Hidden and Silent (SpyxFamily)

Ch. 22: Part Five

Actually, Demetrius might make it on his own. His father had no use for a son who wouldn't do as he was told. Hence the years of blackmail.

Or was that a lie? Donovan had planned to leave Damian at the lab. He could very well just lock Demetrius up if he tried to run, even on his own, and kept him there until he forced some semblance of obedience from his son. How Donovan would accomplish that, Demetrius didn't know and he didn't want to. It was more likely that using Damian as blackmail rather than a telepath was easier to gain Demetrius compliance, now that he thought about it. The situation had been more of a convenience for Donovan more than a necessity.

Meaning. . .maybe Demetrius never really had the chance to run at all. . .

Demetrius heart skipped a beat.

Then what was stopping Donovan from taking Damian right now?!

No. No. Calm down. Breathe. He won't. At least not before Demetrius can get them all out of this. . . if he can.

Demetrius tried to blink away his thoughts and take a moment to resettle himself. He went to continue writing in his notebook and replaced his pencil with a new one when he realized he had snapped it. Demetrius slowly scratched symbols and unfocused lines into the paper, only half paying attention despite his attempts. He was already in his third class for the day and had come up with nothing.

Maybe he could spread lies. Tell someone that Donovan embezzled money or something. That he paid the cops off(Which he was pretty sure was true anyway), or that his father blackmailed people into doing what he wanted. Anything to discredit his image and get him arrested.

But no.

If any of those things were true, Donovan would have it covered up before anyone was the wiser if Demetrius could even get the word out. With how connected Donovan was, it was more than likely that anything Demetrius tried to tell anyone would be taken care of before it could reach the public. And then, even if he did get someone to listen, Donovan probably wouldn't get arrested with no real evidence to back Demetrius' claims.

Besides. That would take too long. Demetrius needed a plan now. How long would Anya remain at the mansion? Until the end of the day? Tomorrow? He didn't have enough time!

A small, half-baked, phantom tendril of a thought intruded his mind.

No. Not that. Never that.

Demetrius was at a loss. Did it even matter if he planned? Could he even go through with it if he did come up with something? The agents watched his every move and the only bit of privacy he got was in the washrooms.

How did he distract so many agents long enough to make an escape? Could he? He was really starting to doubt it and he couldn't help the nauseating hopelessness he tried not to choke on. It was stuffed in his chest and lungs and it ached.

Even hiding in the bathroom and removing the tracker was pointless. The agents would immediately discern that the tracker wasn't on Demetrius anymore. Holding onto the tracker and discarding it later wouldn't work either. As soon as he disposed of it more discreetly, there was still the issue that they'd see him and tracker in two different locations. The agents wouldn't let him out of their sights and would stop the beginnings of any rebellion he made. Could he even make a phone call without them interfering? Would they be able to listen in? They would definitely know he was planning something and report it to Donovan.

Snap.

Demetrius replaced his pencil.

This wasn't working. He was too worked up to think clearly. He was supposed to have more time!

ThinkThinkThinkThinkThinkThink.

What weaknesses did Donovan have? What could Demetrius take advantage of that would take him down immediately?

Desmond was a perfectionist. He was obsessed with making everything work the way he wanted it to. To the point he compelled the compliance of the police forces and who-knew-who-else so he could manipulate any undesirable, possibly illegal circumstances in his favour. Demetrius felt like his father's perfectionism should have been his down-fall, but Demetrius couldn't find wobbly leg to pull out from under Donovan.

If Demetrius didn't count the one obvious thing glaring him in the face. The one thing that Demetrius couldn't consider. Was too afraid to consider. The very reason Donovan didn't view it as a weakness.

Demetrius' breath stuttered and he clamped his shaky hand tighter on his pencil to steady it. He didn't even try writing with it.

No.

Nononononono. That couldn't possibly be the only answer. There had to be something else. Literally anything else. His mind looped back to it again and again and again, unable to escape the cycle of desperately seeking for a solution, more panicking when he failed, only to inevitably return to a possibility he didn't want to entertain.

Ideas. Ideas, ideas, ideas. ThinkThinkThinkThink. Demetrius urged himself franticly, losing time with every second that passed.

"Demetrius?"

The boy jolted in his seat, eyes flying up to his friend across from him.

"Are you okay?" Violet's own gaze flickered from his face, to his fisted hand on his fork, and back to his face again.

Demetrius nearly barked out a laugh. A bitter, slightly hysterical laugh, of a sob he would choke down, but a laugh all the same.

No. No, he wasn't okay. He was on pins and needles, his legs twitching occasionally as if preparing to flee. To do something. To go somewhere when he didn't know where to go. He was wound in a coil, a spring being crushed under something heavy to make him tight, compact, and feeling so unnaturally on edge. It almost hurt under that weight as he was prevented from springing right back up. Squeezing the air out of him and pressing his nerves tight even as they buzzed underneath his skin. His stomach was in his throat and just looking at his food nauseated him.

"Fine." Demetrius surprised himself at the light laugh that came from his mouth instead, a ghost of a smile even gracing his lips.

Something about it must have seemed off though, because brows shot up, eyes went a little wide, and his group exchanged surprised glances. There were no thoughts with clear words coming through their minds, but the impressions of 'he's-definitely-lying' and 'he's-being-kinda-weird' flooded him as they hedged on whether they should be concerned or not.

Fantastic.