Nighthawk Unchained: The Lost Bird

Part 1

He slammed the perp against the wall, pulling him back and ramming his head against the brick. He repeated this process again, and again, and again. The man stopped struggling and slumped to the ground.

He was still alive. Kyle hadn't killed him.

Kyle hadn't killed anyone in eight years. He was doing pretty good for a former murderer, but there had been some close calls in his life.

There was his girlfriend (or was it "ex-girlfriend" now?), Mindy Williams.

There was Joaquin's dad, his oldest friend, Jean Claude. He betrayed him for the Sons of the Serpent. It was almost twenty years ago.

There was that man who tried to mug that girl on the crosswalk. He didn't know the man's name. Will, was it?

There were those two crooks at the cinema. He didn't hear them screaming, only the blood rushing through his veins. They were still breathing when he left them.

He never knew what held him back. Whatever it was, it didn't come up until after J.C.'s betrayal and the attacks from the Sons of the Serpent.

It didn't go away until after Violet's death.

After that, he stopped. He didn't know why. It wasn't the same reason for why he didn't before, but he didn't kill. He left broken bones, collapsed lungs, and broken teeth. But it wasn't anything the doctors couldn't fix.

For this perp, he ended up with a skull fracture and three cracked ribs. Kyle didn't respond. Not when he saw the x-ray photos, not when the doctor gave him the evil eye. Not even when Hyperion tried to call him later that evening.

"Oh, hey, Kyle. It's Marcus. Listen, I'm kind of having one of those existential crises right now and I could really use a legitimizing second opinion here-"

He silenced his phone and threw it aside. He didn't have time for this. His son's birthday was coming up and he wanted to make it extra special for him. He owed the kid. Especially after missing the holiday pageant.

He entered the penthouse, pulling his cowl back. He spent twenty minutes just standing there, letting the water beat down on him. He didn't even need soap, just water on skin. It raked through his hair, sliding on his skin, and pooling at his feet before trickling away. The steam absorbed the stress and tension from his muscles and slip away into the drain.

He came out, cleaner but not exactly refreshed. He looked around the room. It was clean, sterile, not a spot out of place. He had been living here for more than ten years, and it still looked brand new.

If he disappeared, nothing would change. No one would notice.

There was a groan and shuffling behind him. "Dad?"

He turned around. Neal was standing in the hallway, clinging to the wall. His hair was ruffled up and his face and eyes were both red and swollen. His breathing hitched at times and his shoulders were shaking.

Kyle smiled. "Hey, kid." He bent down and reached out. "Had a nightmare?"

Neal shuffled over, burying his face into his dad's shoulder. He mumbled under his breath, tears seeping into Kyle's shirt.

He didn't mind. He bundled the boy up and carried him to his room. He tucked Neal in and placed a kiss on his forehead.

Five tiny fingers curled around his thumb. "Dad?" yawned Neal. "Can you stay here?"

Kyle smiled. "Sure," the bed was kingsized, he'd fit. He could afford it.

Neal buried into his side, sighing contently. Kyle rubbed his back as he snoozed off, and eventually followed in suit.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was eight again. The room was bright, sterile, and pure white. Maybe there were walls, maybe there weren't. He didn't feel any. Expect for what he assumed was the floor, there was nothing in the room.

He turned around. "Kyle?" A woman with a crown of blonde curls piled on her head. She wore a blue drape wrapped around her body, and there was the faint smell of flowers.

"Mom?" The woman turned around. It was his mom. "Mom, what's going on?" She walked to him, kneeling down and hugging him tightly. She ran her fingers through his hair and rubbed circles into his back.

"Kyle, please." She pulled back. "Listen to me. Everything I've done, I've done to protect you." The air filled with an ashy substance. Kyle looked for a fire, but it wasn't coming from a fire. It was his mother.

"Remember this," her skin was almost gone, giving way to crumbling flesh. "No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are." Her face withered away.

"Mom?" He ran through the hall. "Mom!" His footsteps echoed into nothingness. There a familiar figure in the distance. It was his father.

"Where is she?" demanded Kyle.

His father didn't respond.

Kyle seethed. "Where is she?!"

His father turned around.

It wasn't his father. It looked like it, but it wasn't. It was a shadow.

It rushed at him, taking out the light.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He jolted up with a scream. Sweat clung to his skin and the sheets were twisted around his neck.

Neal shifted around. "Dad?" He tried to blink the sleep from his eyes.

Kyle placed a shaking hand on his son's head. "I-it's okay, kid." His voice shook. "I-it was just a bad dream."

He just didn't tell him that it was the first nightmare he had in eight years.