#this is DC biology not real life biology! Clones actually rarely experience sudden deterioration.

[brown-little-robin]

9: That Was Abuse

part one | previous | next | ao3

The day after the storm, Wally drops off a black file containing a list of options and questions from Batman. Max skims it, then calls Thaddeus to the kitchen.

Thad reads the list, puts it back on the table, and rests his chin on his arms.

“We need to decide on your legal name.”

“Why not just Thaddeus Thawne?”

“That might draw unwanted attention,” Max says. “Safer not to have that on any legal papers.”

“Mm.”

“You could keep Thaddeus, especially if we make it your legal middle name,” Max suggests.

Thad shrugs.

Strange. Max expected him to be passionate about his name. He seems… lost.

“Thad,” he says. “The choice is yours, but I want you to know that I would be honored if you took Crandall as your surname.”

Thad stares at him.

At last, he says, “I… I don’t… I can’t do this today… Sorry.”

And he gets up and trudges back to his room and lays back down.

Max struggles not to be hurt. Thad is depressed. His whole life is changing around him. Let him have the dignity of putting off his decisions for a day. What did he expect? For Thad to jump up and down in excitement at being offered Max’s last name?

But the hurt does fade when Max sees Thad struggling. Max has to order him to eat lunch, leftovers of the cinnamon rolls that he enjoyed so much yesterday. After lunch, Max cleans out Thad’s closet, putting Bart’s old clothes in boxes under his bed. A while later, he finds Thad standing in front of his closet with a shirt hanging from his hand and a thousand-yard stare. It takes him two hours to put away half of his clothes.

Max and Helen exchange concerned looks at dinner. Thad eats his garlic bread joylessly, mechanically. He’s barely touched the speed force all day.

After dinner, Helen invites Thad to watch a movie with her. Max feels a little left out, today, but he doesn't object. Helen and Thad should have some bonding time. He lingers in the kitchen, observing, as they pick out their movie. Thad doesn't give any preferences except “nothing superhero-related” and “nothing serious”. Helen offers Thad a choice between Star Trek and Planet Earth; they settle on Star Trek. Helen gets the movie set up, spreads a blanket over the couch, and sits in the middle, giving Thad the corner spot he prefers. He pushes the blanket towards Helen and sits carefully in the clear space. Helen says “No no no. We’re watching a movie; we have to cuddle under a blanket.” And Thad smiles, tired but genuine, and gets under the blanket and leans on Helen’s shoulder.

Max swallows his jealousy at their easy intimacy and goes to commune with the speed force. Johnny Quick laughs at him, sensing his wounded pride. Barry Allen says wistfully, at least he talks to you. All seven years, whenever I tried to approach him, he ran away.

Next morning, Max tempts Thad awake with a promise of fresh butter-pecan cookies with breakfast. Thad grumbles wordlessly, but gets up and follows Max to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He’s still in his pajamas, the blue ones covered in silhouettes of cats. He seems completely unselfconscious about them. Does he not know that cat pajamas are considered childish, or does he not care? Max hopes it’s the latter.

Thad eats dutifully, then just… sits at the table, staring at the wall. Looks like it’s another tired day. Max is washing the cookie sheet when he hears Thad’s rough voice behind him.

“Good cookies.”

“Why thank you,” Max says, touched. Has Thad ever complimented him before? Max thinks not.

He turns to the table. Thad is still staring at the wall.

“What sort of backstory would you like for the paperwork?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“It’ll be easier to maintain your secret identity if you have a story that’s easy to remember,” Max coaxes. “We can incorporate some truth into it, you know.”

“Mm.”

“For example, we could say your studies were largely self-directed.”

Thad shrugs.

Max says, “Thad, pay attention for a minute.”

Thad looks at him. There’s no life in his eyes.

“You’ve been so passionate about making a new start… I’m worried about you. What’s making you reluctant to work on this?”

Thad doesn't answer.

“Are you… afraid of something?”

“…no. It’s just not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” Max repeats, puzzled but listening.

“I… I think I’m… decaying.”

Is this future slang? An Interlac word that doesn't translate well?

“Decaying?”

“I’m a clone, Max,” Thad snaps, with something of his old fire. “It happens. I think… something’s wrong with my brain.”

Oh. Decay as in genetic deterioration.

Max thinks of the poor misshapen Kryptonian clones, of the Inertia who died choking on his own lungs. He never told Bart about that one, just gave the child a proper burial out in the desert.

This can’t be happening.

Max phones Helen, makes Thad explain all his symptoms. Max gets more alarmed with each one: the loss of control of his powers two days ago, exhaustion, feeling cold all the time, and most alarmingly, spacing out for significant periods of time and having no memory of what happened. Helen shouts “FAMILY EMERGENCY, CANCEL EVERYTHING, hang on, Max, tell Thad I’ll be right there,” and hangs up. Max barely knows what he’s doing; he says, “Helen’s coming. We’re taking you to a doctor.” Thad, looking startled, answers, “What doctor? The Watchtower again? You know they don’t have real doctors, just magic people, right?” Max says, “A real doctor.” Thad says, “What—how? I don’t have paperwork! And anyway, it’s not like flawed genetics is curable.” Max says, “Doctor Morlo. He’s a genius with biology. If there’s even a chance—” and can’t finish. Helen arrives a few minutes later and they set out for Morlo’s house in Hanover. She’s speeding. Max doesn't say anything about it. It’ll still take about an hour by car.

Thad stares out the window, dry-eyed. He hasn’t cried since leaving the speed force. Max would have sensed the unmistakable motion of a heaving torso.

“How are you doing?” Max asks gently.

Thad snorts. “Apart from dying?”

“We don’t know that,” Max says.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” Thad retorts. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Thad scoffs, turns back to the window.

Helen says, “You’re going to go to college.”

Thad’s nonchalant expression cracks.

They drive in silence for a while. Max is unable to promise what he doesn't know. He’s seen too many tragedies for that.

“I love you so much,” Helen says, and her voice cracks. “If I could… If I could take this disease… or whatever it is, for you, I would. I’d—”

She sniffs. The car wobbles a little.

“I’d die for you.”

Thad says, “Don’t do that. That’s the worst trade I’ve ever heard of.”

Helen says, “Well, you’re not allowed to die, so there. My house, my rules.”

Thad laughs. He sounds slightly hysterical.

Doctor Morlo greets Max at the door and raises his bushy eyebrows at Thad.

“Got empty-nest syndrome, Mercury?” he asks.

Max explains Thad’s presence succinctly, barely conscious of what he’s saying. He says, “We think he might be genetically deteriorating.”

Morlo says, “Tell me everything.”

Max explains the symptoms and apologizes for asking Morlo to do something so out of his area.

“I know quite a bit about clone biology, actually,” Morlo says, and doesn't explain any further, which is probably for the best. He leads them down to the lab. The lab’s better-stocked all the time now that his Doctor Morlo Fan Club is funding his research; Thad looks around, silent.

Max takes Helen’s hand. She gives it a squeeze.

Morlo brusquely gestures Thad into the center of the room and tells him to take off his shirt so he can examine his body for signs of deterioration like bloating, cracking skin, or bruises. Thad obeys. He looks healthy as far as Max can tell. But is he slightly thinner, his ribs more pronounced, muscles more wiry? Max can’t tell if he’s imagining it; Impulse and Inertia were always built lean, even for speedsters.

Doctor Morlo takes Thad’s arm in his hands; the boy tenses up, and his pupils grow so wide the brilliant yellow is just a thin ring.

Max hates the Thawnes a little more every day. What a senseless waste, to treat Thad as a weapon, leaving him so starved for affection that a single touch undoes him.

Morlo inspects Thad’s hand closely. “Your hands seem fine,” he says. “Deteriorating clones sometimes get cracked fingernails and swollen knuckles. Any vomiting or diarrhea?” No. “Nausea?” A little. “Joint pain?” No. “Aching in your whole body?” …yes. “Hallucinations or delusions?” No. “Other discomfort?” …sometimes the light feels too bright.

“Put your shirt back on. Roll up your sleeve and go put your arm in the restraints on the bed.”

Thad snaps, “Don’t treat me like a prisoner. I’m not Inertia anymore.”

Morlo growls, “You have no idea how I treat prisoners. Luckily for you, I am treating you like a speedster. I need to take your blood and I don’t want you vibrating away from the needle.”

“I’m not Impulse,” Thad says indignantly.

Morlo says, “I’m aware, m’boy, but speedsters flinch fast. This equipment will match your vibrations long enough for you to realize you’re vibrating and stop before you get blood on my floor.”

Thad huffs, sits on the bed, and straps his arm into the restraints on the armrest; Morlo checks the bindings and tightens them a bit, then swings two metal arms up to grasp Thad’s arm just below the elbow and just above the wrist. Thad’s eyes flick back and forth from the restraints to Morlo; he’s pulling subtly at both the restraints and the speed force, not fully speeding up but giving himself an edge. It’s a casually impressive display of his precise control of his powers; most speedsters only go normal speed or fast.

Morlo turns away, grabbing a syringe and needle. Thad takes a deep breath, slows down, and asks, “What’re the biological differences between speedsters and normal humans?”

Morlo looks surprised, but explains with good grace that the main differences are the heat-shield aura, electricity tolerance, and hypermetabolism. The information blurs. Max is focusing on watching Thad, feeling the stutter of his heartbeat as the needle slides into his arm. His attention keeps morbidly fixating on Thad’s heartbeat.

Thad says, “What about hyper-acceleration?”

“Ah,” Morlo says, “That’s an interesting one. Hyper-acceleration, where the body ages quickly, is an unusual secondary effect…” Max stops paying attention to the words until Thad says, “My original was hyper-accelerated until Wally West fixed him. I’m hyper-decelerated. I age slowly.”

“You’re still hyper-decelerated?” Morlo asks.

“Yes. The Thawnes considered my long lifespan an asset.”

“Well, if you ever want to change that, you know where to find me.”

“Morlo!” Max snaps. For heaven’s sake! The man has no tact!

Thad laughs at him.

Morlo removes the needle, unstraps Thad and opens his refrigerator, a bright green box festooned with tubes. He tosses a small box over his shoulder, and Thad catches it; it’s apple juice. Morlo separates the little tube of blood into three parts and sets his machines working on them.

Morlo tells Thad to run. Thad refuses. Morlo says, I have to test your powers. Thad says, test ‘em without me running. Morlo tells Thad to vibrate a metal plate instead, which seems to work.

The machines start beeping. Morlo flips through the bloodwork results.

He looks up.

Max squeezes Helen’s hand. She leans on him.

Doctor Morlo says to Thad, “You’re not decaying. Come back in a week and I’ll test you again, but I expect the same results.”

He isn’t dying?

Morlo says, “Speak with me alone, Mercury.”

Max follows Morlo up to his living room.

Morlo says, “This is trauma response, not genetic disease. All this emotion stuff is way out of my area… You know this means he feels safe with you, though, right, old friend? You seem to have a way with retired villains.”

Max shrugs.

“So do you, apparently. I’ve never seen him warm up to someone so fast.”

Morlo says, “I’m not scared of him and he knows it.”

“True. So post-traumatic stress can cause this? All of it, even the spacing out?”

“Six hundred years’ worth? Probably.”

“Ah.”

It hits Max suddenly that Thad is going to live. He’s going to live and grow and go to college and eat pecan desserts and watch Star Trek with Helen and Max is lucky enough to get to see it.

“Buck up, Mercury,” Morlo says gruffly. “He’ll be fine. Come on.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Max says dryly.

They go back to the lab.

“You’re not decaying,” Morlo restates bluntly. “Your genetics are fine. Your body is processing the effects of long-term trauma. You might have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or depression, but that’s not my area of science.”

Thad says, “PTSD? But I’m not traumatized.”

Every time Max thinks he understands Thad, he’s blindsided by something like this.

Morlo says, “Your training alone must have been traumatic child abuse, let alone the mission you were brainwashed into.”

“But…” Thad says, frowning. “The training was different… that was for a mission, I had to prepare… and I wasn’t a child, I’m over six hundred years old… I was the one doing everything, me and CRAYDL… I hardly ever even saw Thaddeus Thawne the First…”

He shakes his head hard, sending his hair whipping around his face.

He says, “Abuse?”

“They may never have hit you, but they still deprived you of a healthy childhood,” Max says. “That’s child abuse.”

Thad’s eyes are wide.

Dear old Morlo. He allows Thad a moment to recover by monologuing. “As far as I understand—and note that I’m not by any definition a feelings doctor—when a person is being abused, their bodies protect them from it. To cope with stress, like an injury, human bodies enter a ‘survival mode’ where they’re functioning well. They might even develop heightened senses or other physical advantages. But functioning under stress forces the body to use up its reserves, functioning at more than full capacity. This can be resolved in two ways: either burning out or processing the trauma and recovering from it. Once a person gets to a safe place, their body will allow themselves to experience the burn-out in order to recover. It’s like how adrenaline delays the pain response.”

Thad’s still staring at nothing. Max gestures continue at Morlo. Morlo makes a face at him, but continues.

“So… Your body now senses that it’s safe to rest and recover… It’s allocating most of your energy to recovery, which is why you’re tired and cold. I’d guess your mind is resting by entering ‘sleep mode’ even while you’re awake, leading to your ‘missing time’. You’re processing emotional trauma, so you’re emotionally exhausted… you’re too keyed-up to control your instincts, thus your heightened fight-or-flight responses.”

Thad says, “They abused me?”

He stands up and starts to pace around the lab.

“I read about PTSD and child abuse in the Psychology 101 textbook. I have enough symptoms to be diagnosable. The Thawnes abused me! Max, they abused me!”

“They did,” Max says.

“I hate them!”

“You have every right to.”

Thad’s lips pull back from his teeth. He seems not to notice crushing the empty apple juice box in his fist. He’s pacing the room with quick angry strides.

“They stole my childhood!”

“Yes.”

“I HATE them! I hate them, I hate them, I hate them, I want to rip their hearts out, I want to wring their necks, I want to beat them to death with their own STUPID VR GOGGLES! I’LL IMPALE THEIR KIDNEYS ON THEIR HOLOCRON ANTENNAE! I’LL FILL THEIR LUNGS WITH TECHNOPLASM AND WATCH THEM CHOKE! I’LL SEE HOW THEY LIKE BEING HIT BY LIGHTNING!”

Helen squeezes Max’s hand urgently. Ah—she’s never seen Thad like this before, worked up to the point of violent, screaming rage. It is… alarming, but despite all his noise, he’s not even touching the speed force.

“It’s okay,” Max murmurs, squeezing back. “He’s just getting it out of his system.”

“A bit more of a challenge than Impulse, is he?” Morlo asks dryly.

“Not really. Just different.”

A growl echoes around the lab.

The inhuman sound of it startles Max; it sounds like a tiger. But Max feels Thad’s connection to the speed force, and he’s not fooled. Thad is actually slowing himself down to achieve that rolling pulse, pulling himself in and out of real time in a precise rhythm. He’s play-acting, expressing his emotion in a non-destructive way.

But Helen is uncomfortable. It’s time to talk him down.

“Enough,” he orders.

The growl cuts off abruptly. Thad looks at Max, panting, eyes wide. He looks insane. He looks completely, gloriously alive.

“Do you really want to take revenge?”

“No. You know that.”

“Helen doesn't,” Max points out.

Thad looks at Helen and winces.

“Sorry. I don’t… I was just…”

“I forgive you,” Helen says. “I hate the Thawnes, too.”

Thad falls silent, paces in a tight circle around the bed and then a wide loop around the edges of the lab. His arms are wrapped around his torso, his fingers digging into his sides; he’s shivering. Max is willing to bet that Thad will fall asleep on the way home.

Thad’s face screws up like he’s in pain.

“This won’t last forever, Thad,” Max tells him. “The sadness… the tiredness… the hate… it’s okay to feel them. Those feelings get better in time. I know. I’ve felt it.”

“It gets better?” Thad asks, like he can’t quite believe it.

“Yes,” Max says firmly.

“So… I might still be able to go to college?”

“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”

Helen says, “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go fill out the paperwork!”

Thad says, “I think… we’re gonna have to wait on that…”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna fall asleep as soon as I stop walking,” he says, and gives a shaky little laugh.

“Eat something first. You don’t want to burn more energy than you replace.”

Morlo orders Thad to sit down and gives him a large handful of granola bars. True to his word, Thad dozes off halfway through the fourth one. Max picks him up carefully, strokes his soft hair, presses a kiss to the side of his head. Finally, finally, Max’s heart starts to calm down.

“My word, what a scare,” he says.