Heroes Lament: Oderint Dum Metuant [APW #8]

Trigger Warning: child abuse and implied sexual abuse. Read at your own risk.


"Daddy?"

Lex looked up from the suitcase he was packing, turning around slowly to see his oldest daughter in the doorway, her hair mussed from sleep. Those big brown eyes of hers seemed troubled. "Hey, Peanut. Everything okay?"

She shook her head, taking a few steps further into the room. Her gaze went back and forth from Hannah, who was laying on her side of the bed, reading something on her tablet to her father, standing next to the open suitcase. Lex closed the case and set it aside, sitting down on the edge of the bed and holding out his arms to her. Allegra ran over and he scooped her up, settling her on the bed next to him.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

Those expressive eyes bored into him as she replied, shaking her head. "No. I'm just worried."

Hannah set the tablet down, concern written on her face although she said nothing, watching Lex instead. The bond he had with his daughter was almost enviable and she knew it had everything to do with those sleepless nights he'd spend with her when she was an infant, rocking her to sleep as he talked about everything and nothing.

"I'll bite. What's got you so worried you can't sleep? Is it 'cause I'm gonna be gone for a few days?"

The little girl nodded, almost tearful as she crawled into his lap, hugging him. "Stay home, Daddy." The words were muffled against his chest.

He sighed, locking eyes with Hannah and she could see the naked agony written all over his face for a moment before he closed his eyes, forcing that wall back into place. "I have to – I've got obligations. There are people counting on me, Peanut. Someday you'll understand, even if it doesn't really make a whole lot of sense right now—"

"Your dad's a hero," Hannah interjected. "And sometimes heroes have to go out there and do the scary things we can't so that we can be safe. People need him more than we do."

He turned his head, eyes locking on his wife's even as he hugged his daughter, trying his best to comfort her simply by his presence. He saw unconditional love shining back at him but it was tinged with a worry that made her brow furrow just a little.

"He's gonna help the people he has to, Bug. He'll come home safe. Won't you, Lex?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, looking down at his daughter's tear-streaked face. "Always. You guys… your mom and your sister and especially you – you're the most important things in the world. I'll always come back for you. That's what heroes do, Peanut. They look after what's important."



Clay Clarke held his eight-year-old step-daughter Alyvia in his arms under the guise of comforting her. Now that everyone had left from the wake, the reality was starting to settle in and the little girl was distraught. She was sniffling, tears streaming down both of her cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered as her voice squeaked, "is Mommy in heaven?" They were the only words that seemed to come out easily, everything else was stuck. She wanted to move away from her step-father. The way he was touching her just felt weird.

"Suicides don't go to heaven, Lyvvie. You're old enough to know that, I think." He sighed, shaking his head as though he was saddened to be telling her this. "She's going to Hell. She'll burn forever in the lake of fire like the sinner she is."

"No," Lyv shook her head, sounding like a terrified little mouse. She shrank back from him, her eyes wide. "It was an accident… she didn't mean to."

"Stupid girl—"

"You're lying!" She screamed the words at him, outraged. "Mommy wasn't bad! She's good and she loves me! IT WAS A ACCIDENT!" A sob caught in her throat as her little hands clutched the pillow she'd stolen from her mother's bed the night she'd gone away for good. "S-she would've never... l-left me." She wanted to seem brave, but Lyv couldn't stop the heart-wrenching, hiccupping sobs even as she scuttled back, burying her face in her mother's scent.

"Stop that squalling." Clay grabbed her by the arm, hauling her back towards him. The sobs coming from the girl were annoying, the sound of her wails shrill enough to make his head pound even as he got a sick little thrill from how easy it was to get inside her head. "I'm not a liar, Lyvvie." He said the words softly as he pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly as the pillow fell to the floor. His mouth was right beside her ear when he spoke again, "take a look around. All of those casseroles and cakes in the fridge... that's all because she didn't love you enough to stay. Shhh... shhhhhh," he kissed her cheek, "it's okay, Lyvvie. You're Daddy's little princess now..."

Something in his voice made her feel yucky, all shivery like she was about to get sick. Sitting on his lap felt wrong and the kiss he put on her cheek felt even worse. She'd at least stopped herself from loudly crying, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood, afraid that being sad would just make him madder. Lyv hadn't been scared of her step-father before. He'd been nice to her over the last few months since he'd married her mother.

The boy stood in the doorway, silent and still as a statue. He watched Clay's hand lift to stroke Alyvia's tear-stained cheek, feeling sick.

"That's my girl – you're so pretty. See, you can be good for Daddy... if you really try."

"I'm not sad anymore," she said in a small voice, "can I go play outside?" She stared at the wall, terrified of moving or doing something wrong. If she could get away, she could hide.

"In a little while," he murmured, his lips against her cheek again and it felt like he was trying to kiss the tears away. "Just let me hold you a little while longer, Lyvvie. I miss your mommy, too."

She flinched and tried to jerk herself away, but he was holding her so tightly. "Shh. Shh. That's a good gir-"

The water hit him in the face so suddenly that he actually gasped, choking on some of it as his grip on the girl loosened. He looked up to see his teenage son standing there, still holding the glass in his hand. That sadistic smirk returned as he let the now wet little girl slip out of his clutches before he moved to his feet.

The boy stood his ground, eyes narrowed as he glared at Clay. "Let her alone! She didn't do nothin' to deserve this." The little girl fled the room as he held his breath, knowing that the worst was yet to come.

Clay slapped the glass out of his hand and it smashed against the night table. "What's the matter, Alexander?" His voice was pitched low, an intimate whisper, "you getting jeal—"

The boy took a swing at him, lips skinned back from his teeth in a snarl. Clay caught his arm, twisting it savagely behind his back before slamming him to the floor. A second later his knee impacted with Lex's face, smashing the back of his head into the table behind him. Straightening up, Clay muttered, "clean this fuckin' mess up," before storming out of the room.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to stop shaking. He'd never been that angry before. This girl was innocent. She didn't deserve this fate.

"A-are you okay?" His sister's voice startled him as she knelt down beside him.

He looked over at her, his eyes sad as he dragged the back of his hand across his split lip to wipe away the blood. Not saying anything, he stared at her for a few more seconds before breaking eye contact as his shoulders twitched in an idle shrug.

She looked away as if she was ashamed. "Sorry I got you into trouble, Alexan—"

"Just call me Lex."

Those were the first words he'd ever said to her in the nine months they'd lived under the same roof. Sitting with her back against her bed, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, mimicking his posture.

He lifted his other hand from where it rested against the floor, pulling a shard of glass out of his palm in silence. Listening to her breathing, he could tell she was struggling not to cry. "Y'know," he broke the silence before it became too awkward, "I never knew my mom. She went away when I was littler'n you. I got a picture somewhere but I don't really even remember what she looked like." He sighed, leaning back against the nightstand as he closed his eyes. "Yours was nice. I liked her a lot."

"I really miss her," she said, trying not to start crying again. "I want her to come back."

"It's alright to miss her," he said softly, the way he spoke far more soothing than Clay had been. "He was wrong, though. She's up there right now, singin' with the angels. You don't gotta worry," he shifted tracks so quickly that she was almost confused. "Not gonna let him touch you like that again. You're family now. I gotta look out for you since I'm older."

"I don't want you to get hurt again."

"Ain't the first time. Won't be the last."

In silence, she scuttled closer and wrapped her arms around him, knowing somehow that he needed the comfort far more than she did. "I hate him," she whispered.

"Yeah," her hero whispered back, "me too."


"You want me to hate you, don't you, Red?"

There's a soft chuckle.

"Yeah, you do. It'll make this easier – I get angry an' you get to wait for the cracks to show. You get to wait for me to make that spectacular fuck-up, fuelled on useless emotion. Then you skate right in an' pluck this belt from the undeserving hands that never shoulda held it in the first place. Am I close? I dunno, you said a lot of shit. The ambient noise was brutal that night – inside and outside my head. Goin' back to Louisiana does that to me. Forces me to do a mental reset 'cause it's ground zero for all my demons. Just another weakness, though. Another reason why I don't belong, another reason I should be culled from the herd, right? Yeah. I know what they say. I've never been oblivious to the shit said behind my back."

There's another soft sound, almost a clearing of his throat before he continues.

"You think you know me. That's what's hilarious – you think you've got the cheat sheet down – a few weeks out of action means I'm a coward, means I was tryna cheat the system to keep this belt in my unworthy hands long as possible. A few weeks out of action. Not out of sight, mind you. See, I was there in those off weeks. I still made the trip. I still showed up like a good little lapdog to back up my brothers but hey, you run your ignorant mouth a little more, alright? You spill all that so-called tea 'cause you think you got some intimate knowledge of what makes ol' Lex Collins tick."

The scorn is thick enough to walk on.

"You think you can see right through my bullshit 'cause you've spent the majority of your time in this company rollin' around in the bloody muck like an animal. Is the gore still under your nails? Is the slaughterhouse reek still on you, makin' your stomach flip every time you try and eat? Is that lizard brain whispering those primordial urges in your ears, telling you that it's okay to rip and tear and bite and claw 'cause I deserve it? It's an animal urge, Red. It doesn't make you RIGHTEOUS. Doesn't make you NOBLE. It makes you fuckin' PREDICTABLE."

He chuckles again.

"I've been here before, Red. I've played these little dominance games. We'll call it what it is, alright? It's not classy. It's not a sporting contest. It's territorial pissing at its worst – and let's be clear. You didn't come at me when I was 'idle', as you claim. You started screaming my name from the rooftops well before Battlecade, well before I beat both Spartan and Aaron Blaze. But let's not let facts ruin your perfect little narrative. It works best if you cast me as a villain, doesn't it? It works best when you see yourself targeting me for the greater good – I'm so fuckin' sick of that phrase. It's so goddamned subjective."

He sighs.

"Revisionist historians are the worst, y'know? They like to play it up, invent some new way to spin an old tale. You're clever, Red. I'll give you that. You belittle to play mind games. You get off on the violence. Any other day, I'd say we could be kith and kin – not today, though. You poked. You picked. You PROVOKED. You wanted to light a fire. You wanted to see what I look like with a rattlesnake smile – for the GREATER GOOD, I'll indulge you. I'll light it up one more time. I'll bare my teeth like an animal. Why the fuck not? I have to prove that I earned this gold, don't I? It wasn't a hand-me-down from Lucy, who already had one foot out the door in search of a greener pasture to kowtow to her endless bullshit. Kudos, Red. You're the new Lucy. You're the new thorn in a bed of roses. That's what you wanted though, isn't it? You wanna be a prick, draw blood.

I need to tread carefully here. If not, I'm bound to break everything. Damon an' Smitty need me, right? That's... what they tell me. I can't tear that apart. There's a big part of me that wants to lose control, Red. There's a part of me that wants to smear you all over the ring."

He mutters an expletive.

"Confessions. Gotta go in there with a clean conscience. This is who I am. This is what my life experiences've shaped me into, Red. I'm a child of rage and violence. I was never coddled. I don't have parents who are proud of what I've done, what I've managed to become, despite all the obstacles in my way. I could lie. I could invent a past in my mind that was free of fear an' uncertainty but that would be a vacuum. It'd be a fuckin' void like the one you call a life. I never had disposable glory at my fingertips that I could waste on a whim like this. I know this business is fickle as shit. Streaks end, Red. I know just like that—"

Fingers snap.

"It's over 'cause it was all a lie. You bought it, too. Hook, line and sinker. You wanted to believe it, though. You wanted to pretend the violence and bloodlust was for a reason because otherwise it just means you're a psycho – heaven forbid. Forget about the lies. The only way to keep yourself accountable is to keep building 'til you forget where you started. Wage war. Recreate in a better image. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? There you have it. That's the reveal – behind the curtain of the Architects party line."

He clears his throat.

"See, Red... I can't forget my origin story. I came from a place where the future was UNCERTAIN, certainly UNWRITTEN. I wasn't supposed to survive so I had to create this outta nothing. You call me a coward, but I see the truth. You're terrified of what you might've unleashed. You call me nothing, a fraud – doesn't change the outcome. You've shit all over me, derided what this belt means. Not to me. To them. You think they're gonna forget? Forgive?"

He snorts, actually spitting. The sound of that wad of mucus hitting the floor with a splat serves as an answer.

"I know all I need to know about you, Red. You're overreaching. You're greedy. You think you're the HERO of this story and your goddamned lizard brain validates that belief. Sure. You're doing it for all the right reasons. Fighting when it's time to fight. Fucking when it's time to fuck. Fill an urge. Do the dance. Satisfy a craving. Lather, rinse, repeat. I'd be angrier about all of this if I didn't pity what you've become. You don't see it, do you? Do you really think you know me? Shit, you don't even know yourself. Do you know who I am, Red?

I'm your Caligula.

Oderint dum metuant, Red. Means 'let them hate so long as they fear'. Oh, I know you don't fear me. You've made that abundantly clear.

But you will."