-you need to leave.” I try to force the quaver from my voice. Judging by Blake’s vicious smile, I failed.

“Nah, I don’t fucking think so. When you ran away, you took everything we had. All of it. And you’re going to give it back right now… Or…” He cracks his knuckles menacingly.

The sound of it and the expression on his face cast me back to the dark days when I was the plaything of a boy drunk on his own power and the fury of grief. It takes all the mental fortitude I have to maintain my composure. “I had to take the money. I needed to get away. Any longer and you’d have killed me.” I try to reason with him.

“It was MY MONEY.” he roars.

“And I built a life with it. What would you bought? More whiskey, I’ll bet.” Even now, I can smell it on his breath. He reeks. “That’s where the rest of it-“ His backhand crashes into the side of my head too fast to react. Stars burst in my vision and I hit the ground hard. Blake was a strong boy and he’s grown into an even stronger man. Any hopes I had of overpowering him, or at least escaping, are immediately quashed. That was just a backhand, and I can tell Blake was holding back. He’ll kill me if he punches for the head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years.” He growls. “And this.” I groan as he clamps his fingers around my arm and twists it. “This is a pretty nice place. And I heard about that posh job of yours. You have the cash, and you’re going to give me what you owe.” A horrifying grin. “Then you’re coming home with me.”

“God, no.” I wheeze.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, bro.”

“I’m not going back there!”

“You don’t have a fucking choice!” His foot slams into my gut with so much force that I’m sent sprawling across the room. I curl into a ball, heaving, clamouring for breath as an intoxicating pain eats away at my consciousness. I wish I could say this was unfamiliar. But the memories it brings back are all too clear.

My eyes catch on the computer screen. The live video feed has been cut. That could only mean one thing. Dean knows. He’s coming.

“You need… to leave.” I try to say, but all I can provoke is a pained rasp. “He’ll kill you.”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll break your jaw.” Blake isn’t even looking at me. He’s hunched over a filing cabinet in search of money.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, rolling me gently onto my back. And just like that, I’m staring up into Dean’s face. His features are twisted in fear as he examines my body, cradling me like a child. I’ve never seen him so worried. I force a smile and reach out for his hand. "I'm okay." I mouth the words. 

He nods, glancing at Blake. Then his eyes narrow and darken, pupils beginning to glow, brow wrinkling in fury. His lips form a hard line and his jaw tenses. Dean stands, clenching his fists hard enough to turn diamonds into dust. His footsteps alert Blake, who turns on the spot. The way his gaze is tilted down, he must expect me. Instead, he looks up and up and up, taking in Dean’s very big body, and the boiling rage in his face. The mask and armbands are gone, so all he has on is a pair of shorts. His rock hard chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath. The muscles in his back are taught, clenched, ready for a fight.

It’s remarkable how Blake, someone who only moments ago looked like a giant, seems so much smaller now. Dean dwarfs him – not just with his size, but with his terrifying presence too.

Too rapid to see, he reaches forward and clamps a hand around Blake’s right shoulder. Solid fingers begin to dig into the flesh as the pressure gradually rises. Blake’s eyes grow round with panic and a low moan escapes his lips. Crack. There goes one bone. Crack. There’s another. If not for Dean’s untiring grip holding him upright, Blake would have fallen to the floor in a heap. I can hear the muscles and bones in his shoulder collapsing in on themselves, breaking apart, deforming, dissolving.

“No one takes Jake away from me.” Dean’s forearm flexes ever so slightly, causing Blake to scream. Tears stream from his eyes as he grabs at Dean’s fingers in a futile attempt to free himself. They don’t move. Don’t even budge. He fires a desperate punch at Dean’s chest with his free hand. Crunch. He sobs harder as half of the bones in his hand break all at once. His whole body is a shaking, quivering, swollen, red mess.

But Dean isn’t finished. Thick, powerful fingers wrap around Blake’s throat and effortlessly lift him until the two are face to face. Blake’s feet dangle helplessly in the air a few inches from the ground. Dean’s eyes are now burning so brightly that I can see red light reflecting off Blake’s clammy skin. “No one will find your body.”

As much as I hate this man, as much as he tortured me, hurt me, made my life a living hell, he’s still my brother. He’s a human being. No one deserves to die, crushed at the neck by a vengeful god. “Dean.” I croak in a voice so strained that I barely recognise myself. “Dean.” Without loosening his hold on Blake, Dean turns to look down at me. I've never seen such hate. The veins glow beneath his skin, feeding fire into his eyes, making him look like a demon. I cower away from his gaze. He must notice my reaction, because the anger is immediately replaced by guilt. I know he hates to scare me.

“Don’t kill him.”

“He hurt you.” Dean spits the words at me.

“I know.” I take a deep breath in an attempt to pull air into my lungs. “Now put him down.”

For a few moments, the room falls silent as he stares at me in confusion, head tilted slightly to the side. I suppose it must seem simple to him. Black and white. Anyone who touches me dies, no question. Was that what he meant when he promised to protect me? Is that what makes me different? It must seem strange to someone without a family. Why would I ask him to spare the life of a man who had done his best to ruin mine? Truthfully, I can’t come up with a good answer to that question. But I won’t allow anyone to die because of me. I couldn’t live with that.

Whatever process is going on inside his head, he must reach the same conclusion as me. By the time Blake hits the ground, Dean has already turned around and scooped me up into his arms. It always surprises me how someone so powerful can be so gentle. Held against his warm chest, burying my face into the spot where his trap meets his neck, I murmur “Thank you.”

“I should have been here sooner.” He carries me to the bedroom, face awash with regret.

“You came. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry, Jake. I’m so sorry... You don’t have any permanent damage, but I’m taking you to the hospital just in case.”

“No, Dean. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I say, echoing the words of our first meeting. I don’t want to make a big deal of this. I’m tired and hurt. At this point, I just want to go to bed. Dean isn’t convinced, so I lean up and kiss him deep and slow. That does the trick. “Why is it that I always seem to need saving now that I have you?”

“Supply and demand?” He grins. The sight of a smile on his face makes my heart flutter. As quickly as the vengeful terminator appeared, he’s gone, and my goofball is back in his place. My cute, dorky, indestructible goofball.

I’m alone for just a minute, as Dean removes Blake from the building, no doubt threatening him all the while. Not that I have anything to worry about. One of Blake’s hands is definitely broken, and the shoulder on his other side has been so thoroughly pulverised that it might never work again. And that was mercy. I suppose that compared to the fates of the Shard bombers, this is nothing. I know I shouldn't feel guilt. He'll never play rugby again, but he deserves it, right? It's a fitting punishment? I sigh as Dean climbs into bed behind me, pulling me to his thick chest. “I’m glad you’re safe.” His breath tickles the back of my neck.

“Yeah. Me too.”

 

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This chapter gives some backstory on Jake. The next one will give us the final piece of the puzzle, so stay tuned. 

Chapter 13

“Who was that guy?” Dean runs his fingers gently down my back as we lie together under the covers.

I take a deep breath in preparation for what I expect to be quite a drama. “That was Blake. My big brother.” I focus on Dean’s brick-like abs as they rise and fall to avoid meeting his gaze.

“You said you didn’t have a family.” He says. “When I brought you back here, you told me…” There’s no anger in his voice, but the accusation is there. I lied to him.

“I know. That wasn’t true.”

“Why?” He tries to hide his hurt but I can still hear it.

It's a difficult question to answer. I'd hoped I wouldn't need to come up with one for a long time. “At first, it was because I spent a lot of time and effort escaping that life and the last thing I wanted to do was bring it back up… Then I became worried what you might think of me if you knew I spent years being tortured and abused – that I’m damaged goods.”

He pulls my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You know I would never think that.”

“I do now. But you were a mystery back then.” His hand moves to caress my arm, and I take the chance to shift my gaze down again. “I was going to tell you, but you became so protective. The moment I came under threat, you turned into an unstoppable killing machine. I still think about what you did to those bombers, Dean. I have dreams about it. If I’m honest, I worry all the time about what you might do if something happens to me.”

“I’m not letting anything happen to you, so you can stop worrying.”

“Well how do you think you would have reacted if I told you about all the things my brother has done?”

“I don’t know.” He bites his lip. “I let him go, didn’t I?”

“That was a close call. Frankly, I didn’t think you had that much control. You’ve come so far in such a short time.” I shift closer into his embrace, taking safety in the thickness of his arms, the smooth, hard surface of his chest. “I’m sorry I never told you. No more secrets. I promise.”

“Ok.” I glance at his perfect face, expecting to see happiness. Instead Dean looks down at me with a strange combination of guilt, regret, and remorse. I’m not quite sure how to interpret it. When he notices me staring, the look disappears. “So… why was your brother – this Blake guy – why was he so cruel?”

I shrug. Or at least, I try. Dean’s arms are locked around me and leave very little room for movement. Not that I’m complaining. “Blake used to be a great guy. But he took it hard when Dad died – some kind of work accident. Mum lived halfway across the country and refused to have anything to do with us, but we managed to convince her to become our legal guardian on paper to keep us out of an orphanage. As far as the world was concerned, she looked after us. In reality, Blake was the man of the house. He had total control. I was too young to work, so I relied on him for everything. He earned the money, and he decided what we spent it on… which was usually beer.” I laugh coldly. “There’s a reason why he’s a hulking tank and I’m a little squirt. When growing boys don’t get enough food, they don’t grow.”

“I don’t care if you’re little. You’re perfect as you are.” Dean squeezes me tighter, easing off when I wince. I’m still a little sore.

“I’m practically a hobbit.”

“You’re my hobbit and I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who has a problem with it.” He says it so seriously, I can’t help but laugh. He has no idea how much he's done to ease my insecurities, just by accepting me for what I am. But if he thinks it'll help, he'll punch something anyway. 

“Throw a load of alcohol, power, grief, stress, and emotional instability into the mind of a guy barely old enough to drive, provide him someone to vent it all out on, and you end up with a relationship like ours. Blake was always careful not to leave any clear marks. I couldn’t go to the police because I’d end up with social services, and the councillors at school just thought it was a sibling rivalry. A tale as old as time. It wasn’t. Blake was violent. Malicious. He seemed to blame me for Dad’s death, and took a lot of satisfaction in causing me pain. Sometimes when I knew he’d been drinking, I was so scared of going home that I hid in a closet in school until everyone had left, and stayed there overnight. He would starve me for fun, make me beg for food, then force me to eat it off the floor. That kind of thing. There were nights when he was really drunk – totally smashed – and he’d come through the door horny and barely able to stand. He’d come into my room while I was asleep and…”

I take a deep breath to quell the bile rising in my throat. Dean has a dark look in his eye. I can tell he’s seriously considering finding Blake and finishing the job, so I switch the subject.

“The details aren’t important. What matters is that I turned eighteen, received an offer from a good university in London, took all the money we had, and got the fuck out of there. And that was that. Fast forward a few years, I was happy, with a well paid job doing something I loved. Just when I didn’t think it could get any better, you came along and changed everything.” I plant a trail of kisses up Dean’s chest to his neck, which is as far as I can reach. He tilts his head down so that our lips can meet. Even the simplest kiss with him is enough to awaken the butterflies in my chest all over again. I doubt that will ever get old. To my relief, Dean is smiling. The tension has passed.

“I’m glad it all turned out okay.” He says, but I can sense the same strange hesitation from before. The same guilt. He’s holding something back. I wonder whether I should call him out on it or let him tell me when he’s ready.

“It did.” I grin. “Oh shit, I just remembered.”

“What?”

“The footage from earlier – I need to get it edited and sent off.” I move to sit up, but barely make it an inch before two colossal arms pull me back.

“The footage can wait.” Dean whispers into my ear.

“Trust me, I'd never leave this bed if I had the choice, but this is something I should get done as soon as possible.”

After considering me for a moment, Dean loosens his grip enough for me to get up. I try my best to hide the pain in my gut where Blake kicked me. I’d be back in bed with no hope of escape the instant Dean got wind of how much it hurts to walk around. Each step makes my head throb painfully, and when I look at my reflection in the mirror, I see the beginnings of a nasty bruise.

The haphazard arrangement of the hallway serves as a reminder of Blake’s visit. I take a few minutes to clean it up, grimacing whenever I have to lean down to pick something up. When the kettle is boiled, I make some tea, and get to work on editing. It’s not something I’m familiar with but a few YouTube tutorials are all I need to figure it out. Dean was right – the look on that guy’s face when he tears the gun in half is a real treat. I save a screenshot for later.

As I sift through each encounter, it gradually dawns on me how much work I’ve taken on here. Dean got through dozens of crimes. Every single one of them needs to be watched multiple times to ensure nothing incriminating is shown, edited to distort Dean’s voice, compiled, uploaded to a private and anonymous server, and then sent to the police with whatever relevant information I have available. It's tiring work. The thrill of watching a superhero in action quickly fades as my actions become robotic and repetitive. Every time I look at the clock, hours have passed. Tea can no longer do the job, so I switch to coffee in a vain attempt to keep my eyes open. I wait until I'm really drifting off before cracking open a Red Bull. 

It doesn’t work.

The next thing I know, I'm waking up to the bedroom ceiling. The glow seeping through the curtains gives away how late I've slept in. How did I get here? I might have walked, but judging by the way the covers are tucked in around me, Dean is responsible. I love all the little things he does to take care of me.

"Morning." I say as I enter the kitchen, stretching my arms and yawning. Bacon is sizzling on the oven. 

"Afternoon." Dean smirks. "If you were too tired to edit those videos, you could've told me."

"I know." I give him a tired hug and a kiss, which he gently returns. "I wanted to get it all done. How much is left?"

"None. You finished it." He says with a wink. My memories of last night may be hazy, but I know for a fact that I had several crimes still to process. Did Dean do them himself while I was sleeping? It's hard to imagine him on a computer. His fingers are so thick, it would be difficult to work the keyboard.

"Look, Jake. About that talk we had last night." That strange expression is back. I lean against the table, my arms crossed over my chest, and nod for him to continue. He scratches the back of his neck - always a sign of nerves.

"What is it?"

Dean clears his throat. "You told me your big secret. I think it's time I told you mine."

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I am so enjoying this story and the way you lead the reader into the detail of the background of each of them.

I hope your getting enough rest and sleep for your body to grow, as you seem active on here in the small hours -my excuse is, I recovering from knee and ankle pain/injury.

Thank you for this latest posting.

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Here are the revelations I've been building up for 13 chapters. Enjoy!

Chapter 14

When Dean lands and places me gently on the ground, I look around in bewilderment. We didn’t fly for long, and yet this doesn’t look like Britain. Before us stands a ruined building. The roof has caved in, and chunks of brick and plaster lay scattered over the ground. Parts of it appear to have been melted and later cooled to form strange shapes. It looks like the aftermath of a terrible explosion. But that’s not all. The paintwork on the parts of the build which still stand is faded and flaking. The tarmac of the surrounding roads and parking spaces has been split by tufts of grass. Old cars lie rusting and abandoned. We’re surrounded on all sides by barbed wire fences, and beyond them, an impenetrable barrier of trees.

“Where are we?”

“The lab where I got my powers.” Dean swallows. I watch the muscles in his neck flex and shift. “This is where I was brought for years and experimented on. And… it’s where I found out how dangerous I could be.” He motions to the fences. “After that, the government quietly moved anyone who lived nearby and claimed the whole area for the military. No civilian will ever know about this place. And even if they did, they’d never get close. There’s no one around for miles. I checked.”

Now the sight of those ruins sends a chill down my spine. Because I know that the damage wasn’t caused by any explosion, it was the man standing next to me. He tore this place apart like it was paper, burned it, melted it, crushed its walls and shattered its windows. But something doesn’t add up here. I already know about this part of Dean’s past – there’s no big secret. No revelation to be had. But if he chose to bring me here, I trust he has a reason.

He takes my fingers in his big, calloused hand and we walk together to the entrance. If I were here on my own, I’d get as far from the ruin as possible. It feels evil. Unsafe. But Dean is here, the most powerful man in the universe, and he won’t let anything happen to me.

The foot-thick steel double door appears to have been welded shut and has been blocked by a dense slab of brickwork twice the size of my body, which Dean casually shoves aside. He pushes against the door, denting it with ease. The way I might stick my fingers into a block of butter, his fingers dig into the metal, carving holes at least an inch deep. When he moves his hands apart, the door moves with them. Steel groans and squeals, hinges bend and break. He makes it look so easy. But I know he must be applying hundreds of tons of force. There was never any contest here.

Once again, Dean takes my hand as he guides me through the building. It’s dark. I can hear the drip of water somewhere above my head, the scurrying of rats. Ivy coats the walls where chalkboards and monitors used to be. Spiderwebs fill the corners. Despite the catastrophic damage, it’s easy to see how this place once worked – there’s a foyer, a canteen, changing rooms, toilets. And large rooms full of hospital beds with an abundance of strange and mysterious machines. We pass through a doorway into a room with a single bed in the centre and a broken one-way mirror taking up an entire wall. On the other side, chairs are lined up facing us. “This is where they treated me. I spent a lot of time here…” Dean whispers, brushing his fingers along one of the desks. Then without warning, he slams it with his fist, reducing it instantly to splinters which fly with such force that they become embedded in the opposite wall.

“You okay?” I squeeze his arm. It’s like trying to dent granite.  

He looks down at me. “Yeah.”

As I explore the room, I notice a series of laminated X-rays, each of a young boy in the same position. From picture to picture, he gets distinctly bigger, and his body becomes more opaque. The final X-ray is just a white silhouette. “One of their few successes was making my skin impenetrable. After a while, not even radiation could get through.” Dean explains, peering over my shoulder.

This is all fascinating, but I can tell it’s not why we’re here. “So what’s this big secret?”

Dean looks down at his shoes for a moment. He’s clearly been dreading this moment. When he can’t delay it any longer, he walks into the room on the other side of the mirror, picks up something, and returns with it clutched in his meaty palm. It’s a framed picture. A number of men and women smile at the camera in laboratory uniforms. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark enough to make out any faces, but…

My breath catches in my throat. It’s impossible. I don’t understand what I’m looking at, but there he is, second to the left, smiling like an idiot. A face I’d almost forgotten. “Dad.” I look up at Dean for confirmation. He shrugs his round shoulders and nods.

Just like that, the last puzzle piece falls into place, finally revealing what I’d been too stupid to see. Suddenly it all fits. Everything Dean has told me – everything I told him. It all clicks together in my mind. Our stories were never separate and we were never strangers.

My dad must have worked here, with the people in this photo. It would explain why he never told us about his work. That’s how Dean got caught up in all of this; Dad found him through me. And the work accident that killed my Dad, that was Dean. They told us the body was lost, but I’d bet it wasn’t. Whatever Dean did to these scientists, intentionally or not, it was too compromising to be made public.

“Little Dee Lawson?” I bring a shaking hand to my mouth. How could I have been so blind? I used to have a friend called Dee - a boy so timid and sweet that I never made the connection with the hulk in front of me. But now I see the resemblance. Those same kind eyes, the dark scruffy hair. It really is him.

“Not so little anymore…” He gives me a shy grin. “When I said you were different, I meant it.” Dean helps me sit down on the side of the bed when my legs refuse to obey me. “Jake, I loved you long before the terrorist attack – even before I had these powers. I always loved you. Ever since you saw a scared little orphan sitting alone in the corner of the playground at school, and you came to talk to me when no one else would.”

“I…” It takes a few breaths to steady myself. “I never forgave you for leaving. You just disappeared. I thought you had died!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was worried about my strength. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. Eventually it became too painful to imagine coming back. What if you didn’t want me? What if you hated me for leaving? I don’t think I could handle that.” The desperation in his eyes in genuine.

“So what changed your mind?”

He grimaces. “I told you I was chasing up anyone who might be connected to the super soldier project, remember? Well you were my first lead. I spent a month or two… stalking you.” He laughs as I thump him in the chest, careful not to injure myself. “I was watching and waiting to see if you showed any connection to the project. Then the attack happened. All those old feelings rushed to the surface, and I refused to let you die. I never planned on falling for you, Jake.” He hesitates for just an instant before a big smile breaks out across his face. “I’m glad I did, though.”

He leans in for a kiss, but I stop him with a flat hand. I know I have no power over Dean. If he wanted to kiss me, nothing and no one could do anything about it. But I trust that he has enough respect for me to accept my wishes. “You… killed my Dad.” It’s not a question.

Dean doesn’t try to deny it. He doesn’t try to defend himself. His big hands clench and unclench as he talks. “It happened the day my powers awakened.”

I cast back my mind to the sunny afternoon in Dean’s Canadian hideaway, when he explained his past to me. “You mentioned a traumatic event?”

“The same event that left you with a phobia of open water. You really don’t remember?” He squints at me as I shake my head. “Well… We were driving to Chester Zoo. A day trip. On the way, we crossed over the River Severn, and some guy was driving in the wrong lane, so we swerved to get around him, and took a dunk. You hit your head. Maybe that’s why you forgot everything. Neither your Dad or I couldn’t get the doors open because the river was deep and there was too much water pressing down on us. It started spraying through the air vents and the cracks between the doors, and the car was filling up. We were running out of air. I remember thinking about how you wouldn’t last much longer, watching blood seep from your head. I didn’t want you to die. It scared me more than anything ever has, before or since.”

“Maybe that’s why you ended up so over-protective.” I suggest.

”Maybe you’re right. At the last moment, when you were completely sumberged and your dad and I were struggling to breathe in the last bit of air trapped against the ceiling… I felt powerful. Really fucking powerful. I can’t describe it. Like there was lightning in my veins, like I could do anything. I kicked the car door off its hinges, got under the chassis, and pushed off the riverbed so hard that we practically flew out of the water.”

“You saved my life.”

“No biggie.” Dean dismisses it with a wave of his hand as if I’m pointing out some frivolous detail. “Your dad immediately realised what had happened. The second you were in a hospital bed, he brought me here. I was worried about you and overwhelmed by all my new senses and they started trying to take blood samples, make me do exercises, poke and prod me, and they wouldn’t let me check on you, and I just lost it. I freaked out. I didn’t mean to kill them. I wasn’t in control.”

“I know.” I rub a hand gently over his back. He buries his head into my neck and does something exceptional, by Dean’s standards. He actually starts to cry. I feel the tears land on my skin. His huge shoulders shake from the force of his sobs. After a few moments spent hunched awkwardly over me, he sits down on the bed and lies down, pulling me with him. He’s far too big for it now, so his legs dangle off the edge. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” He stifles a sniffle.

“Thanks for telling me all this. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been to keep it a secret.”

He looks at me with shock. “I thought you'd be mad.”

I know I should feel grief at the thought of my Dad dying so horribly. I should be angry at Dean for tearing my life apart. Maybe I’m just too shocked to process those emotions right now. Or perhaps I just don’t have it in me to blame him. I always was too forgiving. The loss is there, though. There’s a hollow sensation in my gut. I feel cold and no amount of heat vision is leaching it out of me. But even though my Dad is gone, I’m not alone. I’m not vulnerable.

“I mourned and moved on.” I shift my fingers in circles through his hair. “It hurts, sure. But I’m not throwing away our future because we had a fucked up past.”

“How are you so level headed all the time?”

I laugh. “One of us needs to be. When you can’t solve every problem by hitting them really hard, you figure out how to solve them with words. And when words don’t work, you make peace. Now… If that’s everything, can we go home? I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but some really cold water has been dripping down the ceiling onto my back since I sat down.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I look around at the lab, wondering what it would have been like for my Dad to work here. Did he celebrate birthdays in that kitchen? Did he stand around that canteen and talk about his two pesky kids? Would he find a quiet corner and call me during the middle of a shift to tell me he loved me? When he worked on Dean, did he feel guilt? Or did he think he was doing something good for the world? I suspect he had reservations – otherwise he would have volunteered me. And what a different life I would have led.

I pick up the photo and slide it into the waistband of my jeans, then follow my super powered boyfriend out into the waning sun. To repair the door, he slams the two pieces of metal together with such mind-bogglimg force that they weld on impact. Then he takes a hold of me and rises quietly into the sky.

This visit made our relationship stronger; that much is obvious. There are no more secrets. We have nothing to hide from each other. 

But there was one crucial mistske. While Dean may have checked for any nearby humans when we arrived, he never thought to look for security cameras.

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What an episode, but just as I was easing into that last few lines of the story and thinking the future may be brightening for these two lovers.......

I'll quietly ponder what evil plot or scheme may befall them.

Thank you for another gripping chapter.

 

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