Chapter Text
When he considered his life, everything about it had been strange. He was conceived and born within the same day, imbued with super strength and jumping abilities, and subsequently adopted by the most eccentric billionaire known to man. He was given training and a strong moral compass from an early age and fought for what was right, something which cost him his body as he grew into an adult. He’d had to mature from an early age, be a leader and a mediator. He’d even been to the moon, refocusing his energy in recent years on science and discovery. It certainly hadn’t been an easy life – he’d had to mature quickly – but it was his own; he was always doing what he loved, what he knew.
It was only after coming home for his father’s funeral that he realised just how little he might have really grown from being that precocious child. The arrival of his siblings had brought back old tensions and interruptions to his usually placid thoughts. It was all beginning to unravel at the edges. Had he spent four meditative years up in space, or was he merely sealed in a crypt where no one could hear him scream? Despite this, in a way getting the family back together provided a welcome distraction from his new predicament and the circumstances he was in now, brought about by two assassins looking specifically for his brother Five, tipped the balance of situational familiarity solidly into the past. This was a mission and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was back on his game.
Right now, he was fighting the broader imposter; Vanya had run, and Diego and Allison were busy taking the other one out downstairs. He and his contender were engaged in hand-to-hand combat, but only out of a lack of options. He’d already managed to disarm the attacker –Hazel, was it?–of a dagger, but from the floor where he’d been knocked down, Luther could see their clash was about to turn deadly, fast. Hazel was breaking into their father’s antique weapons cabinet for a pistol. I’d forgotten how much crap there was around here, thought Luther, as his body ran on autopilot and he heaved to his feet to interfere. Damn. Hazel would be too far away for him to get a clean strike to the back; instead he eyed the mysterious briefcase which had been strewn aside at the beginning of their fight. If the pair brought it, it had to be something useful, right? A shield, or something at least bulletproof by design? Only one way to find out, he figured, then lunged for it. He’d assessed the situation correctly; no sooner had he picked up the case, Hazel was cocking the gun. He’d always known his training was beneficial, even if it hadn’t always felt like it. Even if I didn’t want it. All else aside, if this next move didn’t work out, things were about to get messy.
Luther swung the briefcase around to his front to protect his vital organs. With any luck, Hazel would be put off-kilter by the kickback of the gun. Those things are more powerful than they look, friend. But suddenly Hazel wasn’t poised to shoot anymore. Instead, he’d put his hands up and was gesticulating wildly–towards the briefcase?–and shouting something which was muffled by the huge rubber mask he wore. Luther, meanwhile, was both distracted and running at full pelt, and while neither of these necessarily led to a bad thing, they rarely came together without disaster. All Luther managed to do in response to Hazel’s panic was shoot him a quizzical look, before he tripped over a roll in the rug and disappeared in a blue flash.
His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily and he could feel a burning sensation all over– no, it was more like a trillion tiny electrical sparks zapping him all at once. His blood boiled in a way he’d only experienced on the operating table and he only realised the experience could get get worse once his body felt as if it had been flattened and re-flattened into an ellipsis, before at last morphing back into three dimensions. His brain stung like he’d invaded a thousand hornets’ nests and the sparks twitching at every inch of his skin turned to a starving itch he knew no scratching would soothe. Suddenly, he sensed a warm smack of air on his cheek and he hit the ground.
*
He sat up and tried to consider the previous few moments – he had no idea how long each had actually lasted – but struggled, instead instantly aware of an assault on his nose from the deep stench of ingrained sweat and the barrage of gunfire and oncoming shouting invading his ears. His eyelids, still clenched along with his glutes, were forced open when he got a hard tap on the shoulder. Squinting, he saw a wide-eyed soldier staring back at him – at least, they were as wide as he could make them while still in the groggy aftermath of interrupted sleep.
‘Sorry,’ Luther said awkwardly, though he couldn’t relax. Instinctively, he fixed his posture.
Before the guy could murmur a response, all attention was drawn to a voice barking orders at the opening of the tent he found himself in. Luther swiveled around and noticed he was among ten or more soldiers, all clad in Class A fatigues. There wasn’t a whole lot to do during his downtime on the moon, except read the same few books he had about Earth. It would’ve been handy if Dad had sent me a few more, he thought. Regardless, from the history he could remember, plus his current surroundings if he really was where he thought he was, it was clear things were not looking sunny.
‘Soldier!’ screamed a voice his way, ‘Am I getting through to you?’
Luther suddenly realised that he hadn’t been listening to a word the officer was saying.
‘U-uh–’
‘I said: Charlie’s on the wire! So stop stammering; grab a gun and a helmet and let’s go! We’ll find you a standard issue get-up in your size later, but only if we make it out alive. So get moving!’
What? At once a helmet was being shoved onto his head and a rifle thrust into his arms. So this is happening. Why mention the shirt? Luther’s fingertips crept to the fabric over his abdomen and found the material torn. Shit. It must have been from the fight earlier. How bad is it? A numb panic seeped into him from the shoulders down and made his chest heavy, but already he was being pushed towards the tent opening. Did I put on my undershirt today? he wondered, as the blackening sky spread above him. Of course he had; he always did. Still, coming home had messed with his routine and being unable to check nagged him, even as he emerged into the chaos of the battlefield.
Someone was asking him if he knew how to use a gun. Training coming in useful again, he mused. Absently, he nodded, then thought. His head flooded with questions. Was he going to have to shoot someone? Sure he’d fought, but he hadn’t had to–been made to– kill someone since he was a child, give or take. Would he enjoy it, like he feared he’d enjoyed the missions the Academy went on as kids? Or, he catastrophised, might it awaken something new within him, something he believed he’d somehow managed to repress these past four years? If this really was Vietnam–or Cambodia?–as he suspected, there were no clear-cut good or bad guys on either side. Still, were there ever? What if he became one of those animals who killed for fun?
But what did it matter? He didn’t even want to be here, let alone stay here. As soon as he got out of this shit, he was heading back to the future. He couldn’t just leave the others in that situation without knowing that they were safe. He had to get back to them. Here’s hoping I don’t have to fire this thing in the meantime, he thought of his gun. He tucked the front of his shirt into his trousers and moved quickly to catch up with the other soldiers ahead.