Dynasty Decapitated

For A While You Were Gone It Was Hard It Was Cold

((Title from Tow the Line by Mark Stoermer because I love him

-Mel))

Calum's moping. He knows he is, but he can't help it. Luke had told him to go home, get some rest, and try to relax. He figured the kidnappers were withholding information so that they could catch him when he was emotionally vulnerable and ready to do absolutely anything to get Ashton back.

Which, alright, it was working. The longer Ashton was missing, the more Calum felt like he had no purpose in life or will to live. It might be dramatic, but whatever. Calum just wanted his stupid boyfriend back.

So, he'd gone home, sat on the couch, and tapped his fingers. And then he tried to read a book. And then he tried to take a nap. And then, and then, and then, he remembered he was a god damn superhero. If he was bored, he could just go fight some damn crime.

So, he headed out, found a skyscraper in Brooklyn, realized he didn't have the strength to zip to the top, and climbed a thousand flights of stairs. When he'd gotten to the roof, he sat on the edge and pouted. His mind wouldn't shut off. It kept running a million miles an hour, trying to think of any clues Ashton might have left him. Any signals he might have missed. Hey, maybe Ashton just up and ghosted him.

Calum sighs heavily and rests his chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, hanging dangerously over the edge of the building. There's a few pigeons fighting behind him, but other than that, he can't see or hear any crimes he could stop. Maybe he's not focused. Maybe his spider senses gave up on him.

He's fine with it, whatever.

He's just about to give up and start sprinting around the city when the hair on his arms pokes forcefully at his suit and a shiver runs through his body, jolting him alert. He furrows his eyebrows at the sudden sting of electricity and teeters on the edge of the building, quickly jolting back and falling back from the edge, tumbling onto the roof with a soft thump that makes the pigeons scatter.

Calum huffs and stands, brushing himself off before another jolt of sharp, bitter cold dances along his spine. Yeah, danger, he remembers. His neck aches, but he ignores it. He's sure his accelerated healing will take care of it sooner or later. The danger he senses seems to be coming from the streets below, an unknown force tugs him down, so he peers over the ledge and looks for any movement.

His fingers curl over the hot metal of the siding on the building at the meer thought of stopping any danger. Can he even do that? He hadn't been able to save Ashton, why would he be able to save anyone else. His heart picks up for a moment, before he catches a glimpse of bright red streaking down the middle of the street.

Michael seems to be bolting down the exact center of the avenue, a large, blue purse held high above his head. No ones chasing him. A couple people glance, but no one makes any move to stop him. Calum's ears pick up a soft, "my purse," undoubtedly from the 90 year old woman about two blocks down. Calum sighs and figures he should probably do something. It's his job.

"Hey!" He shouts. He knows Michael will hear him, even though he's 58 stories in the air. Michael does, in fact, turn and look up, slowing slightly at the view of Calum climbing over the ledge on top of a building.

Not having the strength or energy to do some cool web tricks and fly down to the ground dramatically, Calum jumps and decides to shoot a web when he gets closer to the ground to slow his fall. Except he forgets. He doesn't remember to shoot a web, because there's someone a few yards away from Michael with curly hair and soft skin and Calum slams into the ground with a deafening crunch.

He hears Michael say, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Calum slumps in the ground and lets his undoubtedly broken bones set back together. It's impossibly hard to breathe, but getting better by the second. Michael's about a block away by now, but he turns and loops back, jogging up while Calum smushes his face into the sidewalk.