Dragonfly; Phan

XII

The group rode up to the asylum, needless to say. Dan had his hud pulled over his head and his hands away in his pocket as they trekked up the path and straight through into the reception.

They didn't waste a breath. They'd attempted some conversation with Dan, something to make him feel better about the mess he believed he'd created, but it seemed to send him in the other direction entirely.

Dan kicked at the rubble littering the reception's floor when they entered. He let his anger seethe out on a fallen board of wood and booted his foot against the side of it. He watched with a locked jaw as it snap into the side of the building, cracking.

"Hey," PJ spoke from behind, and Dan tightened the pressure of his teeth at the surface of a voice. "Wait up a second."

"We haven't got fucking time to wait up, in case you haven't realised," Dan grumbled, stopping and turning.

PJ hushed him. "Listen."

Dan begrudgingly let silence pulse into the room, softening all the corners of his remaining sanity. He listened hard, following the order, and heard a faint cry.

"What the fuck was that?" Chris blurted, moving back down the reception. The rest followed shortly behind.

"Stop, stop, just—" Cat grabbed and silenced him, not able to finish her sentence before the same sound echoed in again.

Dan's attention trembled and splintered, shot through the roof.

"Was that—"

"Skye," he said the name only once before he broke off into a run. He darted down the reception and behind the dusty front desk, hand sliding against the surface as he slipped behind the wooden entrance. His breath came quick and sharp, slicing through the stillness, and he stumbled through into the supply closet.

The light was dim, as expected, and crates were littered across the floor like they had been the first time he and PJ came. Between the level of light and furniture, Skye cowered under the jagged shape of Bobby's frame. A hospital gown clung to his thin body.

"Hey!"

Bobby jolted around at Dan's voice and his eyes widened. "Blood-boy?" he spat. "The hell are you—"

"Leave him alone," Dan moved closer, steps quick and dangerous. "Do you hear me? Leave him the fuck alone, or I swear—"

"You swear, what?" Bobby clenched a fist around the fabric of Phil's hoodie, sly and threatening.

"Or—" You can't hurt him. He's dead, too. "Or I'll tell everyone about you—I'll have your name out of this place and across news articles quicker than you can get on your knees and beg for me not to."

"Dan—" Chris and Cat came tumbling into the room then, PJ dragging himself messily behind them. His eyes hardened and face changed at the sight of the boy inside, and Bobby let a nasty grin swallow up his face.

"Great to see you again, PJ!" he falsified the words out of his mouth. "Phil here has been telling me all about you—How are things with your wrist, then?"

"Just about as good as your face is gonna be when Dan's done with it, if you don't let him go," PJ spat back.

"Oh, please," Bobby laughed and forced his hand tighter around Skye's throat. "I'm not scared of you."

"Even if you can't feel it, you won't forget about it, you nasty little shit—" Dan moved forward and grabbed the fabric of Bobby's shirt, shoving him into the nearest wall. His head slammed back against the hard stone but his eyes didn't flick to agony for a fraction of a second. The expected reaction didn't faze Dan.