Ignite

Twenty-two || Band-Aids Don't Fix Gaping Bullet Wounds Either

Hello! How are you today/tonight?

So once again on time! Oh yeah, I'm rolling.

Anyway. Here's your chapter - but first I'd like to do my chapterly "fangirl over how awesome you guys are." So you have been coming up with FANART now and can I just say that it's the COOLEST THING EVER I SWEAR. I mean, I had no idea half of you were artists and it's amazing and I'm so jealous! So yeah, shout out to y'all.

Chapter is dedicated to candycanecrusher. I don't know if I've already given them a dedication, but in all honesty I don't care because their comment on the 20 || Stella chapter was reALLY NICE AND I CAN'T GET OVER IT. Okay, I'm done. But thank you, candycancrusher.

So, I'm saving all the Code pictures you've sent me for some fluffy chapters coming up. This one feels kind of morbid to attach one to, you know?

(oh yeah, sorry I didn't reply to any comments last chapter, once again finals are taking over my life. FOUR MORE DAYS. FOUR. I MUST SURVIVE. And then maybe I can update more often)

So yeah, that's it. You guys are great, I love you, and here's your chapter!

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"So what's the plan?"

I cringe at the words. I knew what people were saying, the whispers and complaints of how cold it was, and questions of just how long we were going to stay here. I can't tell if I'm annoyed or thankful that Owen finally spoke them to me, alone in the kitchen.

I roll the piece of charcoal in my hand. I had stolen it one night from the fire, and now the table is covered in my doodles. Of course, I can't draw a circle to save my life, so it's more like the table is a mess of scribbles.

"The plan is..." I bite my lip. "Um...to get out of Russia."

"How?"

"I'm still working on that part."

"Yeah, well you've been "working on it" for three days."

I grimace, and Owen sits down across from me. "Look, you're fourteen –"

"Fifteen." I correct. It's totally not me changing my "birthday" to make sure I'm not younger than Jensen. No, not at all.

"The point is that you're still a kid." Owen continues, "And kids shouldn't be expected to make big decisions."

"I am perfectly capable of –"

Owen holds his hands up. "I didn't say you couldn't. I said you shouldn't have to." He narrows his eyes, and then starts again. "It's okay to ask for help. Take a vote, get input."

"I know –"

"Oh, you do? Then why haven't you asked yet?"

I slide down in my chair, trying to keep the pouty child expression off my face.

Owen holds my gaze. "When I met you, you were the leader. I didn't try and take that from you – even when you made some questionable decisions – because you had respect. Leadership is earned."

I refrain from rolling my eyes.

"It's also maintained." Owen says. "And you're not doing so well at that right now."

My jaw clenches, wanting to argue with him, but I don't have a leg to stand on. A bitter taste fills my mouth as I concede and nod curtly.

"Okay," Owen says, leaning back in his chair. "So – we have a helicopter with no fuel, two scientists, two ex-agents, an electric kid – along with an assortment of other magical people – and then there's you with your gravity thing going on."