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He had lost feeling in his hands a while ago and, in hindsight, that probably should have been concerning. But his thoughts kept jumping back, back to what his kidnappers had said to one another. Under their breaths, they had said, "They're almost here." With a tightness in their voices, they had sighed, "This is it."
Malcolm knew who "they" were...
"They" were his team.
Gil had told him to call as soon as he was in the clear after the deal. He had told Malcolm that, any longer than ten minutes total, and he would start smashing in doors, which Malcolm had found odd, because those weren't very Gil-like things to say. But of course he had fixated on the wrong thing, because Gil had said ten minutes, and it had been well over ten minutes.
Maybe fifteen? Twenty? Thirty would be pushing it, but perhaps it wasn't, because his hands had gone numb and there was no way Gil would leave him alone for much longer.
Then again, he could be perfectly fine. Nothing was making much sense with his ears ringing behind his eyes. Sounds got fuzzy, and colors were mushing together into a massive blur whenever Malcolm turned his head too quickly. Who knew getting pistol-whipped would hurt so much?
Well, no, Malcolm knew very well. It happened more often than not. Perhaps the world hated him.
He snorted a laugh.
That made sense, actually…
"Hey!" one of his captors snapped. "The hell you laughing about?"
Malcolm shrugged loosely. He wasn't even sure what to say because he had already forgotten. What had he been laughing about? Maybe he had a concussion after all. Something made him think he had one, earlier, but he had shrugged it off because it hadn't made any sense. Though, perhaps it hadn't made sense because confusion was a symptom of concussions…
Right?
The man sneered. "Just shut your mouth."
Malcolm nodded hard, his chin snapping to his chest. It stayed there.
Voices filtered in and out, a nonsensical mishmash of vowels and shouting that Malcolm couldn't really care to be bothered with. He blinked down at the gravel, at where his pants were smeared with dirt. Alleyways weren't exactly known for their sanitation, but distantly, Malcolm had hoped that there would be at least one redeemable quality to being kidnapped and turned into bait for his team.
His thoughts stalled for a moment. The shouting continued, echoing between the walls of the buildings they were tucked in-between. Shouting, then screaming, and the voices sounded so familiar but Malcolm couldn't place them. If he were to guess, he would say it was his team. But why would they be with him? He still had ten minutes, right?
Or, no. He had long outrun his countdown.
He glanced up.
Sunken into the shadows of the night, he could make out Dani's silhouette. To her right were two larger forms whom Malcolm guessed were JT and Gil, but in the darkness, he couldn't tell. Between them and the two kidnappers, five guns were flying around, swinging left and right and aiming for different people.
Malcolm strained to focus. Focus on the voices, on their words, on making out a coherent sentence because, right now, nothing made sense.
"--ut the gun down! Now! " Gil. That was Gil.
And JT, soon after, "Drop it, man!"
"Back off! Get back!" Malcolm frowned. He didn't recognize that voice…
Footsteps rushed for him. They lagged behind the man running up to him with his gun raised for his head.
If Malcolm let him get close, that was it. He was already a liability, a hostage that was more useful to them dead than alive.
Then again, that always seemed to be the case. Better dead than alive. More useful in a morgue, or six feet under, than in any other capacity. Death followed him everywhere. His father became his devil, slinking on his shoulder, present with every choice, every thought, every word.
They were safer if he were gone.
The man with the gun pressed to Malcolm's forehead hollered at Gil, Dani, and JT. He threatened to shoot them, to kill him if they didn't back off.
Malcolm grit his teeth. Pushing through the nausea building in his stomach and the fogginess clouding his mind, he snapped to his feet and shoulder-slammed the man in his back. They dropped hard, the man cracking against the concrete. " Run! " Malcolm screamed. "Just run--! "
But the other man was already in cuffs, wrangled in JT's hold. Dani was at Malcolm's right and Gil had flocked to his left, practically manhandling him off his kidnapper so Dani could handcuff him, too.
Gil had him by the shoulders, slouching so he could see into Malcolm's eyes despite the darkness. "Hey, Bright? Bright? " Gil grimaced as he caught sight of where Malcolm had been pistol-whipped. "Kid? You with me?"
Was he?
Malcolm wasn't sure…
Physically, yes, he was right before Gil, staring into his eyes and watching as they warped with concern, and fear, and confusion all within a matter of seconds. He was here, in the alleyway, with dirt-crusted pants and bruised wrists, yes.
But emotionally? He wasn't sure. And it felt safe to say that, mentally, Malcolm felt lost. Navigating what had just happened, what went down within a heartbeat, was giving him a headache, admittedly. Because he had been so ready to die, and now…
"Hey? Care to answer me, kid?" Gil's expression was pinched tight. He glanced Malcolm over.
Malcolm mumbled, "I'm fine."
"Yeah?" Gil didn't believe him. His voice said it all, if not his body, too. Disbelief had him pulling back to reinspect Malcolm. "You sure about that, Bright?"
"Yeah…" Malcolm said, numb. Because a part of him was okay. He was okay with knowing that his team was unharmed. And at the end of the day, that was all that truly mattered.