Crunked, the Alternatives Remix
by northern

Part of the We Invented the Remix challenge, original by Kittie J. Verdena. Thank you to Pierson, Kim, Black Coffee and Cappuccino.

Ever since the accident, JC has been very careful not to leave pieces of himself behind anywhere. He's not sure he can do that, actually, but it feels like it.

His brain still feels like a new and frightening space, where he can trip over ledges or corners and accidentally set something off. Some things come instinctively, which seems strange to him since he's only had these... powers... for a few days. Every time he changes instinctively, the process of it blurs past in his mind as something too complicated to grasp. When he tries to change consciously the steps tangle and nothing goes smoothly, but at least he can do it. At least he's not useless.

As he fumbles through exercises he's made for himself, he fights a growing sense of unease. There isn't much of him left. Every time he changes he feels a little more unsure of what he really looks like. When he's in his own skin now, it feels alien and new — not that different from the other shapes he tries on. Maybe it isn't. Maybe it's just the shape he was born in. Maybe he'll get a more of a feeling for what he considers to be 'JC' as he goes along.

He always checks in every mirror he sees, to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything.

He watches himself fade slowly to invisible and back. Not too closely, though. He might trigger something, and try to teleport himself through the mirror. That probably isn't possible. He stuck his head through to look yesterday, but there was only darkness, so he assumes there isn't a magical kingdom in reverse through there.

They're mostly trying to hide from the rest of the world these days. They were reported dead in the reactor explosion, then miraculous survivors, then proclaimed superheroes. There's a huge crowd camped outside the hotel. JC supposes this is a more dangerous type of fame than they had before. They'll never be able to go anywhere unnoticed again. Or the others won't, in any case.

He runs his sweaty hand through his hair and halts himself, looking into his own eyes in the mirror again. How long will it be until he forgets to reshape himself with the ability to sweat? Will he eventually forget how to breathe? Will he need to?

He exhales through his teeth and turns away from the mirror. Lance is watching him with calm green eyes from the couch across the room. JC has very vague notions about what Lance can and can't do. He isn't very forthcoming on the subject. JC thinks it might not matter too much, and he lies down on the couch with his head in Lance's lap, burrowing as close to his warm body as possible. Lance's hands start combing through his hair, and JC is grateful he can still ask for and get this kind of comfort. There are too many things to think about and worry about.

He closes his eyes. He knows how to sleep.

Lance looks at people and hears echoes of what they're thinking, sees fragments of their minds. It's not something he can control very well, and so he's never entirely sure what is his own wishful thinking and what's really things he's getting from other people.

It's scary that he can't tell the difference, but he tries to act confident anyway. They don't need whining and insecurity from him right now. What they need is for everything to go back to normal, but what do you know, shit happens and all that. Lance is convinced it's only going to get worse. He's not going to be the one giving up, though.

The others are an uneasy backdrop to his own thoughts, filtering in and out with vague images and snatches of mumbled words. He was lucky to have caught as much as he did from that bastard Thompson, who had arranged the "accident". He'd gotten a clear feeling of hatred from him, of disappointment that they weren't just dead already.

It had been a relief to be right, and he knew he had been. Thompson's reaction when he flung the words out at him had said it all. It felt so good to at least have something to blame all this on. And to know he wasn't completely useless.

The healing is easier. All that requires of him is directing his own energy into another person. He learned how to do it quickly, just opening up the new, wide highway out of his mind. That, at least, is something useful. Tangible. Sometimes he gets tired after doing it for a while, but that comes with any type of work. He remembers the thousands and thousands of dancing hours he's put in during the last ten years, and the almost debilitating weariness after long practices. This isn't any different.

He sits on the hotel room couch, petting JC's hair while a sense of uneasiness creeps up on him. He doesn't know where it's coming from. Not from JC, who seems more sad and lost than anything else. Lance traps a few strands between his fingers, pressing hard enough that JC would make a distressed sound if he had feeling in his hair. His apprehension is increasing until he knows something is going to happen, something important, something...

The phone rings.

Lance slowly picks it up while the others watch him, their apprehensive thoughts making his mind prickle uncomfortably.

He isn't surprised to hear bad news. It is all explained very clearly to him — the employee at the nuclear plant who had been hired by Thompson, gone apparently mad from being caught in the explosion, has kidnapped a little girl, demanding them all in exchange for her safety. Lance thinks he can see her sitting on the floor somewhere, crying, maybe. The image keeps wavering, and he needs to finish the conversation, do something decisive. He tells the person on the phone they need to discuss it, to take everything into deliberation, and finally he's allowed to hang up.

The image of the girl won't go away, though.

The moment Chris hears about the kidnapped girl, his world snaps right back into place. There is purpose now, he's not trapped in the land of confusion and inactivity anymore and he can finally movemove.

"We'll go over the plan and get going as soon as possible," he says as soon as Lance has finished reporting the telephone call.

Justin frowns at him. "What plan?"

Chris is already moving, picking up the pen and drawing on the table. The others are so slow. They take forever to gather round and Chris has already sketched the plant the way he remembers it, with entrances, pathways, the different floors and the explosion site.

"So he's probably here, right?" Chris says and points to a chamber in the relative center of the building. It's the most easily defended, as far as he can judge.

"What?" Joey is saying, looking at him, and not at the table. The others are the same, looking at him like he's a freak, and yeah, he is, but so are they, except for Lance, who has his eyes closed and looks depressed.

Chris taps his pen impatiently against the map to make them look at it. This is what they need to do. This is how they can make up for being freaks, make people accept them. This is how they can save a small girl from a madman and he's striding to the door, turning back.

"Are you coming?" He can feel the fire burning just below the surface. He's not angry, but he will be, as soon as that child (abuserdangerrapistdangermankiller) kidnapper gets within sight.

They're all looking at him now, standing stillstill and Chris grabs a fist of his own hair and pulls in frustration. "We need to rescue the girl," he says, as clearly as he can, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. "We need to go back to the plant and get her."

"Are you saying you have a plan?" Justin says, dawning understanding on his face.

Chris blinks a couple of times. Hasn't he already explained this? "Yes yes yes," he says and finally, finally they move. They have to hurry, and they're so slow.

They're hurrying as best as they can all the way there, Chris can see that, but it doesn't stop him from feeling very relieved when they're there and Justin reports he can hear two heartbeats within the building, one clearly the girl, and she's upset and crying. Chris feels waves of heat barely staying under his skin as he watches Justin strain to hear more.

It's so slow. And then it isn't anymore and there's a loudloud noise blaring out and Justin's crumpling to the floor as if he's been kicked hard in the stomach except he's holding his hands over his ears in agony and his eyes are rolling up in his head and Chris isn't fast enough to stop it from happening, after all. He can't move at all.

He's still sitting with his hand under Justin's head when someone puts a hand on him, bringing him into the darkness.

"Hey! Superman! Wake up!"

Someone is laughing and giggling above him, and Joey tries to open his eyes. His eyelids, so heavy. They barely move at all. Through the crack he sees moving colours. The last thing he remembers is seeing JC's eyes open comically wide, hearing him draw in a breath to speak. He thinks he's lying on the floor now. His body feels like cement. His eyes finally open just a little bit more and he can focus on a smiling face above him. It's not JC.

"Have I got your attention now?" he asks, and it's the same voice as before. It's the guide who was showing them the plant before the accident. He's smiling so wide, but there's something wrong, Joey just can't remember what. "Yes? Good."

A hand comes out of nowhere and slaps his face, hard enough to make his head turn with the force of it. It burns and he draws in a stuttered breath.

"You feeling that?"

Isn't he invulnerable? Why does it hurt? He is Superman, after all, he finally turned into his hero a few days ago. He tries to lift his hand to his face, but he still can't move.

"Good." That smile again. "Let's see what your powers are good for, then. It felt so sweet, stealing them."

Joey wonders where the others are and that's all he has time for before he's suddenly curled in on himself, trying to breathe around the kick that just moved him several feet along the floor. It hurts, and he stares at the boots coming closer again, trying to process this. It's not supposed to hurt, but it does. Something is so very wrong. It's all he can think about. He doesn't remember being kicked in the stomach hurt this much.

The man is humming and Joey tries to shiver where he's lying. He sees the boot draw back and he knows what's coming next. That doesn't really prepare him for it when it hits in the exact same place again and he can't breathe for the new pain that takes over everything there is.

He thinks something broke this time. Something inside him. He heard it snap, and now it's cutting through him, ragged ends of bones eating at him when he breathes. He realizes he's going to die like this. Simply beaten to death when he should be the hero, invulnerable, flying and bouncing bullets off his chest.

There are more blows and kicks, every one of them driving him across the room until he's pressed against a wall, trying to breathe, choking and tasting blood. His vision has gone a little off, but he can still see the trail of blood on the floor, and the boots coming closer again. They stop in front of him, and then he's suddenly pulled to his feet and he hears strange noises coming out of his own mouth, because his body isn't made for standing anymore, and there are broken things in him that are going to kill him soon, but this madman can make it quicker if he wants to and he tries to sneer, to make some kind of comment to make him end it all, but his mouth won't move and his tongue won't either and all he can do is hang there like a doll that the dog has been chewing on for days in that inhumanly strong grip that keeps pressing him into the wall.

"Time to say bye-bye-bye, now," he hears far away.

Justin can feel his strength returning slowly, but it's nowhere near to breaking the ropes he's tied with. His ears are ringing, but his hearing is on its way back. He's up against the wall along with the others, watching Joey die on the other side of the room. As Joey is pressed against the wall, Justin glances desperately at the others, hoping against hope that one of them will have enough strength to break through where he can't.

JC looks dizzy, his eyes unfocused and uncomprehending. Lance has his eyes closed in what looks like intense concentration. Chris is slowly turning red, his eyes fixed on the scene across the room.

"Time to say bye-bye-bye, now," he hears faintly, and there's a blur of movement to his left. He looks over and sees the smoking remains of ropes where Chris was. His heart races.

Over at the other side of the room, Chris is struggling with their captor for a metal spike, Joey discarded and lying in a crumpled heap on the floor next to them. Justin can't breathe and his eyes open wide, the widest, as Chris is overpowered and the spike glints above him. Chris's hands come up, trying to keep the spike from plunging into his chest, but he is too weak compared to the hand that's pressing down. Justin imagines he can see the glow go out of Chris as he arches and grows still.

There is a moment of stillness, where Justin still isn't breathing, and the room echoes with Chris's last breath.

There is a moment where everything happens at once, where Lance is crying out and their ropes fall away and Justin is free and running, his mind a thunder storm with lightning crackling from his eyes. He can barely see. He can't think of anything but the huge imbalance of Chris dead and the... scum... alive. He needs to do something now, and it seems like the others have the same idea, since the bastard's arms are twisted violently behind him by invisible force making that insane smile falter just a bit. JC throws himself past Justin and pins the murderer to the floor. It looks good, JC's jaws open above his neck, heavy cat paws on his shoulders, but it's not enough. Justin needs to do something — needs it badly enough that he pushes JC out of the way.

He can't look at Chris or Joey. Won't look. The others are doing something hurried and intense, but for Justin there is only the crackling energy inside of him and the unpunished killer beneath him. He needs, needs so badly that his hands are shaking and his heartbeat is fastfastfast as he turns the murderer around.

The arm and hand that... did what they did. He has to start with those. His laser is almost fully functional again and he slices through the flesh easily, peeling thick strips away, revealing disgusting red and white and wet. All the way down to the hand. There are screams and sounds, but he can't let that stop him. Not when he needs to do this so much. The hand that held the sharp, sharp metal is clenched, but he saws the fingers off, one by one. Nothing but stumps to try to hold now. That's good. Feels like tiny satisfaction. He needs more.

The laser isn't strong enough to go deep yet, so he limits himself to carving long slabs away, from the back and the legs. The killer is wriggling, and it's getting slippery, but this is important, and Justin can't let go now. His vision is swimming with hot water and the smell of it making him want to throw up, but there is still so much to do. He has to set things to as much right as he can. He starts in on the neck, slicing shreds away, deeper and deeper until it's hard to see what he's doing. The body underneath him is shaking and spasming and in the end all he can do is taking the head and beating it to the floor again and again, as hard as he can until everything is still.

Lance brings Chris back to life again. They all help, but Lance is the one doing it. Justin has never felt so grateful, or so empty, in his entire life. The first thing Chris does when he's alive is look at Justin.

In the days after, Justin refuses to let him out of his sight, so Chris keeps looking up and fixing him with his gaze until Justin feels like he's covered with blood.

Chris is quiet now. They haven't really talked about what happened, but sometimes he stretches out a hand to touch Justin, as if reassuring himself that he's there. Justin can't blame him. He does the same thing. They sleep in the same bed now, waking up as close as they can get to each other. It's like they're in their own private bubble of silence, while Joey, Lance and JC have bounced right back. They babble and laugh like there is nothing that can't be overcome.

As they sit in their room, Justin within touching distance to Chris, he can't help feeling like he's become something of an alien, separate from everything, but for one tenuous link to one person. It's lonely, frightening, and he has nothing else to build his world on.

Chris rises to get something to drink, and Justin follows.