Older, Wiser

The man's visage hardened as he tilted his head slightly to the left, showing Dean a long, jagged scar that marred the once-shadowed left side of the man's face. His charming smile turned to a scowl, seconds before he rose to his full height. "That name...how I loathe it."

Dean let out an audible gasp as the man towered over him. "I...I'm sorry mister...sir...man?"

The other man gave Dean an arrogant up-and-down glance. "So this is the mighty Dean Venture, playwright extraordinaire." He steepled his knuckles beneath his chin. "Do you have any idea how many lives you've touched, Dean? How many people you've...angered?"

"Yes...I mean, no...Sir?" Dean's voice creaked and died, his eyes darting about the study. It was like staring into an IV bag of blood - red everywhere, and nothing but.

A grim smile. "I suppose you wouldn't." he pushed his chair back. "Dean, I've been a...follower...of yours for years now. I've shared with Johnny Starfall the joys and triumphs of ten long years. His journey to Rainbow Peak moved me in ways that cannot be described in mere words." His expression darkened. "But your last novel was a bit...sub-par. For example, on page fifty-seven you stated the magical land of Thorzinia 'lies somewhere over Mount Panic.' But in 'Johnny Starfall and the Land of Happiness,' the land of Thorzinia is in the lows of West Kittenopolis." He glowered. "Mere slips of the tongue are tolerable, but in these FILTH-filled pages, you murdered the most wonderful person in the history of the fiction."

Dean mentally scrambled for the right name. The man snarled and, with lightening-fast quickness, reached across the desk and backhanded Dean. "Lucretia Witchington!" he shouted. "The name of that dear, sweet cherub was Lucretia Witchington!!" He glared down at Dean. "

"Lucreita!" Dean gasped. "But she was Johnny's evil stepmother!"

"Evil, dear boy, is relative," the man sneered.

"W-what do you want from me?" Dean wondered, wishing that he could wipe away

"Write," responded his captor. "Write until Lucretia lives. Write until she finds her true love, Count VonEvil." He turned to walk away. "And none of that 'rocks break and everyone lives' shit. I could get that from reading fanfic on the internet."

Dean sat in silent shock. "But the villains winning...that would be so creepy, so WRONG..."

The man's upper lip trembled. "And why should the good ones be allowed to strut their moral superiority over us all?"

Dean squeezed his eyes closed. "I'm not going to listen to you! You're a monster!"

"A monster?" snarled the man. "I see. You're going to need a little incentive...a..what do authors call them? Advance?" He plucked a small black remote control from the front pocket of his jacket. Pointing it over his shoulder at a maroon curtain at the back of the study, he pressed a red button; Dean watched in amazed horror as it parted, revealing a rectangular glass chamber containing six metal chairs better suited to a prison's gas chamber.

A steel-plated door on the opposite side of the room rose toward the ceiling, admitting three burly man dressed in exact replicas of Johnny Starfall's stage costume. Under each arm, they carried the unconscious forms of Brock Samson, The Monarch, Jonas Venture, Doctor Orpheus and Rocket Impossible. They proceeded to enter the box through an airtight metal-lined, circular hatch at the front of the containment vessel and strap each man into their chosen seat.

"What are you doing to them?" Dean gasped.

"Nothing, dear mister Venture." He reached across the desk, pulling a maroon velvet cover off of the desk, revealing a gold-plated word processor. "You'll be the one 'doing things' to them." He tapped the top of the computer. "Whenever you lift your fingers from those keys for more than ten seconds, the hydration box fills with an ounce of water. Observe." He pressed a button, activating the device. His minions scattered, gasping and complaining about the chill of the water as they headed back out the hatch, screwing it closed behind them. "Is that an...effective motivation for you?"

Dean shook his head. "I..."

"Bring the children," he called over his shoulder. Dean cried out as Myra pushed her way through the minions clustered by the door, a child under each arm.

"DADDY!" shrieked Abigail as she kicked and flailed in Myra's grip.

"Ouch! Don't hurt grandma, honey," Myra said, carrying the child toward the tank.

"My-MOM!" Dean cried out. Myra's head swiveled toward Dean, in a way that reminded him of a wind-up robot his father had bought him when he was three. A vague memory of an explosion, of a shudder of sparks, made him shake. "MOM. PLEASE DON'T."

Myra looked down at little Jonas and Abby, her eyes as blank as a porcelain doll's. She looked to her friend. "Should I, Abey?"

Dean's captor shook his head. "They need to be cleansed, Myra. If they're not, your family will never be reunited."

"MOM! Don't listen to him," Dean cried out. "He's a..." another backhand. Dean's hands flew away from the keys in a self-protective gesture, and another gush of cold water filled the case.

Myra gasped. "Don't talk to your new stepfather that way!" She glowered at Dean as she opened the hatch, spilling out a small amount of water as she placed Jonas and Abby inside of the cage. "He knows what's best for this family, don't you, pudding?"

"Of course...sweetheart," said Abe, insincerely. "Come," he held out his hand, pressing another button. "We'll wait in the anteroom for Dean to finish."


As the door slammed closed behind them, water started to surge upward incrementally. Dean realized that Abe Samson was right - he kept pounding his fingers against the keys. Abruptly, a fuzzy image of Abe's face appeared on the screen. "That's cheating, Dean. Type real sentences. I'll be watching..."

Dean tried to think of anything but the horrifying sight before him. He began to type something that approximated a new beginning for Johnny as he opened his mouth and shouted Brock's name.

***

The sound of his name being screamed dragged Brock from the netherworld of sleep with an abrupt jerk. He blinked as he regained his bearings and noticed his surroundings. Dean's blanched face stood out starkly a few feet away.

"DEAN!" he bellowed.


"BROCK!" Dean whined. "I don't know what to do! Tell me what to do."


"Don't panic!" Brock offered, then he noticed the two children desperately treading water by his knees, Abigail treading water with her arm around her brother's neck. "ABBY!" Brock called to the girl, who gave him her terrified attention. "Put your arm on my knee and push up." As she tried to follow his request, Brock began to jerk against his bonds, pulling as hard as he could against the steely bonds holding him down. He heard an encouraging rending sound just as the water closed over Abigail's shoulders.

"Abby, take a deep breath," Brock instructed, as he unshackled his ankles and reached over to do the same to the Monarch and Rocket beside him. He grabbed the girl and her brother, cradling them both against his chest as he used his free hand to free the rest of.

Beside him, the others began to waken with exclamations of fear and surprise. "Damn it, Samson, I just got this dry-cleaned," the Monarch muttered as he started treading water.

A lame joke about the Monarch being 'all wet' danced on the tip of Brock's tongue for just a second, before he grunted and pointed upward. "Keep treading water until we reach the top of this thing. We're going out through that ceiling vent. DEAN! I'll come back for you! Whatever you do, don't touch those keys!" Dean had stopped typing a long time ago, as he gawked at the horrifying sight before him. Then to Abigail, Brock said, "take a deep breath and hold it when we get to the top."

"Mister Samson! Give me the children!" Orpheus called out.

"Lemme handle this, Orpheus!" A look of utter fear crossed the girl's face. "Trust me, kid. Just...trust me!"

And a gush of water blocked out Brock's vision, clogged his nose. He sputtered and gagged, paddling upward through the waves of liquid as they filled the tank. He kept Abigail and little Jonas' heads above water, and his eyes on his companions, as they floated toward the ceiling. The Monarch sputtered his disgust; Jonas Jr and Rocket kept up admirably, with the ease that seemed to be inherently theirs; Orpheus kept trying to recite a spell, only to be cut off by surge after surge of water. Brock reached up and grabbed onto a small bit of edging with his free hand, pulling Abigail and Jonas the third up onto his chest. He pressed against the wall of glass behind him as he hauled Orpheus and The Monarch toward the surface. Someone had pressure-treated the glass, he realized, as he braced his feet against the glass and began to work loosed a series of construction-grade screws holding the vent closed. He stripped them out as quickly as he could, then shoved the vent upward, helping the entire group to pile into the shaft.

Brock had to allow himself a moment of rest as he gasped for more air. "All right?" he asked Abigail, who nodded, and clung to him.

The Monarch gloated beside him. "You though you got me, dickweed? No one can defeat the Mighty Monarch!"

Brock grunted and rubbed his temples. "Yeah, we'll see how right you are."


"Nyet," a familiar voice said. "We will not accept defeat!"

Brock looked up to see Mol standing there...with the group of women.

"Mommy!" Abigail cried out, before Brock could hush her. Triana was on it, and she pressed a finger to her lips. Abigail understood immediately, nodding her head and zipping her lips.

"Mol, what the hell're you..."

She said nothing, extinguishing her cigarette against the sole of her boot. "Your enemy waits below, Samson. There is but one layer of iron between the two of you. I have raised my army," she smirked. "Yours is rampant, then?" she teased, stroking his chest with the very tips of her fingers. "Ready to charge?"

"Y-uh, yeah," Brock cleared his throat, moving a step back from her. "All right, let's go!"

He turned around, raising a chorus of disgusted groans from his men, The Monarch's voice rising above them all, "it's like he's got Pinocchio's hiding in his jock!"

***

Triana watched the ensuing mêlée from with horrified interest. Having sent Abigail and little Jonas to safer ground outside through the grating, and the arms of 21 and 24, she worried less for the safety of her family, more for the safety of Brock. It had been a bloody but satisfying battle, and each member of their combined parties had tackled a member of Abe's party. By now, only two of the villainous minions were left standing. Molotov sparred with Myra, seeming to enjoy every hit and punch she delivered to the unstable woman, while Brock circled his brother.

The others sat nearby, watching with great interest and immune to the gore surrounding them, Dean included.

"Five bucks on Samson," The Monarch offered to Orpheus.

"Only a fool would bet against Brock," retorted the sorcerer.

Molotov and Myra's struggle proved far messier. Both women were covered in bruises and contusions from their brawl - Myra's jaw showed swelling, and Molotov had developed a slight limp.

"Give it up, Cocktease," sneered the ex-Gladiator. "Your Ruskie tricks don't have any chance against my all-American womanpower!"

"Tell it to 'em, Myra," laughed Abe, as he lashed out with his weapons-grade replica of Johnny Starfall's Rainbowcaster - a long sword with a spiked metal star at the end of it.

"Abe, you don't have to do this," Brock pled.

"You've always been the deluded one, brother," he snarled. "Brock the jock, always the popular one. You never noticed how hard it was to be stuck in your shadow."

"Hey, I tried to help - it wasn't my fault that you were so...you...and you were the weird one who kept hanging upside-down for hours at recess."

"THEY HUNG ME FROM THE MONKEY BARS BY THE MY WAISTBAND!" howled Abe. "I took refuge in the world of books because of the cruelty heaped upon me at school. Soon, the fictional characters I read about were the closest thing I had to a friends, a family..."


"Mom and I were always there for you, Abe."

"That's bullshit and you know it. Who had me packed off to a military school as soon as he turned eighteen? Mom was barely cold in her grave!"

Brock winced. "I just had my first assignment, and you were too young..."

"I was too young to be stuck in that hellhole. You've never learned that there's a difference between us, Brock, that what's paradise for you's hell for me." He swept around his brother. "I'm glad I went. With the knowledge I amassed, I built my financial empire. The things you valued least I used to make my millions, and with those millions I vowed to build myself the ultimate library. Among those stacks I allowed myself to fall in love with the work of Dean Venture. Dean Venture who BETRAYED my trust! Just as you did."

Brock said nothing, but his expression showed utter incredulity as he seemed to realize that this lunatic was his brother. She felt Dean's fingers tighten against her shoulder.

Abe laughed mirthlessly. "I've finally realized something," his voice took on a hysterical edge, "all of the hatred I've wasted on Mister Venture, all of the resources I've spent to gather this rouge's gallery of morons, when I should have concentrated on ridding the world of your presence." He glowered. "The earth is too precious to have to endure your blood, Brock."

Triana watched Brock's expression change from fear to eyeball-twitching, jaw-locked rage.

"Kill me if you can, brother dear..." he smirked. Triana blinked at the sudden sound of a trigger being pulled, a rubberband snapping. A spume of red poured from his mouth, dripped out of his mouth, as he fell forward in a twisted heap to the rug.

Behind him stood Molotov, a pistol still smoking in her hand. At her heel, Myra lay, bound tight with several thongs made of leather.

"Comparing yourself to a God is a mortal sin," she declared simply.

***

"It wasn't your fight, Mol," Brock protested. The control room buzzed with activity as various military personnel secured the scene.

She blew a puff of smoke out. "He was threatening my Samson. No man threatens my Samson."

Brock gave her a wan smile. "What about the women?"

She smiled dangerously. "Fiji, 1988."

Brock's breath hissed out. "The Cambodian double-agent."

"Her eyes were a violation to your body."

"So was that twelve-inch scimitar."

She smiled. "Such pleasant memories, Samson. A pity we shall not have the time to make any more."

Brock hesitated for a moment. He considered the dangerous joy that being with Mol twenty-four hours a day could bring. An agony/ecstasy that fired his blood. How easy it would be to give in and say 'yeah, I'll quit, I'll be with you.'

At his weakest moment, it was Abigail who tugged upon his pantleg. Her eyes held a pleading quality Brock had never seen. Four hours ago, this kid was afraid of me. Now she's looking up at me like she'll die if I leave.

In a moment, his decision was galvanized.

"Sorry, Mol."

"Uh, Brock," Dean approached from behind him, "you really don't have to, if you don't want to. Every great bodyguard deserves a vacation."

Brock felt a wave of chagrin as he realized half of the room's occupants were staring at he and Mol. "You know you can't do without me."

"Nah, I think things'll be super peachy keen from here on out," he said breezily. "I've already got a couple of neato guys who would do a really good job watching out for us."

He pointed over his shoulder, where 21 and 24 were interrogating a solider who wanted to approach Dean for an autograph for trivia from the Johnny Starfall universe. Apparently only true fans were allowed to approach 'The Deanster'.

Brock watched the too doofs with a single brow raised. "You're sure about that...Deanster?"

"Sure!" He grinned. "You've done a whole lot for the Ventures, Brock. By golly, you've earned a break."

Brock laughed, ready to affirm his comment, when a sudden shriek rose from the crowd. He couldn't stifle the gasp that crowded his throat - the wall supporting the water tank had begun to give way, releasing a wall of water that loomed threateningly over the room's occupants.

Doctor Orpheus opened his mouth to shout an incantation, but it was Triana who came up with the right words. "Hydro un dryosian!"

And the entire wall of water froze in mid-collapse.

Triana blinked up at it. "Uh, dad, what the hell did I..."

Orpheus beamed. "Your gifts, Pumpkin! It's taken longer than I expected, but you've finally come in to them!"

"My gifts? Dad, I thought sorcery was some creepy thing you learned at school!"

"Not precisely! Some are natural sorcerers. I hoped that you might be one after all," he beamed, wrapping Triana up in a bear hug. "I've never been prouder of you."

"Uh..." Triana panicked.

Dean reached out for her. "Wow, my wife's a wizard! Just like Samantha in 'Bewitched'!"

Triana groaned as Brock laughed. "You're all right, Dean. You're really all right."


****

Three days later, Brock Samson stood on the rooftop of a Viennese hotel. Beside him, Molotov rattled off the misdeeds of their target.

"...Rapist. Con artist. Arms trafficker. He's worth a hundred grand," she screwed a scope onto her rifle. "Dead or alive." I will take aim, you will spark the distraction." An organic tilting of her lips followed. "I have missed this, Samson."


Brock Samson grinned.

This adventure - their adventure - had just begun to unfold.

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